Will had a feeling his superiors weren’t sure he could be trusted with a deadly weapon. He didn’t know why. A gun had nothing to do with why he was in Golden Cove. He’d beaten that murderous bastard’s face to a bloody pulp with his bare hands.

Those hands tightened on the steering wheel.

The upper windows of the ­bed-­and-­breakfast blurred gold in the rain as he passed by. The place had only three guests right now, all seasoned hikers who came regularly enough to Golden Cove that they were honorary locals. Will had run them anyway, found nothing. All three had been helping with the search.

He looked in his rearview mirror out of habit to make sure there was nothing problematic in town as he left, was surprised not to see any lights in the supermarket. Usually, the Lees left on their bright green sign if nothing else. Could be Shan and Pat had decided to switch to backup generators to make sure their fresh goods didn’t spoil should the power go out tonight. He’d talk with them tomorrow, find out how it had gone.

For now, he drove on through a Golden Cove that was silent and cold and dark.

It got even colder and darker once he hit the far edge of town and left behind what few lights were burning. He drove with care, his eyes on alert for a patch of pink or orange. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until his headlights flashed on something and he stopped the ­vehicle… To see it was only the silver underside of a ­wind-­tossed candy bar wrapper.

It blew away with the next gust.

Putting the car back into gear, he carried on and made the turn into Anahera’s drive.

His SUV rumbled along the gravel, pulling up to a stop next to her Jeep. She’d left on the porch light, and he was grateful for it as he got out and jogged toward the cabin. He’d locked the watch and tin safely inside a special compartment he’d built himself in back of his vehicle, hidden beneath the well for the spare tire. He’d also made sure the sirens would go off if anyone tried to get into the ­vehicle—­and they were loud enough to penetrate even this weather.

The door opened before he reached the porch. “I heard your car,” Anahera said as his boots hit the wood. “You’re drenched.”

“Accident on the road out of town,” he said, shaking himself off as well as he could.

“Everyone okay?”

“Yeah.” He wiped his face. “I should leave my jacket out on the porch. I’ll dribble all over your place otherwise.”

“The wind will rip it away and down to the water.” Anahera waved him inside. “There’s a little area here where you can hang it up. My grandmother didn’t like mess, had this put in when my grandfather built the cabin.”

Will saw what she meant when he stepped inside. The cabin had what might be called a mudroom in some places. Except it wasn’t that big. It was more like a shallow ­pre-­entrance. On the left side was a board with hooks. Anahera’s anorak hung on one. On the other side was a large shoebox bench seat with a pair of boots already underneath.

Will undid his jacket and hung it on a hook beside Anahera’s anorak, the orange color and white ­high-­visibility stripes bold next to the olive green. Then, taking a seat on top of the bench seat, he bent down to unlace his boots and get them off his feet. He chucked his soaked socks beside his boots, having placed the boots under the seat. By then, Anahera was back with a thick yellow towel.

“Thanks.” He began to dry his sopping wet hair.

“You can thank Josie. She’s the one who supplied me with extra ­towels—­sometimes, I think that woman sees the future.”

Will still couldn’t see how Anahera and Josie’s friendship had ­endured—­Josie might have a business, but the café wasn’t her focus. She was the kind of woman who made a packed lunch for her husband and who doted on her son; she’d been known to shut the café if her son’s school needed a parent volunteer and she didn’t have staff to manage the café while she was gone. She’d no doubt bestow the same maternal attention on the child she was currently carrying.

For Josie, her life was complete. She felt no need to ever leave this small town.

Anahera couldn’t be more different. Not only had she left Golden Cove to carve out a life so unique that many here would never understand it, she had a hardness to her that Josie would never have. Anahera, Will thought, knew more about the dark side of human nature than her friend could even imagine.

“I’ll be sure to thank her,” he said after rubbing his hair to some semblance of dryness. “I don’t suppose you have a heater out here?”

Arms folded over the thick cable knit of her chocolate brown sweater, Anahera leaned against the edge of the doorway into the cabin proper. “Townie. Soft as they come.”

“That’s me. Can’t do anything without my fluffy slippers and cup of tea.”

Anahera laughed as she walked into the cabin, the sound unexpectedly husky. When he followed, still using the towel in a vain effort to dab himself dry, he found the place warm and snug. A fire crackled in the fireplace, a pile of logs stacked to one side of it. “Did you get the chimney cleaned?”

“Are you always this way?” Anahera asked. “Annoying?”

“It’s my job. And if you burn down this place, I’m the one that’s going to have to do the paperwork.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And yes, the chimney’s fine. My mother taught me how to take care of that myself.”

Will looked around the room, taking in the cleanly swept surfaces, the old wooden table that stood neatly in one corner, two rickety chairs tucked in underneath. There was no bed, which meant there had to be more to this place than met the eye. “You have another room?”

Anahera used her thumb to point over her shoulder. “Facilities down that way,” she said, misunderstanding the reason for his question. “I don’t have anything for you to change into.”

“I’ll dry out.” To make that go faster, he took off the gray shirt he was wearing over a white T-­shirt and, dragging one of the chairs close to the fireplace, hung the shirt on the back. While his jeans would no doubt remain heavily damp until he made it home, his lightweight tee should dry quickly enough.

Deciding he needed to wash his hands, he walked down the small hallway hidden behind the kitchen area and found himself facing the partially closed door to another room. Prior to that and on the right were the toilet and shower. On the left was the open door to an empty room that had probably been Anahera’s mother’s bedroom.

He was more interested in the other bedroom. It boasted a bed, from what he could see, and not much else. And Anahera isn’t a suspect, he reminded himself when his brain began to scan automatically for signs of trouble. He supposed that, technically, she was as viable a suspect as anyone in Golden Cove, but she had no motive that he could see. She’d returned only days earlier and he was beginning to get the feeling that whatever had happened to Miriama, it had to do with the ­town—­and with secrets.

28

Stepping into the bathroom, he washed off the traces of black grit that had sunk into the lifelines on his palms, probably while pushing Vincent’s sedan off the road.