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tiny port town like Delilah, you either worked in the fishing trade in some way or in the tourist-trap block of town. Once a secret duty-free port refuge for rumrunners, Delilah had grown to a minor legitimate port onthe California coast where fishermen and small freight companies could dock with minimal fees and lots of personal attention. That lure rose and fell with the decades. Over the past twenty years, the town had sold itself more as a quaint tourist attraction than as a port authority.
    The downtown still boasted some of the original Victorian houses built at the turn of the last century, and with a coordinated effort by the town fathers and some business owners, the main drag of Serenade Street had been retrofitted and polished up to look like a row of doll-houses. The long, sheltered arc of Hidden Bay boasted a good stretch of golden sand before deteriorating into miles of rock and boulders, and in the summer and fall months that lone stretch of beach filled with umbrellas and coolers, largely from tourists. The townspeople were all busy selling to the interlopers; they had no time to use their own beach.
    Evan took the rock stairs up from the parking lot two at a time to climb to the “lookout” perch occupied by the Delilah Harbor Authority. He was late again; no matter how hard he tried lately, he couldn’t seem to hit the decks on time. The weathered wooden screen slammed shut behind him and he cursed under his breath. The noise would alert Darren, who had been a pain in the ass about everything lately.
    “Just coming off break?” his boss called from behind a pile of shipping records as Evan passed the port’s “big office.” Big was kind of a misnomer—Darren ran the yard from a ten-by-twelve room whose birch paneling and stacks of unfiled manifests made its space look even smaller than it already was. But…Darren did have the only office in the place.
    “Yep,” Evan answered, trying to keep his voice light. “ Break fast.”
    He kept moving, not giving Darren the chance to lambaste him for not moving to the tick of the clock, and slipped behind his desk feeling like a scolded schoolkid.
    Evan, Bill, Candice and Maggie all had desks in an open area they called “the bull pen” just beyond Darren’s office. There was a small entry room beyond that where some of the ship captains came to go over their shipping manifests and complete other paper trail details. Not the least of which included paying port fees.
    None of the workers at Delilah Harbor Authority spent the day at their desks, as they were always called upon to help out at the dock with something. Evan was a jack-of-all-trades when it came to serving as the chief accountant. He also could throw a mean rope anchor and heft a barrel offish.
    Maggie raised an eyebrow at him and grinned as she whispered, “You’re going to get a detention!”
    “I know, I know. I’ve gotta get a handle on it.” Evan shook his head before confiding, “Sarah’s just been out late a lot…reeling her in isn’t always easy and then I can’t sleep and…”
    Maggie shook curls of wild chestnut hair across her eyes and then had to brush it away. “I’m not the principal; you don’t have to tell me.”
    She smiled, a little sadly. “Andy said she’s been up at O’Flaherty’s a lot lately. You know, he can’t come to bed without his beer either.”
    “I’m guessing he’s not drowning in his though,” Evan replied. Maggie opened her mouth to say something but then thought better of it. She didn’t have an easy answer for that. Bill looked up from his terminal and pursed his lips, but though a wrinkle passed his brow, he didn’t enter the conversation.
    The room stayed silent for a while after that.

Chapter Four
    Evan watched the water fill in the indentations left by his bare feet in the sand. The waves were constant, lulling, in their predictable low roar inward and whoosh of instant retreat, and yet at the same time unpredictable. During his