“POOR BASTARD.”

Shelton took the seat beside me in Sewee’s stern. “But you did the right thing, Tory. The pack comes first. And Chance needs treatment anyway.”

“He’s right,” Ben said. “You had to lie. Chance can’t know the truth about our powers.”

“I know.” I finished stowing my gear under a bench. “It had to be done.”

Then why did I feel so awful?

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Shelton patted my shoulder. “Messing with Chance’s mind is terrible, but we’ve got to look out for ourselves. Our freedom’s at stake. Maybe our lives.”

“I know,” I repeated. “But Chance was a part of this. We wouldn’t have found the chest without his help. And how do I repay him? By convincing him he’s bonkers. Awesome karma.”

Ben shrugged. “What choice did you have?”

“None.” Shelton said firmly.

I tried to focus on the task ahead. “Let’s just get going.”

I’d make it up to Chance somehow. Some way.

“Where’s Thick Burger?” Ben complained. “We said fifteen minutes.”

“Here he comes.” Shelton rose to his feet. “And something must be wrong, because he’s running full tilt.”

It was true. Hi was flying down the hill. He hit the dock staircase and nearly tumbled down, then descended as fast as his legs could pump. Five more seconds of sprinting brought him alongside Sewee.

“Guys!” Hi puffed and wheezed, his face gone scarlet. “Guys!”

“Calm down,” I said. “Take deep breaths. You’re going to pass out.”

“Radio.” Hi gasped, hands on his knees. “Turn. On. Radio. News.”

“Okay, okay.” Ben reached for the dashboard and switched on Sewee’s sound system. “Just don’t stroke out. Any particular station?”

“News 12,” Hi croaked as he crawled into the boat. “Now!”

Ben tuned the dial. A scratchy voice boomed from the speakers.!!!Recapping our top story, a police spokesman has released the names of the two victims of last night’s single-car accident on the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge. While department sources won’t confirm specific details about the incident, the spokesman identified the deceased as Chris and Sallie Fletcher of the Radcliffeborough area of downtown Charleston. According to unconfirmed reports, a 2010 Toyota Prius belonging to the couple was found at approximately five forty-five this morning after apparently driving off the road near the Highway 17 interchange. The car had crashed into a bridge abutment and burst into flames. In a News 12 exclusive, we’ve learned that the deceased were graduate students at Charleston University and curators of the Charleston Museum. We’ll have more on this breaking story as information becomes available. In finance, Wall Street took another hit today, as stock prices—

Ben powered off the radio with shaking fingers. “Oh my God.”

“Dead?” Shelton’s brows were almost at his hairline. “Dead? As in, the Fletchers died last night?”

“It’s all over the news.” Hi’s breathing was back to normal. “I was tying my shoes when the story flashed on TV.”

“Dead?” Shelton repeated. “For real?”

“They must’ve woke up on the beach, then left Bull Island by boat and reached their car.” Ben stopped, paled. “Driving home, they would’ve been tired, maybe a little woozy …”

“It’s not our fault,” Shelton blurted. “They attacked, and we defended ourselves. I’m sorry they got killed, but we are not responsible.”

I didn’t speak. Didn’t know what to say. I thought of Sallie’s friendly banter at the museum info booth. Chris schmoozing tourists outside the old market. The two of them smiling as they related ghost tales in the soft lamplight of Charleston’s streets. They were so young. Their deaths were horrifying.

Then I remembered Boneyard Beach. Chris’s coldness. Sallie’s gun, aimed at my head. The senselessness of their deaths made me sick, but a part of me couldn’t help but feel … relieved. And for that, I was ashamed.

That wasn’t all. Ben’s theory was plausible, and the timeline certainly worked. But my instincts screamed something else.

Foul play.

Hi had the same notion. “Chris said they drove a Prius, and that’s the type of car they wrecked in. Meaning someone else was following us in the Studebaker.” Pause. “You don’t think that—”

“Hold on!” Shelton was nervously shirt-cleaning his glasses. “The news guy said the crash was an accident. There’s no reason to think it wasn’t.”

Hi shrugged. “It just smells funny to me. Did the Fletchers strike you as the type to drive off a bridge? I can’t see it.”

“Me either.” My hand shot up to forestall Shelton’s reply. “I’m not saying it wasn’t simply an accident. But we need to be careful. Hi’s right about the Studebaker. That had to be someone else, and they might still be trailing us.”

Hi nodded. “We don’t want to have an ‘accident’ ourselves.”

“Are we still going to Dewees?” Ben asked.

“Yes.” I didn’t hesitate. “Shelton’s also right. In all likelihood, the wreck is exactly as reported—a tragic driving mishap. We can’t abandon our search for paranoid reasons. Too much is riding on it.”

Ben nodded. Then Hi. Finally, Shelton too.

“One way or another, we need to finish this,” I said. “Let’s see if Bonny has any tricks left up her sleeve.”