And Daniel still fit all of the parameters; throw in his history with Keira and he fit them even better. Then there was the fact that nothing Miriama had written so far told him whether or not her lover had been an outsider or a local.

He refreshed his coffee before he turned the page into the world of a girl so beautiful and so full of life that she’d glowed like sunshine. As the entries ­continued—­closer together ­now—­she never once mentioned the name of her lover, as if keeping their secret was so ingrained that she didn’t dare utter the truth even in her private journal. Though the secrecy seemed to weigh increasingly heavily on her.

I wanted to shout his name to the heavens today. It was such a sunny, clear, ­blue-­sky day and I wanted to swing myself around and around in a circle and shout out how much I loved him, but even though I was alone on the beach, under the old cabin where Ana used to live with her ma before she went away to London, I didn’t do it.

I’m so used to keeping his name secret that I sometimes wonder if I remember it. And then I wonder if he remembers mine. Or do I only exist for him behind the closed doors of hotel suites where no one knows us, and I check in under my own name and he just comes up to my room, no record of his presence.

When I use my credit card to pay for the room, I always think about the money he gives me to make sure I can clear the payment. Always cash. No trail. I don’t exist anywhere in his actual life. He only exists in mine in the pages of this ­journal—­and even here, he doesn’t have a name.

Can a relationship survive without names? Without an identity?

Will frowned, realizing he’d made certain unconscious judgments about Miriama. He’d thought her pretty and talented and sweet. But he’d never realized she thought so deeply, saw so ­clearly—­for one, she’d seen Kyle’s real face when the young man had fooled everyone else.

Eyes gritty, he glanced at the time that glowed on his microwave and knew he should go to bed. But he couldn’t put down the journal. It might not give him a name, but Miriama may well have dropped other clues. And he wanted to know two things in particular. Deciding there was no way he could read through the entire journal tonight, he flipped forward.

There. Three months and two weeks ago.

I’ve ended it. This time, forever. I have a life to live and that life needs to be out in the open, under the sunlight. I need a partner by my side, not a ghost no one knows, no one sees.

Two weeks after that came the second entry Will was hunting.

Dominic asked me out again today. This time, I said yes. He’s gorgeous in that nerdy, cute way, and he looks at me like I’m a goddess. He also has ambitions just like I do.

He told me he knows I don’t want to be stuck in Golden Cove forever. He doesn’t, either. He has a ­three-­year plan. After he completes his contract here, he’ll have enough experience to get work in a larger town, from which he’ll eventually move to a city practice.

And after that, he says he’ll look for international opportunities.

I’m going to try.

Dominic is perfect.

Something about that entry struck Will as “off,” but maybe it was just the idea of Miriama making a list and ticking boxes. She’d called Dominic gorgeous, but the words she’d written about the doctor had been without passion, holding none of the terrified joy that infused her entries about her previous lover. Maybe that was a good ­thing—­the girl was smart enough to know she was on the rebound.

Will flipped to the very last entry in the journal. Along the way, he caught sight of an entry that had his shoulders bunching.

I’ve become so good at keeping secrets. Until I can’t even write some things here, in a place no one else will ever look. It scares me sometimes, who I’ve become because of him.

The final entry was dated four days before her disappearance.

I think Dominic’s getting ready to ask me to marry him. Auntie keeps smiling at me in a secretive way and he went out of town the other day, then blushed bright red when I asked him where he’d been. He never lies to me, so I didn’t push it, but I think he went to pick up a ring.

I don’t love him like he loves me and I feel guilty about that sometimes, but I do love him. He’s so happy when he’s with ­me—­what I can give him, it’s enough. And what he can give me, it’s what I need. I don’t want to be alone. I’ve never really liked being alone. Marriage will be a good thing. It’s what I want. I’ll say yes.

Closing the journal, Will stared at the wall across from him. Covered by yellowed wallpaper dotted with tiny brown flowers, it was honestly the ugliest wall he’d ever seen, and that included the one in his grandmother’s house that featured giant blue roses. He’d loved his gran, missed her when she passed, but that ­wallpaper…

Will glanced back down at the final entry. Tight timeline or not, he’d been chewing over Dominic de Souza as a possible suspect in the back of his ­mind—­lovers were always at the top of the list. But if Miriama had decided to say yes to his proposal, then rejection as a motive was off the table. Dominic clearly knew he was punching above his weight when it came to ­Miriama—­she was the kind of woman who’d inspire envy in other men, and Will had the sense Dominic enjoyed that.

He could see no reason for the doctor to have harmed Miriama when she was about to give him everything he ever wanted.

Which took Will back to the lover Miriama had rejected.

Reading between the lines, that man had been very possessive of ­Miriama—­he was also wealthy and likely not used to being told no.

Thunder rumbled again, a massive boom of sound.

It didn’t look like it now, but according to the weather report, this storm would clear by morning. If that held true, he’d make the trip to Christchurch and get started on the jewelers and watchmakers; first, however, he’d run a wide patrol through Golden Cove and surrounding areas, make sure everyone had come through the storm okay. The volunteer search teams would no doubt go out again, but Will was grimly certain that if Miriama had been anywhere where she could be found, she would’ve already been found.

Setting aside the journal for now, he decided to look quickly through the rest of the items in the tin. He found mostly what he’d expected: ticket stubs from a show in Auckland, a curling photograph of a stunning woman who might’ve been Miriama with twenty more years on her, a Valentine’s Day card that had the words To my love and Always, I’m yours written within and was signed only with xoxo.

The flotsam of Miriama’s ­life—­flotsam she’d kept as reminders of moments that had meant something to her. He’d have been disappointed not to find a photograph of her lover if he hadn’t already read her journal and known how carefully she kept that secret. If she did have an image of the man, it was most probably on her phone.

Or, he realized, it could be out in the open in a way that’d raise no ­eyebrows—­one of her photographic portraits. He’d seen images of Vincent, Daniel, other men both known and unknown in her files. He’d look at those portraits again, but with Miriama skilled at bringing out emotion in all her subjects, he wasn’t expecting a sudden epiphany.

The Valentine’s Day card might be useful in providing a handwriting sample to compare against the lover’s, but that would come after he’d tracked down a solid suspect.