“Why release your music under the name Angel?” Will asked once they were on the sidewalk.

Anahera rolled her eyes and her shoulders, as if shrugging off the stiffness. “Record company’s idea. They did a search on the meaning of my name, decided the stage name would be great for promotion. You know, the ‘plays like an angel’ shtick.”

“Is it true that you’re ­self-­taught?”

“I used to sneak into the church and practice on their piano.” A faint smile. “When Pastor Mark came out to the cabin the day I got back to Golden Cove, he told me I could come play on the church piano anytime I wanted.”

“I hear they tune it once every ten years, so you might be in luck.”

Anahera laughed, and for a moment, they were just a man and a woman taking a walk in the sunshine.

A minute later, she stopped by a food truck selling ­fresh-­made wraps. “Yes?”

Will nodded and they were soon eating their lunch as they walked to the next stop. “What’s it like being a famous musician?”

“Famous pianist,” Anahera corrected. “We’re nowhere near as ­well-­known as pop stars. I have no idea how he recognized me.” She took a bite of her wrap, waited until she’d swallowed before continuing. “I only ever did a few shows and the photo they used on the cover of the last album is all darkness and broken shadows.”

Much like the music on that album. “You planning to get a piano in the cabin?” He finished his wrap. “Must be hard for a pianist to be in a place where you can’t practice your passion.”

A skateboarder whizzed down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, expertly dodging the orange cones that marked out a construction zone. He stumbled to a stop when his cap flew off and he had to run back to retrieve it, but a few seconds later he was off again. “Do you remember ever being that young?” Anahera asked, her eyes following the boy until he disappeared down the street. “Having no responsibilities, no real worries.”

“I had a cop for a father and for a mother.” Will threw both their wrappers into a trash can after holding out his hand for Anahera’s. “I grew up waiting for them to come home. Later, when I realized how dangerous their jobs could actually be, I was always ­half-­afraid to answer the door in case the news was bad.”

Anahera looked at him, her head angled and her eyes incisive. “Yet you became a cop.”

“I guess you can’t fight destiny. We are who we are.”

“Isn’t that a little fatalistic?” A sharp question.

“Don’t you believe that we’re shaped by our experiences?”

“If I believed that,” Anahera said, “I would’ve never escaped Golden Cove. I’d be like Matilda, giving my trust to the wrong man over and over again.”

Even as Anahera spoke those words, she knew she was being a hypocrite. Maybe she hadn’t fallen for a physically abusive man like her father, or like the users Matilda dated, but she’d fallen for a liar, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that a kind of abuse, too? Making a woman fall in love with you, then smashing an anvil into her already broken heart.

“This is our second stop.” Will opened the door of what looked to be nothing but a vestibule and his next words held the cool caution of a cop. “Better if I go up first here.”

Anahera followed to find herself facing a narrow flight of steps, the kind that usually led to dingy apartments or fading internet cafés. But these steps were not only well lit, with the wood polished to a shine, there was also tasteful artwork on the ­walls—­including a reproduction of one of Monet’s water lily paintings.

At the top was a heavyset Asian male dressed in a black suit; he stood with his feet braced apart, one hand loosely clasped over the wrist of the other, and his face expressionless. The only thing missing was a neon sign with the word SECURITY on it. Will had clearly already spoken to him, because he said nothing as she walked in through the door Will was holding open for her. She could see it was much heavier than the one below and reinforced with metal.

Beyond was the hushed quiet of an upscale jeweler’s. Anahera knew immediately that this wasn’t a place for casual browsers. You made an appointment during opening hours, or, if you were important enough, they’d accommodate your ­schedule—­or bring the jewels directly to you.

Not surprisingly, there was no friendly smile from the clerk this time. Instead, he gave them a supercilious sneer down his blade of a nose before scanning his gaze up then down both their bodies. “I’m afraid we’re not open to the public,” he said in a voice that matched the look on his face. “I do apologize if the security guard gave you a different impression.” Not an ounce of sincerity in those words.

Anahera wondered what he’d say if she told him she could afford the things in here. He’d probably call her a liar without saying a word. For some reason, that made her want to ­laugh… and then she remembered the jewels Edward had bought her during their marriage. Anniversary gifts. A glittering bauble for each year.

She’d left them all in a ­safety-­deposit box in London.

Will didn’t react to the clerk’s condescending manner except to take out his ID and say, “I need to talk to someone about identifying a piece of jewelry.” His tone was so even and unruffled that it was deadly.

The clerk visibly paled. “Of course, Detective,” he said and picked up a nearby phone to murmur into it.

Another man walked out from the back seconds later, followed by a woman. Of East Asian descent, they were as identical as it was possible for two people of different genders to ­be—­the same sleek hair, the same wide but fine bone structure, the same color suits. Charcoal, not black. Both paired with crisp white shirts.

“I’m Shannon Chen and this is my brother Aaron Chen,” the woman said, holding out a hand toward Will.

Not just siblings. Twins. Anahera would bet every cent she had on that.

Releasing Will’s hand after the introductions between them were over, Shannon Chen reached out for Anahera’s.

Anahera accepted the handshake, intrigued by this woman with the dark and brilliant eyes and her silent brother. “Anahera,” she said without adding anything further.

“Detective, Anahera,” Shannon Chen said, “if you’d please come into the back to our private sitting room. We have an international client and her family arriving in ten minutes and I’d rather they not see us being questioned by the police.”

“No problem,” Will said. “We’ll follow you.”

A faint smile on the other woman’s face before she and her brother led them back into the private sitting ­area—­though no one made any move to actually sit.

Instinct telling her that Shannon Chen liked the look of Will, Anahera lingered in the hallway outside the actual room. She made a point of looking at the abstract painting on the wall, the pigment carved in austerely straight lines, but her ear was tuned in to the conversation happening within.

37

“I’m attempting to track down the maker or seller of this watch,” she heard Will say. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t attempt to lie to me. This is a serious missing person investigation and if I find out that you withheld information, I won’t hesitate to charge you. It doesn’t matter if you have friends in high ­places—­they’ll drop you like a hot potato if it turns out our missing person was the victim of foul play.”