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We followed his trail out to the Point, but there was a woman with him. I had her in my sights and was about to shoot when this guy ran out of the forest. We heard her say the police were on their way. We couldn’t risk sticking around.”
    He jumped to his feet, and the chair tipped backward and landed on the floor. “But you could risk the police finding what Draper had?”
    The sigh that answered his question chilled his blood. “What Draper had is your problem. We were only trying to help you out. Our friends sent us here to make sure this next shipment gets to the mainland. After that, you’re the one who’s going to have to answer to why you couldn’t stop a DEA agent when you found him rifling through your office files.”
    His heart slammed against his chest. “You don’t have to remind me. I need to recover whatever Draper found out. I’ll make it well worth your while if you can get it for me.”
    Silence greeted his offer. He waited and finally his caller spoke. “We’ll see what we can do. We have information that there was nothing on his body when he was brought in. We also know the woman at the Point is an artist named Betsy Michaels. We think Draper probably gave the item to her, and the police may already have it. Want us to put some pressure on her to tell us where it is?”
    A smile pulled at his lips, and he reached down and set the chair upright. “Yes, but be careful. Everybody in her family works for the sheriff’s department.”
    “In that case, this could be trickier. It’s going to cost you twice what we usually get paid.”
    “No problem. Just get it back for me before that shipment leaves.”
    “We’ll see what we can do.”
    He disconnected the call and tossed the cell phone on his desk. “Betsy,” he muttered, “why did you have to get mixed up in this? It would have been better if you had stayed home this morning.”
    He sat at his desk for a few moments thinking about John Draper and wishing he had killed him when he’d caught him snooping. Instead the man’s escape had put the entire drug cartel in jeopardy. When the bosses on the mainland looked for the weak link in their organization, he knew they would look to him for answers. He had to do whatever was necessary to protect himself, even sending those hired assassins after Betsy Michaels.
    That decision should bother him, but it didn’t. He had too much riding on this last shipment to worry about Betsy. The Michaels family had a reputation as protectors of the island and its residents. Too bad they wouldn’t be able to do anything to help their sister. She had just come on the radar of the wrong people, and they never stopped until they got what they wanted.

THREE
    A fter an hour of weeding the British Cemetery, Betsy began to feel more relaxed. Her time spent in the small plot the island residents held in high esteem always made her misty-eyed and thankful for patriotic men like those buried here. They’d given the ultimate sacrifice in the pursuit of freedom. Her brother, Scott, had almost met the same fate, and she thanked God every day for his life.
    Kneeling beside the sign that identified the small cemetery as a piece of English soil, she patted the last pansy into the flower bed and sat back on her heels to admire her handiwork. She glanced over her shoulder at the four graves and scanned them in search of an elusive weed she had missed.
    “That’s a beautiful flower bed.” The lilting drawl drifted from the edge of the street.
    Betsy glanced up and into the face of two smiling women. The brims of straw hats shaded their faces, but wisps of gray hair stuck out over their ears. Sunglasses perched on their noses, and they each held one of the information pamphlets from the Island Visitors Center.
    Betsy pushed to her feet and brushed the dirt from the gardening gloves she wore. “Thank you. May I help you?”
    One of them pointed to the pamphlet she held. “We’re vacationing on the island and wanted to