How could this city cop know that Golden Cove was branded into every cell in her body, that even when she’d slept in a soft bed in an expensive terraced house in London, while manicured grass grew in their shared city garden and designer gowns hung in her closet, she’d dreamed of this tiny town perched on the edge of an ocean so pitiless it had taken more souls than the devil?

Box stowed, she turned to hug Josie again, then got in the Jeep to drive toward that same pitiless ocean, and when she passed a narrow road that led inland, she deliberately didn’t look its way.

There was nothing for her down there.

The ­old-­growth forest on the edge of town closed in around her for five minutes before it began to thin out, let in flashes of the sea. But the cabin that stood on the far side of that growth, overlooking the sand below the cliffs, was shadowed by a huge rata tree. Sunlight only speared through on the brightest days, but that was all right. There was plenty of light on the beach once you made your way down the precariously narrow track.

Bringing the Jeep to a stop facing the side of the cabin, she just sat and stared for a long while, but nothing changed. There was no one there. No one would come out with a big smile and wave her in for a cup of tea. No one would invite her for a walk on the beach. And when Christmas came and the rata bloomed as scarlet as fresh blood, no one would sit with her under its shade.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, then made herself open the driver’s-­side door and get out. Leaving her stuff where it was, she crossed the short distance to the cabin and walked up the steps to the small porch. Leaves crunched underfoot and she saw a spider, legs furred and long, scuttle across the wood. Thick spiderwebs hung on the eaves, a thinner web around the doorknob.

Turning it, the mechanism stiff, she opened the door.

And walked into a thousand memories.

5

Will took a long drink of his beer, while beside him, Nikau nursed his. “She’s something, isn’t she?” the other man said.

Will didn’t have to ask to know who Nikau was talking about; he’d learned quickly enough that there was only one woman in town who put that tone in a man’s voice. “She’s a little young for you, Nik.” He looked over at where Miriama Hinewai Tutaia held court, her hair flowing past her waist and men buzzing around her like bees around a honeypot.

A woman that attractive to men didn’t usually have many female friends, but Miriama did. They buzzed around her, too, wanting her attention, wanting her laughter. She handled their need with generous ease, giving just enough that no one felt left out, no one felt as if they weren’t enough. And so that the ­black-­haired man with thin ­wire-­frame spectacles who had his arm possessively around her waist felt as if he mattered the most. “Dr. de Souza has also beaten you to the punch.”

“You realize he’s older than I am?”

“Only by a couple of years.” Far too young a doctor to end up a general practitioner in a desolate West Coast town, but when Will had checked up on Dominic de Souza, he’d found no black marks, no problematic history. Seemed like the man was here for exactly the reason he’d said: in a big city, he’d have been the junior in a big practice, but in Golden Cove, he got to be his own boss.

“She’ll get tired of him sooner or later,” Nikau predicted. “A woman with that much life in her, she’s not going to be happy with a podunk doctor. She’ll want wilder and I’ve got it.”

“Hate to break it to you, but the podunk doctor lives in a nice part of town and owns a flash European car. Have you seen the state of your place?”

Nikau shrugged. “If Miriama just wanted money, she’d have hooked up with one of the rich tourists who pass through here.”

Will couldn’t argue with that. Even in just three months, he’d seen more than one out-­of-­towner take a single look at Miriama and fall at her feet. Not all were young backpackers, either; Golden Cove also got the rich travelers who came for the pottery or to stay in the refurbished B&B, which had recently earned a place in a ­high-­end travel guide as a “hidden gem.”

“I hear she’s leaving.” That was the thing with this ­town—­the way the gossip flowed, you’d think you knew everything. But there were secrets here, a thick tide of lava beneath the surface. Will felt them, and once, when he’d been a detective who dug and dug and dug, he’d have begun to poke around. But if he’d still been that man, he wouldn’t be here, so the point was moot.

“Six weeks to go.” Nikau took a sip of his beer. “Plenty of time.”

Snorting, Will returned his gaze to the bottles behind the bar. There was no fancy lighting here, no glass shelves. It was dark wood and solid, the bottles lined up neat as soldiers. “She’ll burn you up.” Will was grateful he’d never felt a tug toward Miriama; she was too young, too shiny, too innocent.

Will had lost his innocence so long ago that he barely remembered the taste of it.

“Man likes being burned now and then.” Nikau turned his attention back to the bar. “What about you? How long you gonna turn down the invitations coming your way?”

“Let’s say I’m not in the mood.” He wasn’t in the mood for much, not even living.

“You still got a dick?”

“Last time I looked.”

“Then you’re in the mood. Go grab Miss Tierney of the big blue eyes and the big tits and heat up the sheets. She’s been shooting you ‘come to me, cowboy’ looks since we sat down.”

Will had nothing against the schoolteacher who worked in the next town over, but he had no desire to screw her, much less date her. It was like that part of him had switched off thirteen months ago. Will wasn’t even sure he wanted it to switch back on.

Deciding to change the focus of the conversation, he said, “You ever going to tell me what you’re doing in Golden Cove?” Will had run a background check on the other man the day after he took up the position of local ­cop—­Nikau had looked like trouble and Will had wanted to know how bad it was.

What he’d discovered hadn’t been anything like what he’d expected.

“Field research,” was the mocking answer. “Talking of which”—­he swung off the bar ­stool—­“your dick might have taken a vacation, but mine hasn’t.” A slap of Will’s shoulder. “Christine Tierney ­off-­limits?”

“Only if she says so. I’ve got nothing to do with it.” He raised his bottle. “Good luck.” Throwing back the last of his beer, he put the bottle down on the stained and scarred wood of the bar and got up. “I’m going home.”

Shaking his head at that, Nikau prowled off toward the group of women that held Christine Tierney. Despite the other man’s question about Christine, Will wasn’t sure who it was that Nikau had in his ­sights—­and he wasn’t sure Nik cared.

Having already confirmed that Nikau was planning to walk home, he said ­good-­bye to a few others, then headed out. The night wind was cold, bracing, the salt water heavy in the air tonight. He strode toward the street that would lead him to the far eastern end of town.

He’d lived in the B&B for the first month, until he got sick of the landlord knowing his every move. So he’d rented a house that belonged to a couple who’d left Golden Cove but hadn’t been able to find a buyer for their property. Not many people wanted to move to such a remote area on a permanent basis.