Island Peril by Jill Sorenson

CHAPTER ONE
    E LLA H AMMOND OPENED the front of the tent and took a deep breath.
    The amenities were sparse, but the view was spectacular. Just beyond the grassy hill of the campsite, the Pacific Ocean stretched far and wide. She leaned out and craned her neck toward San Miguel Island. Five miles northeast, it boasted steep cliffs and an intricate network of sea caves. She couldn’t wait to explore the area by kayak.
    “Rise and shine,” Ella said, nudging her sister.
    Abby Hammond, formerly Dwyer, rolled over and reached for her cell phone. She never left home without it. “I feel like I slept five minutes,” she said with a groan. “It’s almost seven already.”
    Abby’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Brooke, was the tent’s third occupant. She roused at the sound of voices and sat up. Her eyes were puffy from sleep, blond ponytail askew. “Any word from Dad?”
    “Just a text message,” Abby said. “He says he’s sorry he couldn’t get away and he’ll make it up to you soon.”
    “Here’s my response,” Brooke said, raising her middle finger.
    Abby took a photo of the rude gesture and pretended to hit send. The three of them dissolved into giggles. Brooke had planned the father—daughter trip months ago. When he backed out, Ella and Abby stepped in.
    It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. Ray had a booming plastic surgery practice in Los Angeles and a history of last-minute cancellations.
    Ella was happy to spend the weekend with Abby and Brooke. Since Abby’s divorce, the three of them had been inseparable. Ella had lived with them for four years while she attended college.. She’d helped her sister through the hard times and had watched her come out stronger on the other side.
    Yesterday afternoon they’d taken a charter boat from the mainland to Santa Rosa, one of southern California’s Channel Islands. Today they’d visit San Miguel, an uninhabited nature refuge that was only accessible by sea. Although Brooke was the real adventure lover, Abby enjoyed kayaking and Ella had a particular interest in volcanic rock formations. They were all looking forward to the excursion.
    Ella put on her hiking shoes and emerged from the tent. It was sunny and bright without a cloud in the sky. Other campers milled about. Her stomach fluttered when she saw their guide a few sites over. They’d met on the boat dock in Santa Barbara. He’d smiled at her in an admiring way, as if he found her attractive.
    She wasn’t used to attention from guys like him, especially when she was standing next to Abby and Brooke. Maybe the guide flirted with every female in his vicinity. Some men cast a wide net.
    While she watched, he set a small kettle over the flame on a propane stove. He was wearing the typical camping attire of knee-length shorts and a long-sleeved gray shirt. And with his tawny brown hair and lean physique, he reminded her of a surfer.
    He glanced up suddenly and caught her gaze. Flashing that same smile at her, he lifted his hand to wave. She waved back, flushing. Then she whirled around and almost ran into Abby, who was studying her with amusement.
    “That’s our guide,” Abby said, waving. “What was his name?”
    “Paul.”
    “He’s hot.”
    “You think so?”
    “You don’t?”
    A faint sound emerged from Ella’s throat, like a chair leg scraping across the floor. If anyone deserved to have fun with a cute guy, it was Abby. She’d been involved in a safe, stagnant “friends with benefits” relationship for more than a year. In Ella’s opinion, her sister was using that arrangement to avoid meeting other people.
    “You’re single,” Abby pointed out.
    “So are you.”
    “He’s too young for me.”
    Ella rolled her eyes. Younger men hit on her all the time. “You’re thirty-five, not eighty.”
    “He’s clearly into you.”
    “Maybe he has vision problems.”
    “You’re adorable and you know it.”
    “He’s not my type.”
    “Your type needs a makeover.”
    She couldn’t deny