Blood Tide

THE MAN OF HER DREAMS MIGHT BE HER NIGHTMARE.

In the heart of the bustling city, struggling restaurant server, Dani Kowalski, dreams of something more. Trapped in a loveless marriage, and plagued by the nightmare memories of her past, she yearns for an escape, a spark of something real. A chance encounter with Eric Gilman—a darkly handsome and brooding stranger—ignites a passion and the glimmer of possibility. Is he the key to her escape, or will the darkness consume them both?

Meanwhile, Detective Frank Hagen investigates a string of grisly murders, each one more chilling than the last. As he delves deeper, he begins to wonder whether the killer stalking the city is even human.

TERROR HAS COME TO FORT LAUDERDALE, AND IT WILL EAT YOU ALIVE.

Here’s an excerpt:

Ron Dunlop pulled the lapels of his sailing jacket tight to shield himself from the lashing rain. He swayed as the boat rocked. Above him, high winds moaned like a banshee in the rigging.

He studied the horizon with an intense stare, his craggy face and calloused hands evidence of the many miles he’d put under the keel. Some people considered him old for a mariner. Then again, some people didn’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. He was mentally sharp, in decent shape, and he would keep on sailing well into his seventies—if Margaret would let him.

They’d been holidaying in Martinique on board their sailing yacht, the Halcyon Daze, headed for Barbados, when, despite the morning’s forecast, the horizon became dark and ominous. A storm hit without warning, barring their way. So, they beat a hasty retreat to the island of St. Lucia, taking refuge in a sheltered lagoon somewhere along the rainforest-covered coastline.

They’d dropped anchor and had stowed most of the gear below deck, when…

“Ron!” Margaret called.

“What’s up, Hon?” He let go of the tripline. They’d been married for 42 years, and he could tell, from her tone, something was amiss.

She wore a sailing jacket like his and had a timeless, natural beauty. When he looked at her, he still saw the young twenty-something woman he fell in love with, all those years ago.

“There…on the beach.” She pointed. “I could’ve sworn I saw a man.”

He looked in the direction she pointed but saw nothing.

“I don’t think so, hon,” he yelled over the wind. “This part of the coastline is remote. There’s not a town for miles.”

“I know what I saw,” she yelled back. “There was a man. He waded into the water and hasn’t resurfaced.”

“Are you sure?” he said, looking again.

“He could be drowning, Ron.”

“He could be a diver.”

She frowned.

“Perhaps you imagined it—a mirage, or a trick of the light? Maybe it was an animal?

“An animal, Ron? What kind of animal?”

He shrugged. “A feral pig or goat.”

She gave him a look.

“Heck, I don’t know. Your guess is as good as mine. Look, we’ve got to get below deck.”

By the time the storm rolled back around, they’d already bunked down for the night.

***

Ron woke with a start. Margaret had him by the shoulders and was shaking him. The cabin was dimly lit, but he could still make out her frightened expression.

“Are you okay?” he said, sitting up.

She shushed him. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” He rubbed his eyes.

“That strange sound.”

He tilted his head to listen, but all he could hear was the storm and the howl of the wind. “What sound?”

“I couldn’t tell you exactly. It was weird…like an animal or bird maybe…but loud.”

He listened again. “I don’t h—”

The sound floated across the water, a bizarre intermittent hooting bark, high and musical. It started as a low whooping sound, then rose sharply in pitch.

“There it is again.” She clutched at his leg. “Did you hear it?”

“Y-yes, I did.”

“Well, what do you think it is?”

They heard it again.

It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. It was a peculiar, complex, and amorphous sound. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It could’ve been man-made, an animal, or perhaps even several animals chorusing.

“It’s eerie, isn’t it?” she said.

He nodded, becoming aware of his own heavy breathing and his quickening pulse. He’d never heard anything like it. It was pained, otherworldly. It came at regular intervals, each whoop followed by a long pause.

They lay awake for hours, listening to the strange sound—and the storm, always the storm.

***

“Son of a sodding whore!” hissed Ron, shouting his rebuke at the rain while steering into the waves. It was before dawn, their progress had slowed to eight knots, they were deep downwind and running dark, but it was a risk he was prepared to take. He’d considered turning her about to the windward and heaving to, but decided against it. No, better to run. Better to get away. Away from it—whatever it was.

That’s when he heard it again, that same curious, whooping call they’d heard during the night. It sent shivers down his spine.

Oh, Jesus. He breathed heavily, gripping the wheel with white-knuckled hands. Self-doubt threatened to set in.

He tried the line again, but the sail simply refused to trim. The winch retorted with a sharp motorized squeal, while the storm jib fluttered in the gale.

He ground his teeth. Of all the times and places to experience gear failure. Undone by a simple thing.

He lashed the wheel and went aft to investigate.

Testing the line, he quickly found the source of the problem: a cheap block with a faulty bushing.

“Damn,” he said, and went to the cockpit to grab his tools. Difficult work under the circumstances, but he was able to jury-rig something—he kept one eye on the sea the whole time. Their run-in with the thing had given him the jitters.

He didn’t fear the sea; he was accustomed to the elements. The sea could be a cruel mistress, but he was used to her cunning. Nor did he fear the storm so much as the unseen force that moved behind it. It was the presence in the darkness he couldn’t understand. He’d felt it nearly all his life, ebbing and flowing in the corners of the world—corrupt and conspiring, exerting its malicious will. It was there on the Mekong Delta, during the endless patrols and firefights. It was there when his buddy, Rallo, was hit, and the tide ran crimson with his blood…