"This is Skip's jacket," Hawk said coolly, professionally. "The sleeve is almost torn off and the inner pocket is missing. And there's blood on the lapel."
"If this is Skip's, then where is he?" Trish asked in confusion.
We all stared at Hawk as she looked over the rail at the sea. A cold wind seemed to blow through the tropical heat and straight up my spine as I realized what she was thinking.
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