The snow fell, heavier and heavier.
For northerners, four inches of snow was just a common winter sight, but this was a true blizzard.
A few feet away, the world was a sea of white. Even people were reduced to blurry smudges of light, and all sound was completely muffled.
Jason Sterling paced anxiously amidst the swirling blizzard. He raised a hand to wipe his face, and the chill from his palm, mingled with his own dark fury, made the gloom in his eyes deepen.
Bodyguards from the Sterling Group, the ship's crew, and uniformed coast guard officers—over a hundred people—had turned the port upside down. They'd even dredged up plastic bottles and torn fishing nets buried on the seabed, but there was still no sign of Maeve Walsh's body.
"Still nothing?" His voice was like tempered ice, each word landing on the snowy ground with unrestrained fury.
'How could I be so unlucky? This is the worst luck imaginable!'
