"Help!" someone was shouting. "Help! If you've got a boat, we need it! Every able-bodied seaman! Get to the harbor!"

A man in a burly coat brushed past Morgan and ran out the door, following the man who had shouted the alarm.

"What's going on?" Morgan asked the desk clerk. The woman's lined face was drawn taut with worry, her black hair making her face look even paler. "What's happened?"

Outside the front door two more men ran past, their hats pulled low against the driving rain. Morgan heard one shout, "Get to the harbor!"

"The ferry," said the woman, starting to tie a scarf around her head. "The ferry's gone down in the storm."

The icy rain felt like needles pelting her face as Morgan tore down the cobbled road toward the harbor. The three blocks seemed to take half an hour to run, and with every second an endless stream of thoughts raced through Morgan's head. Please let Hunter have been late, for once in his life. Please let it be a different ferry. Please let no one be hurt Please let Hunter be late. He's missed the ferry, he's missed the ferry, he's missed the ferry….

Down at the harbor the driving rain obscured vision, and at first Morgan could see only people running around and men starting the engines in their fishing boats. Then the local fire truck screamed up, looking ridiculously small and inadequate for this disaster. Morgan grabbed an older man's arm, hard, and hung on. "What happened?" she shouted, the wind tearing her voice away.

"The ferry went down!" he shouted back, trying to tug his arm free so he could go help.

"Which ferry?" An icy hand was slowly closing around Morgan's heart. She forced herself to have hope.