Author's Note: Hello readers! I am so happy to have all of you along with me on this adventure. I appreciate all of you so much and your interest in this story and the previous ones in this series. As one reader pointed out, there is a lot going on here. There will be a few more twists and turns over the next several chapters as the mystery and personal concerns build, but please stay with me. During the second half of the story, you will see the characters solve and work through these plot points, culminating in an ending I know you will all be pleased with. A special thank you once again to those who have taken the extra time to post a review. I would love to hear from more of you!

"Daddy! Daddy!" Adrian opened his eyes to find two terrified green ones looking back at him. Sophia stood next to his bed, pink blanket in one hand, yellow, stuffed bunny in the other. "I scared." A single tear slid down her cheek to her quivering chin.

A crash of thunder followed on the heels of a bolt of lightning, then the room plunged into complete darkness. Sophia shrieked.

"Come here." Adrian lifted her onto the bed. "There's no need to be afraid."

Thunder crashed again and Sophia dove under the covers. She clung to Adrian's arm with a death grip. He peeled back the covers and found her mop of dark curls. Sitting up, he pulled her into his arms. "Daddy's not going to let anything happen to you."

"It dark," she cried.

He dried her tears with his fingertips, then reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a flashlight. He turned it on. "There. Is that better?"

She found her thumb and answered with a nod.

Adrian rubbed her back in soothing circles, forcing his voice to sound equally calm. Truth was, he couldn't deny his own nerves as he listened to the rain pound on the roof and the wind whistle around the corners of the house. Scraping on the window caused him to startle, but reason told him it was only a branch of the large pine residing just outside, a reminder to have it trimmed back. He reached for Natalie, but her side of the bed was empty. A moment later, she came back with a flashlight of her own. With Timothy in her arms, she joined them in bed. Adrian watched his son look around the room with wide eyes.

Sophia had grown so quiet, Adrian thought she had fallen asleep, but after more thunder, she stirred. "Why it so loud?"

"The thunder?" Adrian tilted her chin so she could look at him and pushed her hair out of her face. "The thunder is loud, but it's nothing to worry about. It's just a result of the bright light, which is called lightning. You see, the lightning is formed by electrons flowing from the clouds to the ground." He made a motion in the air to demonstrate. "When it travels to the ground, there is a rapid expansion of air, and that's the sound we hear."

Another clap of thunder. "Mommy," Sophia whimpered.

Natalie pulled her into a hug. "It's okay, baby."

Sophia looked up at her. The tears were gone, but her eyes still held the fear. "Was that 'lectrons?"

Natalie kissed her head. "I don't know much about electrons and the expansion of air, but when I was a little girl, your grandpa used to tell me that God and the angels were up there bowling. That's what makes storms so noisy."

Adrian scowled at her. "Natalie, I don't think we should lie to the child."

"Well, she's not going to understand the scientific explanation at this age. She just needs to know it's nothing to be scared of." She shifted and laid Timothy on the bed between them.

"I suppose she wouldn't understand just yet, but I still don't think it's necessary to tell falsehoods."

"What bowling?" Sophia asked.

"Well, you see," Natalie said, "it's a game where you roll these heavy balls down a long, wooden alley to try and knock down a group of pins on the other end. Your daddy played once. Maybe he could teach you."

Sophia reached out to Adrian and grinned. "Teach me, Daddy."

"Maybe someday," he said as she crawled over to him.

Thunder crackled in the sky again and Sophia buried her face in his chest.

Adrian stroked her hair. "You're not still scared are you?"

"No," she said as she covered her ears, "but it too loud."

While the family snuggled under the covers, the storm waned, but it didn't take Adrian and Natalie long to conclude sleep would not come any time soon. The thunder had become a distant rumble, but the wind still howled through the trees and around the house, which answered with its own groans and creaks. They relented and found a stack of books they read by flashlight. When the books were read and the children were still awake, they told stories and made shadow puppets.

Laughter soon replaced fear, and sometime in the wee hours of the morning, the power came back on. Adrian smiled at the sleeping forms of his wife and children, their soft breathing the only sound in the now-quiet room. He lifted Timothy from his mother's arms and laid him in the bassinet which he had almost outgrown. Then, he looked at Sophia curled up beside Natalie and decided not to disturb her. His clock and alarm reset, he crawled in beside them. After a kiss to both their heads, he was also soon asleep.

The next morning came too quickly after such little sleep. As Adrian and Natalie took their turns in the shower and dressed, not much more than a grunt was heard between them. The coffee cup Natalie offered him when he came downstairs was even more welcome than usual. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Adrian settled into his trusty leather chair while Natalie sat at the desk paying bills. Unfolding the morning newspaper, he secretly hoped the city of San Francisco would not need his services too soon. Their last homicide case had just wrapped, and looking at his children playing together on the floor made him wish for a day off with his family. His mind drifted as he considered the things they could do.

"Natalie, what do you think …" Before he could share his idea, their phone rang.

Natalie answered the one on the desk. "Good morning, Captain. Yes, he's here."

Adrian groaned as she handed him the phone. "Yes, we're available. What? Leland, I don't think … But that means a boat …" He sighed. "We'll be there."

Adrian and Natalie learned over the course of their time as parents to have diaper bags packed and their children ready in case Adrian was called to a crime scene. After working together for so long, there was an ebb and flow to their days which they easily adapted to married life, but adding children into the mix had been a challenge. After some finagling and the help of the ever-dependable and resourceful Beth Evans, their babysitter, they now had it down to a science.

As they drove to her house, they assessed the damage left in the wake of the night's wild weather. Scattered clouds filtered the morning sun, which shone down on a still-wet city. The streets were slick and large amounts of water remained in areas with poor drainage. Water dripped from awnings and gushed from gutters. Small branches and twigs littered yards and sidewalks while remaining tree branches hung heavy with their soaking. A few unfortunate souls would have to deal with insurance claims as some large branches had fallen across fences and rooftops. Other fallen trees brought down power lines, deterring the return of electricity to those blocks and turning intersections into frightening four-way stops.

The children dropped off, Adrian and Natalie's attention turned to the call they received from the captain. "Are we going to the marina?" Natalie asked as Adrian turned in that direction.

"Yes and no," Adrian said. "We are going there, but that's not where the homicide took place. We have to catch a boat to Alcatraz Island."

"Alcatraz? Since when did that become our concern? I thought it came under the National Park Service."

"It does, but the victim wasn't killed on the island. He washed up on its shore."

"Oh, that's terrible."

Adrian pulled into the closest parking garage. "That's not all. He was a cop."

Natalie stopped unbuckling her seatbelt and looked up. "A cop?"

"Yes," Adrian said. "One of ours."

Natalie took Adrian's arm as they walked to Pier 39 where they would be met by the SFPD Marine Unit for transport to Alcatraz Island. The park service normally took visitors to the island, but the attraction had been banned to tourists for the day due to the circumstances.

As soon as Adrian approached the water, his stomach coiled into knots. The bay still churned with choppy waves, courtesy of last night's storm. He came to a dead stop and rolled his shoulder.

Natalie noticed and squeezed the arm she was holding. "Everything will be okay. I'll be with you."

"Why isn't there a bridge, Natalie? Someone should have built a bridge."

She slid her hand down his arm and took his hand. "Alcatraz was a prison. There are advantages to having a prison on an island."

Reaching the end of the pier, Natalie waved to an officer standing in the bow of a police boat. He returned the wave before speaking into the two-way radio on his shoulder. "You must be Adrian and Natalie Monk," he said when he was done. "Come on board. I'm Captain Baker."

Natalie took the hand Baker stretched out to her and boarded.

Monk watched her, glad she had chosen ballet flats for the day. He took a step forward, but when it was his turn, he froze in place. He could hear the waves lapping against the pilings below, and the boat rocked like a cradle guided by a giant, invisible hand. He didn't enjoy boats, to begin with, but being on one in these conditions was an even less exciting thought. He twisted his neck as a shiver crawled down his spine. It's a small piece of land in the middle of the water. What if there's a boat accident and I have to swim. If only there was a bridge …

"Adrian." Natalie's voice broke through his thoughts. "Come on. The captain is waiting for us."

"Natalie, I …"

She stretched out her hand for him to take. "It's going to be okay. I'll be with you."

Captain Baker reached for him as well. "Come on. Nothing to be afraid of."

Adrian looked at them. Nothing to be afraid of. That's what he assured Sophia of during the night. Could he trust them the same way he wanted her to trust him? He took a deep breath and boarded the boat.

Adrian and Natalie took a seat in the stern as the engine roared to life. He leaned over his knees to ease his stomach, which was as turbulent as the waves around them. Natalie rubbed his back and shoulders while whispering encouragements in his ear.

Baker poked his head around the corner of the cabin. "You guys okay?" He took a step towards them, his hair blown back in the salt breeze. He turned and leaned against the railing. "It's too bad they closed the prison. No one ever made a successful escape from there. Well, except for three prisoners in 1962, but they were most likely lost at sea."

Adrian lifted his head after Baker was called back to the cabin. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "We'll be there soon."

At Natalie's prompting, Adrian stood as they approached the small island. Despite growing up in Marin County, just north of San Francisco, he had never been there, his fear of boats and the water keeping him on the mainland. With its sheer gray cliffs and imposing, vacant prison sitting atop them, it was easy to see why it was called, The Rock. He swallowed hard. He still wasn't sure it was the right decision to come. The small police boat jerked as it settled against the pier, and Adrian was thankful for the reassuring feel of his wife's arm around his waist. He glanced down at her. Her proud smile was enough to propel him forward.

As soon as Adrian placed grateful feet on solid ground, he noticed a uniformed park ranger approaching.

"Are you Mr. and Mrs. Monk?" he asked. In response to their nods, he continued. "I'm Ranger Sam Nichols. Please follow me."

Adrian and Natalie followed Ranger Nichols along walkways that wove around aging, white buildings until they were on the west side of the island. The sun shone brightly through the parted clouds, but the breeze still packed a punch. Natalie tucked wayward strands of hair behind her ears as Adrian blinked back wind-induced tears. After a few more yards, the ranger veered off the paved walkway and led them to a steep path leading to the water's edge. Joining hands, Adrian and Natalie climbed over and around the slippery rocks occupying most of the narrow beach. The crime scene buzzed with activity as a CSI team from San Francisco milled about collecting samples while a few park rangers consulted with Captain Stottlemeyer and Lieutenant Washington. Two more police boats patrolled the bay a short distance out while seagulls called from the sky above.

Stottlemeyer waved, raising his voice above the wind. "Glad you could make it."

Reaching his side, Adrian leaned forward. He placed his hands on his knees and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Natalie rubbed his back as Washington approached.

He placed a concerned hand on Monk's shoulder. "You okay, man?"

He stood and tugged his jacket. "I've been better."

"Me too," Stottlemeyer said. "I hate seeing an officer killed, especially like this."

Monk nodded. "Did you know him?"

"No. He was in narcotics … doesn't make a difference."

Monk shifted his jaw, his anger stirred. A fellow officer was down. It felt personal. He parted his lips to speak, but before he could, one of the rangers approached the San Francisco team.

She jutted out her hand. "You must be Detective Monk."

Monk took her hand and looked into cold, gray eyes peering from under a broad-brimmed uniform hat, her expression as hard as the stones he stood on.

"Special Agent Kate Dekker," she said. "I'm an investigator with the U.S. Park Service. Captain Stottlemeyer insisted you join us. Now that you're here, let's get to work."

Monk took a disinfectant wipe from Natalie. "Did you say 'us'?"

"Shared jurisdiction," she said. "Death most likely occurred in San Francisco Bay waters, but the body was found here, on Alcatraz."

Monk looked to Stottlemeyer who nodded. "Okay," He gestured to the sheet-covered body. "What do we know about our victim?"

Stottlemeyer opened his mouth to answer, but Dekker stepped in front of him. "Thirty-five-year-old African-American male, a San Francisco cop."

"Elliott Ross, Narcotics Division," Stottlemeyer added as they followed the ranger to the water's edge.

"Did he have I.D. on him?" Monk asked.

"Yes, badge and all," Washington said.

"Who found him?" Monk asked.

"I did." Ranger Nichols jogged up to them. "I found him when I did my rounds this morning. Approximately 6:30 a.m."

As they approached the body, Monk watched the incoming waves break against the shore mere steps away. Thankfully, they were at low tide, but the water line indicated a recent high tide. "How often do things wash up on the shore here?"

"We don't get too much," Nichols said. "The tide usually flows west, out of the bay on the south side of the island, but last night's storm caused some unusual tidal patterns. As you can see, the victim isn't the only thing that washed up."

Monk's eyes swept the length of the beach, noticing the odds and ends of debris caught on the rocks. His mind processed the facts. If the death was the result of homicide, the killer must have expected his victim to be washed out to sea instead of being swept toward the island. He turned his attention back to the victim. "Do you think drowning was the cause of death?"

"Looks that way." Dekker placed her hands on her hips and jerked her head towards the water. "Probably rode out to have some fun, but couldn't handle the waves and got tossed out of his boat."

Stottlemeyer turned to Monk. "We'll know more after the autopsy, but I'd like to know what you think."

Dekker rolled her eyes as she looked at her watch. "Well, let's hurry it up. I need to be off the island by noon."

Monk narrowed his eyes at her. "Do we have the time of death?"

Washington flipped back a page of his notepad. "Between 6:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. last night. Was as close as they could get with the body having spent so much time in the cold water.

"Last night?" Monk furrowed his brows. "Who in their right mind would have gone out on the water last night?"

Dekker shrugged. "Storm didn't get bad until late. Probably thought he could beat it."

Washington shook his head. "Doesn't sound like Ross. We've talked before. He was an experienced boater and knew the dangers in these waters, especially during bad weather. He would've been watching the forecast and wouldn't have attempted it."

Stottlemeyer lifted the sheet. Monk instinctively recoiled, lifting his arm to cover his nose and mouth. Natalie gasped and turned her head. The bloated body of Sergeant Ross was hard to look at. Facedown with his head turned, they could see the impact of Marine life nibbling at his nose and lips. Besides that, his head and hands contained numerous contusions and lacerations. "He's still in uniform," Monk noted. "Why would he wear his uniform if he went boating for pleasure?"

Washington coughed, choking down the smell. "We waved to each other while we left the precinct around 5:30. Said he was heading home. Didn't mention anything about going out on the boat."

Monk squatted and moved his hands along the victim's clothing. "So, whatever happened took place before he had time to change." He looked toward Ranger Nichols. "Did his gun wash up with him?"

He shook his head. "We didn't see it."

Monk returned his attention to the victim's clothing, stopping as he felt the left sleeve of his uniform jacket. He bent for a closer view, then pulled a pair of tweezers from his pocket. With them, he plucked a small, yellow fiber from the outer seam of the sleeve and held it up to the sunlight.

Stottlemeyer bent over Monk's shoulder. "What do you have there?"

"I'm not sure, but it's not from his uniform." He took a closer look. "I think it's rope fiber."

"Rope is usually found on boats," Dekker said, her sarcasm unfiltered.

Monk dropped the fiber into the bag Washington provided and turned his attention to the victim's head. Taking out his handkerchief, he parted the hair at the back of his scalp and looked up. "Did you notice this large wound?"

Dekker tapped her fingers against her hip. "He has a dozen lacerations on his head, probably from being dragged across the rocks offshore. What's different about that one?"

"The placement," Monk said. "It's on the back of his head, but he was washed up face down. The rest of the cuts are on his face and hands. Look at his uniform. The front is shredded while the back is relatively intact. This wound is also much deeper." He stood and accepted a wipe from Natalie. "By the angle, I think something hit him from above. It's not consistent with how he would have landed in the water, whether he jumped, fell, or was thrown. The coroner can confirm this, but I believe it did significant damage."

"Enough to kill him?" Stottlemeyer asked.

Monk nodded. "I think he was dead before he ever hit the water."

Dekker stopped tapping. "So, you're saying he was murdered?"

"Yes," said Monk.

"Who do you think killed him?" she asked.

"I don't know," Monk said. "That's what we have to find out."

"Well, there goes my day." She sighed as she pulled out her cell phone. "Excuse me while I call my boss."

Stottlemeyer watched until Dekker was well out of earshot, then turned to Monk. "Our CSI techs found another piece of evidence, but I don't want that park ranger to get ahold of it."

"What is it?" Natalie asked, taking her husband's arm.

"Ross had a bag hanging from his ankle."

"A bag?"

"Yes, a cloth, drawstring bag," Stottlemeyer said, "and in the bag, we found a wallet and a nice watch."

Monk raised his eyebrows. "The victim's wallet?"

Stottlemeyer lowered his voice. "No. The wallet contained the I.D. of one Eduardo Gomez of San Mateo."

Natalie looked at Monk. "Eddie? How did his wallet end up with Ross?"

"Their murders are connected?" Monk asked.

"Looks that way," Stottlemeyer said.

Natalie leaned in closer. "Do you think Officer Ross's killer was trying to frame him for Eddie's murder?"

Monk rubbed his forehead. "I don't think the perp intended for Ross to be found. I think he expected him to wash out to sea, so it wouldn't make sense for him to plant the bag on him."

"I think the same guy killed both," Stottlemeyer said. "I think he threw the bag overboard the same time he tossed Ross in, trying to get rid of both."

"He was expecting the bag to sink," Monk said, "but it got tangled on Ross's foot and got washed up along with him."

"Perp picked a very bad night to dispose of a body and evidence," Washington said, rejoining them.

Upon Agent Dekker's return, she and Captain Stottlemeyer consulted on the division of tasks necessary for the investigation of the possible homicide of Elliott Ross. It was decided that Dekker would take on the job of interviewing the park rangers who worked the last shift the night before as well as rangers on duty in other national park jurisdictions in the bay area. They would be questioned to see if any suspicious activity was noted around the bay or along any of the other shorelines. The SFPD detectives would look into Ross's personal and professional contacts and check for suspicious activity around the marinas.

Natalie held Monk's hand while they watched the waves foam in the wake of the police boat's return to the city. His demeanor may have seemed uncharacteristically calm, his fear from earlier under control, but the truth was, he was simply distracted. His mind refused to release the image of Elliott Ross, the memory of the sickening sight and smell edging out any thoughts he might have regarding his present situation. The scene would have been disturbing enough had it been anyone else, but it was a fellow officer, still in uniform. It didn't matter that he had never met the man. He was a brother, and Monk was determined to find his killer. He knew it would be a tough case to solve, with quite possibly no witnesses and no crime scene. He only had the evidence found on the body, who knows how many miles from where the homicide took place. While the surprising tie to the San Mateo case added another dimension to the puzzle, it also provided hope. Hope that solving one case would lead to solving the other.

The sudden movement of the officers tying the boat to the pier tugged him back. The gentle squeeze of Natalie's hand assured him they had safely returned to shore. He glanced down at her. Without a spoken word, her touch told him she believed in him, she was proud of him, and she loved him. It was what he needed most. Despite the murder, despite the fact he was on a boat, in the water, he returned her smile. No one could ask for a better partner, in work or in life.