“Tell me what you did, Dominic.” It was time. “Miriama deserves that. She trusted you not just with herself, but with her child.”

Dominic’s entire self just crumpled. “After I spoke to Dr. Symon, I didn’t know what to do. I thought about breaking it off with her, but how could I let Miriama go? She was mine. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen and she was mine.”

Perhaps he had loved Miriama, Will thought, but it had been about possession as well. Just like Vincent, Dominic had wanted to capture a beautiful, precious creature and brand her as his.

“She kept asking me what was wrong and I kept saying nothing. I tried to make things like they were before I knew. More than a week passed and it was okay. The ­day—­” Gulps of air. “I made her a picnic lunch that final day and we laughed together and I thought it would be all right.”

He exhaled. “But as soon as I left her, all I could think was that she was lying to me each and every minute we were together. The scream kept building inside me until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I came to the cliffs planning to call and ask her to meet me ­there… and then there she was, running toward me.” A sick smile. “It was like our meeting was meant to be. She smiled when she saw me.”

“You had an alibi.” Though it wasn’t a perfect one; the timeline was difficult, but not impossible.

“She must’ve sprinted that last part to the cliffs. She did that sometimes. She was out of breath when she ­arrived… And my car was right there.”

An extra two, three minutes. The cost of a life.

“Did you go directly to the whirlpool?” That black maw of water and rocks was the only possible scene of death, given the time frame.

“No. We took a short forest track that runs parallel to the cliffs and there’s this bit where it kind of opens up and you’re right by the whirlpool. Not near the edge,” Dominic whispered. “Safe, by the trees.”

Will had looked under the trees, but the ­wind-­tossed leaf fall there had made it impossible to spot a disturbance.

“Miriama stopped smiling when I accused her of tricking me.” Dominic dashed away tears with the back of his hand. “She begged me to listen, said she’d never wanted to use me. Said I was the best man who’d ever come into her life. I couldn’t hear her, I was so angry. I told her she had to ­choose—­the baby or me. I told her she had to get an abortion, that I wasn’t going to raise another man’s bastard. She was mine.”

Will could see the scene in his mind’s eye, wildly alive Miriama on the edge of the cliff, arguing fiercely with this man who thought he’d captured a star in his hands and wanted to own it body and soul. “What happened?”

“The way she looked at me when I said that,” Dominic whispered, “the way she crossed her arms around her middle and just looked at me. Like I was a monster. And I got this red haze across my vision and I don’t remember what happened next. What I remember is that when the haze passed, Miriama was dead in my arms. There were marks around her neck, one side of her face crushed in like I’d punched her, the rest of her face all puffed up, and her eyes bloody.”

Will wasn’t buying the idea of ­rage-­induced memory loss. Oh, there had been rage, of that he was sure. Dominic hadn’t gone out with a plan to kill Miriama. He’d done so in a fit of anger. Paradoxically, his lack of planning was why he’d almost gotten away with ­it—­he’d made no call that could be traced back, altered no plans, bought no weapons.

And he’d been genuinely devastated in the aftermath.

But, it took a lot to strangle a woman to near death with your bare hands; it wasn’t a thing of seconds but minutes. Dominic remembered what he’d done, even if he was too cowardly to look into the past and into his own horror.

But the ­punch… that explained why Dominic had no scratches on his face or arms, why there’d been no signs of a struggle. Will would never know for certain, but he had the strong feeling Dominic’s punch had knocked Miriama out cold. Easy prey for a man determined to strangle her to death. “Was there blood?”

“I don’t know.” Dominic swallowed hard. “But I always have a change in the car in case a patient throws up on me or something when I’m out at the farms. I dressed in my car on a lonely part of the road, threw the used clothes in a bin the council sets out for campers.”

No one, Will realized, had noticed because Dominic consistently wore white or ­light-­colored business shirts and dark pants as his work uniform.

“I picked her up and threw her into the whirlpool,” Dominic whispered. “I threw my beautiful Miriama into the whirlpool before sprinting back to my car. I just had to carry her a few feet. She was tall, but she wasn’t heavy. I threw my Miriama into the black water.”

“She drowned.”

Dominic screamed and screamed and screamed. “I’m a doctor! I checked her pulse!”

And yet Will trusted Ankita’s call. Miriama had drowned. Maybe Dominic had made a mistake in his ­shock… and maybe he’d made a ­cold-­blooded decision that he would have to live with for the rest of his life.

The screams went on and on until Dominic’s throat turned raw, and then there was only a ­wind-­stirred silence for a half hour.

“Can I say ­good-­bye to her before you take me in?” Dominic’s voice, so hoarse it was a croak.

When Will nodded, the young doctor rose and picked up a large bouquet he must’ve brought with him. Taking the flowers and the bracelet, he walked to the edge of the waves. Will was up on his feet a second later, even as Dominic de Souza tried to run into the ravenous ocean.

Dragging the other man back from the water that tried to suck them both in and under, Will slammed Dominic down on safe ground. “You don’t get to take the easy out,” he said. “You’ll answer in court for your crime, and you’ll look Matilda in the face while you tell her what you did to Miriama.”

Dominic de Souza sobbed into the sand, the bracelet still clutched to his chest and his mouth shaping a single word. “Sunshine.”

EPILOGUE

Two months and a lifetime after they’d laid Miriama to rest, Anahera stood on the cliffs, staring out at the water crashing onto shore below as the wind rippled through her hair. “I can’t stay here,” she said to the man who stood beside her. “I came to hide, but that was never what my mother wanted for me.”

“Where do you want to go?” Will closed his hand over her chilled fingers.

Anahera shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“How about San Diego, for starters?”

Turning to face him, Anahera said, “What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’ve had requests to consult with police departments all over the world. Apparently, since he keeps asking to talk to me, they consider me the Vincent Baker ­expert—­and they have a lot of cold cases to close.”

“What about your job here?”

“I think I’ve had enough of hiding, too.” Gray eyes that let her in, let her see the man within. “There’ll be a lot of travel back and ­forth—­I have to keep talking to Vincent, see if I can help find the bodies of his other victims.”