Bred in the Bone
Author: Kendra Elliot
Date: 2019-10-29 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mystery; Fiction; Romantic Suspense; Romance; Thriller; Crime; Suspense; Novella; Mystery Thriller
Description: In the fourth Widow’s Island novella by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Kendra Elliot, the truth of a twenty-year disappearance will finally come to light. When the town drunk ends up dead in a hit-and-run, FBI special agent Cate Wilde expects that solving the case will be cut and dried. But evidence quickly surfaces that the victim was involved with another crime. A crime that has gone cold for twenty years. A crime of personal importance to Cate. Cate’s best friend, Samantha, went missing at fourteen, leaving behind nothing except a jacket and an island full of unanswered questions. S
Publisher: Montlake Romance

ALSO BY KENDRA ELLIOT

MERCY KILPATRICK NOVELS

A Merciful Death

A Merciful Truth

A Merciful Secret

A Merciful Silence

A Merciful Fate

A Merciful Promise

BONE SECRETS NOVELS

Hidden

Chilled

Buried

Alone

Known

BONE SECRETS NOVELLAS

Veiled

CALLAHAN & MCLANE NOVELS (PART OF THE BONE SECRETS WORLD)

Vanished

Bridged

Spiraled

Targeted

ROGUE RIVER NOVELLAS

On Her Father’s Grave (Rogue River)

Her Grave Secrets (Rogue River)

Dead in Her Tracks (Rogue Winter)

Death and Her Devotion (Rogue Vows)

Truth Be Told (Rogue Justice)

WIDOW’S ISLAND NOVELLAS

Close to the Bone

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Text copyright © 2019 by Oceanfront Press Company

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com

Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

e-ISBN-13: 9781542042529

Cover design by Caroline Teagle Johnson

CONTENTS

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

1

“What kind of person doesn’t stop?” muttered Cate.

“The kind who was too impaired to notice or too scared to face the consequences of killing a man,” answered Tessa as she watched Henry kneel beside the hit-and-run victim.

FBI special agent Cate Wilde looked away from the dead man, fighting to keep her stomach calm and her anger in check. County deputy Tessa Black appeared composed and centered as she and two other deputies handled the death scene in the middle of the rural island road.

The victim had been struck by a vehicle and either knocked or dragged thirty feet from his mangled bicycle. Deputy Bruce Taylor was taking dozens of photos while Tessa and Deputy Kurt Olson analyzed the scene.

Cate and Henry had been enjoying a chilly but romantic hike up to the Crone Mountain lookout when Henry had been called to the accident. As Widow’s Island’s only doctor, Henry Powers was also the coroner—a position he hadn’t expected when he’d bought the medical practice on the island earlier that year.

“There are no skid marks,” continued Tessa. “To me that means an impaired driver is more likely the cause. And since there are no more ferries today, the vehicle is still on the island.”

Wrapping her coat tighter against the cold, Cate glanced at the lowering December sun. They’d soon be out of light to search for the deadly vehicle.

Not my case.

It wasn’t. She had accompanied Henry as an observer. This death was firmly in the county sheriff’s department’s hands.

“Anyone know him?” Henry asked as he checked the victim’s limbs for ease of movement.

“Brad Gill,” Kurt stated simultaneously with Tessa.

Everyone knew everyone on the sparsely populated island in the Pacific Northwest. Kurt, Tessa, and Cate had all been raised on Widow’s Island. Henry was the newcomer from Southern California, and Bruce was a recent transplant from Oregon.

“Why would he ride a bike on a winding road with no shoulder?” asked Henry.

“Lost his license,” said Kurt. “I can’t tell you how many times he’s been brought in for DUI. Looks like following the rules cost him his life this time.” The graying deputy was grim.

The irony made Cate wince.

“He wasn’t the nicest guy,” Kurt said, earning a curious raised brow from Henry.

“You’re being kind,” said Tessa. “He was a jerk. The type who enjoyed pissing off everyone. Most people avoided him.”

“The accident was recent,” Henry said quickly. Cate suspected he was tactfully changing the conversation’s direction. “Some of the blood is still wet, and there’s no sign that rigor has started.”

“This road is very quiet,” said Cate. “But it does have some traffic.”

“Clearly.” Kurt’s tone was flat. “I’ll have Bruce check the vehicles leaving on tomorrow’s ferry. The damage caused by this accident should be obvious.”

“Someone is going to have a shitty Christmas in a couple weeks,” Henry said. He’d stood but continued to study Brad Gill’s contorted body.

Cate saw Tessa and Kurt exchange a look at Henry’s comment. “What is it?” she asked.

“Brad was estranged from his father,” Kurt said. “There are no other relatives around that I know of. The two of them had words every time they bumped into each other in town. We were called to separate them several times.”

“What was the issue?” asked Henry.

“That basically Brad was a lousy excuse for a human being,” said Tessa. “A lotta anger between them.” She sighed. “Jon Gill’s home will be my first visit.”

“Wait a minute.” The name had set off bells in Cate’s brain. “Jon Gill is the guy we wanted to talk to about Samantha. He used to own the orchard where her necklace was found.”

Tessa blinked as a dozen emotions flickered across her face, and she touched the small pendant at her neck.

Twenty years ago the third member of Cate and Tessa’s teenage trio, Samantha Bishop, had vanished, her coat left at the top of the deadly Widow’s Walk. The police investigation had never determined if she’d jumped from the high cliff, been kidnapped, or simply left the island. But Cate and Tessa knew their best friend would have never disappeared on purpose without telling them first.

A few days ago, Tessa had found Samantha’s necklace in the orchard’s pump house. Cate’s grandmother had given the three girls each a necklace with a portion of a heart that said “Sisters” on the back. Cate and Tessa had already decided to take another look into the cold case of Samantha’s disappearance, but the discovery of the necklace had opened up a fresh lead in their personal investigation.

Had Samantha been held in the pump house decades ago?

How many people could access the pump house back then?

Jon Gill was at the top of Cate and Tessa’s interview list.

“Our hit-and-run victim is the son of the man you want to interview?” Henry asked Cate, a wrinkle forming between his brows. “You can’t question him about Samantha’s disappearance. His son just died.”

Henry was right.

Cate pressed her lips into a tight line. She’d been playing phone tag with Jon Gill, trying to set up an interview. She hadn’t specified what she wanted to speak to him about, but now Samantha’s case would go on the back burner until his son’s murder was solved.

“Jon might surprise you,” said Kurt. “He’s a straight shooter. Will want to help if he can.”

She gave the older deputy a grateful glance. Guilt had swamped her for thinking about her friend instead of the victim at their feet. Today was about Brad Gill. And finding his killer.

“Bruce and I can finish up here if you’ll go break the news to Jon,” Kurt told Tessa.

Cate studied her friend. Tessa’s eyes were reluctant but determined as she considered how to handle the horrible job of delivering the news of Brad’s death. “I’ll come,” Cate offered. “We’ll talk to him about Samantha another day.”

“I’ll stay until the body is picked up,” Henry said. He gave Cate a quick kiss and squeezed her hand, holding her gaze. Her heart warmed at the support in his eyes. They’d been dating for a few months, ever since she returned to the island for medical leave from her FBI job. They saw each other nearly every day, and he was burrowing deeper and deeper into her heart.

Henry made it hard to think about returning to her job on the mainland.

Her medical leave was almost up. She needed to make a decision.

“What are you going to do?” Tessa asked Cate pointedly as she drove to Jon Gill’s home. The deputy had reached Jon on the phone, explaining that she needed to see him about a police matter, and he’d agreed to meet.

“About what?”

“Henry.”

Cate was silent. It’d been on her mind nonstop. Her time off was finished at the end of the month. Could the two of them handle a long-distance relationship? Her office was in Bellingham, and it was a good ninety minutes to Widow’s Island by ferry. When the ferries were running.

She didn’t want long distance.

She couldn’t ask Henry to leave his medical practice. He was the only doctor on the island, he clearly loved it here, and the island had embraced him. That didn’t happen to everyone.

“I don’t know.”

The silence stretched in the SUV.

The island had been poking and prodding at Cate’s heart over the past month, almost a physical sensation. Cate had left long ago to attend college and start work, intending to only come back for visits. Her grandmother had always asserted that Cate would return for good one day. Jane knew things. She’d said the same thing about Cate’s brother, Logan, who had returned after a long time away. He’d found a job and was now seeing Tessa.

Logan had firmly dug his roots back into Widow’s Island.

Jane’s foresight was eerie.

Is she right about me?

Cate loved her job. She enjoyed the people she worked with, and her days were never the same. She’d worked hard to get into the FBI. She couldn’t give that up. Could she?

“Three people have asked me about Samantha’s necklace,” Tessa said into the silence.

“What?” Cate blinked. “Who told? I thought you’d kept the necklace discovery confidential.”

Tessa gave her a knowing glance, making Cate realize her question had been ridiculous. Gossip ran rampant on Widow’s. There was no stopping it or tracing the offenders. It was simply part of rural island life.

Cate tried to put a positive spin on the rumor mill. “Maybe someone will come forward with information.”

“It’s been twenty years.”

“Don’t I know it.” She looked out the window as Tessa turned off the country road onto a gravel drive. Ahead was a long row of single-level apartments. The white brick walls were in need of paint, and the roof seemed too low, making Cate wonder if she’d have to duck to step inside. Old sedans and pickups were parked haphazardly in the dirt out front.

The farthest apartment had been a party spot when Cate was in high school. It’d been uninhabited, but kids had broken in no matter how many times the apartment complex owner had boarded up the doors and windows. Beer, pot, sex. The usual. Cate hadn’t attended, but she suspected her brother, Logan, had gone a few times.

She didn’t want to know where the teens hung out now. Island life was slow, and people took their entertainment where they could find it. Sadly a lot of that entertainment involved drug addiction. The monotony was more bearable if you were stoned.

Cate had always loved island life. She loved the earthy and salty scents, the steep green hills, and the endless ocean views. People came from around the world to visit Widow’s and its neighboring islands. Some tried to stay, craving the silence or seeking nature’s therapy for broken hearts, ill health, and battered psyches. Something about the island offered comfort and healing to many in need. To Cate it was a piece of quiet paradise that happened to be invaded by tourists during the summer.

But by the time she had finished high school, Cate had been ready to leave and join the real world.

“This place hasn’t changed,” Tessa said in a low voice. “We have a call here every other week. Usually domestics.” She parked and then rested her hands on the wheel, staring at the apartment. “Damn, I hate this part.”

“How many times have you delivered this kind of news?” Cate was glad she’d never had the experience.

“Only once. It sticks with you, though.” Tessa threw open her door and immediately stepped out as if avoiding more questions.

Cate followed the deputy to the third squatty apartment, keeping Tessa between herself and the door. Tessa wore a ballistic vest; Cate did not. Her focus centered on the door, and the rest of the world fell away as sweat started under her arms.

Two months ago Cate had been shot on the job as she waited for someone to answer her knock; the agent with her didn’t survive.

Jon Gill’s door opened when they were ten feet away, making her heart rate skyrocket.

His hands were empty, and Cate sucked in deep breaths to slow the beating in her chest.

How can I return to my job if I can’t knock on a door?

Jon Gill appeared to be in his seventies. White tufts of hair surrounded a bald crown. The thick lenses of his glasses distorted his eyes as they looked from Tessa to Cate. He scowled at her. “Who’s that?”

“I’m Cate Wilde, Mr. Gill. I left a few messages for you last week.”

His face cleared. “Ah. Jane’s granddaughter. You’re the FBI agent that was shot. She talks nonstop about you and Logan.”

Cate didn’t know what to say. Thank you?

“Can we come in, Jon?” Tessa asked.

He stepped back and waved them in, and they sat gingerly on an ancient couch in the tiny living room. He took a seat in a wooden rocking chair and crossed his legs. His scowl had returned, a look of suspicion in his magnified eyes. “What’s going on? First the FBI calls me last week, and today it’s you.” He glared at Tessa.

“This isn’t related to Cate’s calls last week,” Tessa began, her voice steady. “Brad was in a bad accident a few hours ago, Jon. I’m sorry, but he didn’t survive.”

The man went very still, his face instantly pale, but no emotion appeared. “What happened?” he asked in a flat voice.

“It appears he was hit by a car while on his bike.” Tessa paused. “It was a hit and run.” She leaned forward, holding Jon’s gaze. “We’ll find who did it,” she said emphatically. “The island isn’t that big.”

Cate let out the breath she’d held since Tessa started to talk. She watched Jon closely, expecting signs of distress.

They didn’t appear.

“I didn’t do it,” he stated firmly.

Cate stopped her jaw from dropping open. How bad was his relationship with his son?

Tessa flinched. “I . . . I appreciate that, Jon. I didn’t come here to make accusations; I’m here to bring you the news.”

“You can check my truck. There would be evidence, right?” His gaze jumped between the women several times.

Tessa looked at Cate, her eyes wide. The deputy was speechless.

“If you’d like, we can look at your truck,” said Cate. Might as well address his concerns.

He was out of his chair before she finished speaking. Cate and Tessa were slow to stand but followed him outside and over to a small Toyota pickup. They dutifully circled the truck and examined the front. Tessa snapped a few photos.

Jon watched, his arms crossed on his chest. “I might not get along—have gotten along with Brad, but I wouldn’t run him over.” His eyes had reddened and were wet. “I always knew he’d come to a bad end.” He slowly shook his head, his gaze on the ground. “Had demons, you know? Tried to get clean a few times, but it never stuck.”

“I’m very sorry, Jon.” Tessa touched his arm. “Let’s go back inside.”

They took their original seats.

“When was the last time you saw him?” asked Tessa.

Jon scratched his chin, his face screwed up in thought. “Must be close to a month. Ran into him at the Black Tail. He mouthed off, and I left without getting my coffee. He was stoned, of course.”

“You knew he lost his license.”

“Yep.”

“Do you know where he was going a couple of hours ago on Samuel’s Road?” asked Tessa.

“Nope.” He tipped his head and eagle eyed Cate. “Why are you here? You wanted something last week—you couldn’t have known this was going to happen.” He paused, alarm crossing his face. “Or did you? Was Brad mixed up in something bad?”

“I didn’t know anything about Brad last week, Mr. Gill. I was calling about a different matter.”

“Oh. What was it?”

Cate and Tessa exchanged a look. “I don’t think this is the appropriate—”

He grunted. “You two told me the son who I considered dead ten years ago has actually died. Don’t try to tiptoe around my feelings. My heart scabbed over decades ago. What’d you want to ask me about?”

She believed him. “It’s about the orchard property you used to own.”

“It’s a cursed piece of land. I heard that fancy developer who was building a hotel on the land was arrested for murder. No good comes to anyone associated with it.”

“You ran it successfully for decades,” Cate pointed out.

“Until I didn’t. Had to walk away fifteen years ago. Bank took it.” He looked broken. “Got nothing to show for decades of work.”

“I’m sorry,” Cate said, his words about a curse echoing in her head. “Can you tell me who worked for you or had access to the property twenty years ago?”

“You’re going to have to be more precise about the date than that.”

She told him the month and year of Sam’s disappearance. “I know this is out of the blue, but maybe you have employment records—”

“I know exactly who was working for me back then. My son and Arlie Babcock. I don’t hire seasonal labor until later in the year.”

Arlie Babcock’s name was faintly familiar. Cate raised a brow at Tessa.

“Arlie lives with his mother just outside of North Sound,” Tessa supplied. “He’s probably in his fifties now. His mother keeps to herself.”

Translation: not part of the knitting and activist circle like many of the older women on the island.

“Why do you ask?” Jon questioned.

“The date I asked about was when Samantha Bishop disappeared,” said Cate. “Last week some of her jewelry was found in the old pump house by the orchard.”

Jon looked stunned. “The pump house? How do you know the jewelry was hers?”

“Trust us on that one. It’s been verified by two reputable sources.” Tessa and me. “Would both Brad and Arlie have had access to the pump house?”

“Of course. Wasn’t like I locked it up.”

“Could it have been locked?” asked Cate. The pump house door had shown no evidence of a lock.

“Sure. There was always a chain with a lock on the outside. We never locked it because there was no point.”

“So anyone could have access to the inside?”

“I guess.” His thick eyebrows came together. “Are you saying that girl was locked in there? She was never found, right? I remember the big to-do when she went missing.”

“It’s a possibility. We’re not sure how else her jewelry could have ended up there unless she had been inside at one point.”

Embarrassment crossed his face. “I know teenagers sometimes used it for . . . well, you know.”

Sex? Drugs? Drinking?

“I didn’t care that much. Occasionally cleaned out a few beer bottles. No one ever caused any damage. I remember what it was like to need a place to get out from under your parent’s eye.”

“She could have partied there, is what you’re saying,” Tessa said.

He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

She would have dragged us along or at least told us if she partied there.

Tessa looked at Cate, her eyes reflecting the same thought.

If Samantha had gone to the farm without them, it wouldn’t have been willingly.

“Did Brad party with high school girls?” Cate asked bluntly. “He would have been around twenty at the time.”

Jon lifted his hands. “I have no idea. He came home to sleep. Sometimes not even for that. Was irresponsible in showing up to work when I wanted him to—of course, then he’d be pissed he had no paycheck. It never sunk in that the amount of effort he put into a job equaled how big his paycheck was.”

“Then why’d you give him a job?”

“He was my son,” Jon said simply. “No one else would hire him. For my own peace of mind, I had to at least give him the opportunity to prove himself. Never happened.”

“Where is Brad’s mother these days? Would she remember anything from back then?”

He snorted. “Hell no. She took off when he was five. Said she couldn’t handle the isolation of the island. She’s been living in eastern Washington since then—in a fucking very isolated town—and has remarried twice since she left.”

The island has a way of expelling the people who aren’t meant to be here.

The room was silent for a long moment, and the women exchanged a glance. They were done. Both stood.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Gill,” Tessa said, and Cate echoed the words. “We’re very sorry for your loss.”

Jon appeared to shrink in his chair, but he took a deep breath and stood to give them firm handshakes. “Hope you find some answers,” he told them.

The sun had set by the time they pulled away from the apartments, and Tessa’s relief about the successful encounter was nearly palpable inside the vehicle.

“Remember how Samantha bragged about having pot that night . . . and she had a ride with someone,” said Cate. “I always had the impression it was someone older. Could it have been Brad Gill?”

“Can’t ask him,” Tessa said sourly.

Have we hit a dead end already?

“I want to check in with Samantha’s mother, and we need to talk to Arlie Babcock,” Cate went on. “What’s he like?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t had any encounters with him, so I guess that’s a good sign. If he works, I don’t know where.”

“Tessa.” Cate’s heart stopped at an abrupt thought. “Do we need to bring in ground-penetrating radar to check around the pump house and farm?”

Tessa’s knuckles whitened, her grip tight on the steering wheel. “Jesus. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because we didn’t want to consider that she could be . . . ” In Cate’s head, Samantha was alive somewhere, and now this personal belief had affected her investigation process. A rookie mistake that they’d both made.

“We can’t afford equipment like that,” Tessa stated.

“I’m sure the bureau has access to one.”

“But Samantha’s case isn’t active.”

“Missing children cases are always active. The necklace might be a strong-enough reason to get a GPR to the island.”

“There’s too much physical ground to cover. The orchard is huge, and just scanning the pump house won’t be sufficient. We need more evidence.”

Cate knew she was right. “It’s something to keep in mind.”

“Let’s find out what Arlie has to say first. There’s no rush.”

Translation: if Samantha was dead, it made no difference if they found her remains now or later.

Except for their own peace of mind.

2

The next morning Cate stopped at Sam’s mother’s home. Tessa was working on Brad Gill’s case and had called Cate early to say she would have to talk to Marsha Bishop and Arlie Babcock on her own.

Cate understood. She had the freedom to look for Samantha; Tessa’s current investigation was her priority.

Samantha had occupied Cate’s thoughts since the necklace had been found. A million explanations for its appearance had rocketed through her head—all of them weak.

Had Sam’s coat been left on Widow’s Walk that night to steer the investigation somewhere else?

Samantha’s mother lived in a tiny home in North Sound that was within walking distance of the shops and restaurants. Marsha’s mental health had been slightly unstable since her daughter disappeared, and her husband’s suicide soon after hadn’t helped. The family of three used to live in the glamorous Bishop mansion and had been the closest thing to royalty on the island. A direct descendant of Elias and Camilla Bishop, Samantha had never cared about the lineage; but Marsha had been proud and borderline boastful that she’d married into the line. Although the Bishops had once been leaders in the community, the tragedy of Samantha’s disappearance had nearly ground the family into dust.

Marsha was a thin wisp of her former self and eked out a living by selling her jewelry at Shiny Objects, the jewelry and trinket store. Since Cate had returned to the island, she’d learned Marsha mindlessly strolling the roads and beaches of North Sound was a regular sight.

Samantha’s mother opened the door, glee on her face, as Cate stepped out of her car. Cate had called that morning and asked to meet. Her happy expression squeezed Cate’s heart, creating a sting of guilt. She’d only talked with Marsha once since she’d been home.

Jane had organized a few women to check on Marsha once a week. They made certain there was sufficient food in the refrigerator and that her medications were up to date, and gave her some social time.

Marsha ran to Cate and hugged her. “I’m so glad to see you!” Marsha stepped back and studied Cate from head to toe, her own eyes sharp and clear. She’s alert today. “Come in, come in. I have a fresh pot of coffee.”

Inside she seated Cate at a large table in her kitchen. A cup of coffee and a plate of fresh-baked banana bread appeared, filling the kitchen with heavenly smells. Two-thirds of the table was Marsha’s work space. All sizes and colors of beads, wire, and gems sparkled and gleamed among her tools. A few finished pieces caught Cate’s eye. Marsha’s work was exquisite and exactly Cate’s taste. She complimented her hostess, who beamed.

“I was so happy to hear from you. What can I help you with?”

The clarity in Marsha’s eyes encouraged Cate. “Tessa and I are looking into Samantha’s case like you suggested.”

Tears welled. “Oh, thank you so much. I know you girls will get to the bottom of it. Those investigators were bumbling fools. They spent all their time harassing Michael instead of searching for Samantha.” She dabbed her nose with a napkin.

The affection from Marsha felt genuine, but Cate couldn’t help but compare it with how Marsha had treated her as a teen. Samantha’s mother had ignored Cate and looked down her nose at Jane and her grandchildren. Cate hadn’t understood until Jane had explained that Cate was a descendant of Elias Bishop’s illicit affair with his lover, Ruby, so Marsha viewed her as not worth her time.

Cate had hesitantly asked Samantha about her mother’s views. Her friend had rolled her eyes and called her mother ridiculous. “Why does it matter where the blood in your veins came from?” Sam had asked. “How does that make one person more important than another?”

Judging by her smile for Cate, Marsha thought differently now.

“I refuse to believe that Elias’s line might have ended with Michael’s suicide.” Marsha sighed.

Or maybe she doesn’t think differently.

Cate and Logan were also Elias’s descendants. Not that Cate gave a shit, but Marsha’s words were like nails on a chalkboard.

“Marsha,” Cate began slowly, “if you think Sam is still alive, why haven’t we heard from her?”

“That’s a very good question.” Her wide blue eyes were guileless, and she looked expectantly at Cate, waiting for an answer.

Cate didn’t have one. “The night—”

“I know, I know,” Marsha said. “She was sneaking out to meet you girls.”

Wrong. “Marsha, she wasn’t. We told her we wouldn’t go—she was meeting someone else. Didn’t the police tell you that?”

Marsha thought hard. “I can’t remember. Maybe they did. The investigators talked to me dozens of times. It’s all a blur.”

“She snuck out to meet a guy,” Cate told her. “I think he was older.”

Marsha leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “Samantha thought I didn’t know she snuck out at night, but I did. What kid didn’t at that age?”

She was fourteen.

“You knew and let her do it?”

She shrugged. “What trouble could she get into on the island? And I assumed you and Tessa were usually with her.” She frowned, an odd light entering her eyes. “I didn’t think you were the best influence on her, but I felt better knowing she had friends with her.”

Sam didn’t have friends that night.

“Did your husband know Sam would leave at night?”

“Oh, no. He would have grounded her. I didn’t want her curtailed like that for having a little fun. Like I said. All kids did it.”

Dozens of “What if?” statements bombarded Cate. What if Sam’s father had known and put a stop to it? What if Cate and Tessa had gone with her? What if Marsha had exercised some parental discipline?

“She’ll come home when she’s ready,” Marsha said confidently as she poured more coffee in Cate’s cup. “Especially when you convince her.”

Oh, Marsha.

Cate was driving to interview Arlie Babcock when her phone rang. She saw Tessa’s number and answered.

“Did you talk to Marsha?” asked Tessa.

“I did. I thought she was mentally in a good spot, but she said a few things that made me wonder.” She updated Tessa on Marsha’s belief that Samantha was still alive and had chosen to not contact her. And then told her that Marsha thought Samantha had been meeting with the two of them.

“Maybe she’s forgotten some things over the years,” said Tessa.

“Those seem pretty big. Her mental state might be worse than I thought.”

“Or selective memory. Maybe it’s easier to believe that Samantha was meeting us instead of a stranger.”

“She’s expecting her to come home.”

Tessa went silent. Cate did too, wondering what it was like to live in a constant state of waiting.

Tessa broke the silence. “Remember how our police interviews were missing from Sam’s case file? I found them.”

“Where?”

“Can you believe they were misfiled? I had checked to see what else happened on the island around Sam’s disappearance, and I pulled a few cases from the same time period. They were together in one of those files.”

“That’s unacceptable.”

“I agree. But at least they turned up.” She paused. “They aren’t very complete. Both our statements are nearly identical. They simply say that the last time we saw her was at school that day and then never heard from her.”

“They don’t say she asked us to meet her at Widow’s Walk and was planning to meet someone to smoke pot?”

“Nope.”

“What the hell?” Fury rocked Cate. “Who wrote up those interviews?”

“The previous sheriff.”

“Was he deliberately being obtuse or trying to cover up what we said?” Cate gasped. “Did he misfile them on purpose?”

“My thoughts exactly—hang on. I’ll put you on hold. I’m getting another call.” The line went silent.

Cate’s mind spun. Had Tessa discovered a cover-up? Why would the sheriff make so many mistakes? Granted he had been near retirement when Samantha disappeared, and now he had passed away, but there was no excuse for misfiling the incomplete statements.

“Cate? That was the medical examiner.”

“Already? Didn’t he just get Brad Gill’s body a few hours ago?”

“He’s not finished with the autopsy, but I’d asked him to get me the early tox screenings as soon as he had them.”

“And?”

“Brad had marijuana in his system.”

“Doesn’t everyone on the island?”

Tessa laughed. “Some days I think so. But his reading was very minimal. When he examined the contents of Brad’s stomach, he found a chocolate doughy substance. It appeared he’d eaten just before getting on his bike.”

“Pot brownie?”

“Possibly.”

“He could have gotten that anywhere now that it’s legal in Washington. Maybe he made his own.”

“I didn’t see anything when I went through his home this morning to indicate he had made or kept brownies on hand.”

“You’re saying you want to stop by the bakery.”

“I need to put together his last twenty-four hours. Checking with Edith is appropriate to see if he was in the bakery that day.”

“Now? I’m five minutes from the bakery. Would you like me to meet you? I wouldn’t mind some lunch before I interview Arlie,” said Cate as she pulled to the side of the road and prepared to make a U-turn.

“Perfect. I’m starved.”

“Me too.”

Cate parked near the Black Tail Bakery and saw Tessa bundled up in a thick coat against the cold out front. The island had one licensed marijuana dispensary—and it wasn’t the bakery—but Edith Starr had been selling pot-infused brownies under the counter for thirty years. It was Widow’s most open secret.

Inside, the shop was empty. Not an unusual sight during the off season on the island. Edith appeared from a back room as the bell on the front door jingled.

“Well, hello, girls!”

No matter that both women were in their thirties, they’d always be girls to most of the people on the island.

Edith’s wide face lit up, openly pleased to see them. She was a petite woman but suddenly grew a foot taller as she stepped onto the ramp that ran behind her bakery cases. “What can I get for you?”

Cate picked the apple fritter and Tessa the almond croissant. Both requested black coffee.

Lunch.

As Edith rang them up, Tessa asked, “Do you remember waiting on Brad Gill yesterday, Edith? He might have bought a brownie from the back.”

Edith’s gaze bounced from Tessa to Cate. “I heard about his accident. That’s horrible.”

“No doubt it was the fault of the driver,” Tessa continued. “Brad wasn’t impaired,” she added pointedly.

The bakery owner relaxed. “Yes, he was in yesterday. I’m not sure what time, maybe just after noon?”

“Do you remember if he spoke to anyone in the bakery?”

Edith pursed her lips. “Not that I remember. He’s not a chatty one, you know. Rather sullen, if anything. Never has anything personable to say. I did notice he needed to wash his hair, but that’s nothing new.”

“True,” Tessa agreed.

“I think he came in, got his brownie, and left.” She nodded emphatically. “That’s right. I remember seeing him bike away. He’d simply dumped his bike on the bakery walkway, blocking it. Pisses me off when he does that, but no other customers were around to step over it, so I doubt he spoke with anyone.”

“Thank you, Edith. We appreciate it,” said Tessa.

Cate took a closer look at the interior of the bakery that she’d visited all her life. When studied through fresh eyes, it suddenly appeared very shabby. “Business going okay, Edith?”

She shrugged. “Same as always. The summer tourist business makes up for the rest of the year, you know.” She eyed her glass cases with affection. “I am getting tired, though, and this building has more problems every year. I asked my niece if she was interested in taking over for me, and she said she’d think about it.” Edith rolled her eyes as she handed over their food and coffee. “Kids are a bit lazy these days.”

Edith’s niece was in her fifties.

Tessa’s phone rang, and the women excused themselves. Outside Cate bit into her fritter as Tessa took her call. The fritter was still warm.

“Where is it?” Tessa asked into her phone, her face deadly serious.

Cate’s ears perked up at Tessa’s tone.

“Yep. On my way. Thanks, Bruce.” She put her phone away. “Someone anonymously reported that Rosa Underwood’s vehicle has new front-end damage.”

“The bookstore owner?”

“Yep. The car is parked in a garage in the alley behind her home.”

“If it’s in the garage, how did someone see it?”

Tessa raised a brow at her.

“Right. Nosy neighbors.”

“Wanna come? Kurt is meeting me there. We might need an extra hand.”

Cate knew she needed to interview Arlie. But she couldn’t pass up finding out if Brad’s accident had been solved. “I’ll come.”

3

The tiny freestanding garage behind Rosa Underwood’s home was locked. Tessa and Kurt peeked through a dirty window. “There’s a sedan with a sheet over the front end,” she said. “The sheet dips in near the left front headlight. Someone had to be really snoopy to spot that.” She stepped back and sighed. “I hope the damage is actually old. This isn’t where I wanted to find the vehicle that hit Brad.”

Cate understood. Rosa Underwood was a quiet woman who kept to herself. She owned Cheater’s Bookstore, and Cate believed it was her perfect job. Rosa’s nose was always in a book. Even when she was working. “Maybe someone else was driving.”

“Let’s find out.” Tessa led the way, and she and Kurt knocked on the front door while Cate stayed far back and off to the side. Her gaze never left the door.

Rosa may be a quiet woman, but we can’t know how she’ll act if cornered.

Cate pictured Rosa Underwood answering the door with a shotgun, and she ran a sweating hand over her eyes.

I need to talk with someone. This anxiety is out of hand.

The FBI had set up meetings with a counselor soon after she’d been shot. Cate had found the psychologist pleasant and understanding but had felt as if she was wasting both their time. He’d cautioned that if she had moments exactly like this, he would want to see her. She’d brushed it off.

He’d been right.

No one answered the door, and the deputies checked the perimeter of the house. “She’s most likely at Cheater’s,” said Kurt.

“I’ve never liked the name of that bookstore,” said Cate.

Tessa looked surprised. “It’s hilarious. No hiding the island’s history.”

“Maybe it just never seemed right for Rosa Underwood,” Cate amended. “She’s so reserved. Not the type to have a store with an off-color name.”

“True. Let’s go see if she’s working today.”

Minutes later, Cate followed Tessa and Kurt into Cheater’s Bookstore. Rosa was on a stool behind the counter, engrossed in a thick book. She glanced up with a smile as they entered, and then her face crumpled as she saw the county uniforms. Tears and muffled wails started as she dropped her book and covered her face with her hands.

I guess this is our driver.

Rosa Underwood was an average-looking woman who blended in on the island. She was small and always wore simple sweatshirts and jeans, her graying hair in a short bob. She rarely spoke up unless addressed and preferred her books to people. Cate often felt the same way.

Right now Rosa was a blubbering mess.

Cate hung back as Tessa led the woman to a table and chairs near the back of the store. A black longhaired cat emerged from the shadows and jumped up on the table, rubbing its head against Rosa’s arm. Kurt flipped over the OPEN sign and locked the front door. It was doubtful there’d be any customers on the cold afternoon, but they didn’t want to risk someone walking in as they talked to Rosa.

The gossip would race through the entire island.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” The wails continued. Cate grabbed a box of tissues and set it next to the upset woman. “I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she cried, grabbing a tissue. “That’s not true. I did it on purpose.” The sobs got louder.

On purpose?

No one else spoke, but the three observers exchanged confused looks.

Kurt stepped up and tenderly patted the woman on the back. “It’s okay, Rosa. You can tell us what happened.” Sincere concern shone in his eyes. He’d probably known Rosa for thirty years. She was part of the knitting circle, but Cate didn’t think she was a close friend of her grandmother’s. She had the impression Rosa stayed to herself a lot. Her cat moved to the center of the table, sat, wrapped its tail around its feet, and watched everything with golden eyes.

“I can’t,” she said between sobs. “I can’t. I’m a horrible person.”

She did it.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean it when you said you did it on purpose,” Kurt said carefully.

“But I did! I saw him, and I hit the gas.” She gasped for air around her words, her face wet with tears. “I didn’t think I’d actually go through with it.” She took a tissue and held it against her eyes. “But I just love him so much.”

Cate caught Tessa’s eye; she looked as stunned as Cate felt. Rosa and Brad?

There had to be a twenty-five-year age difference.

“What do you mean, Rosa?” Cate finally asked. “Are you saying you went looking for Brad to hurt him?”

Premeditated?

“I did.” She sniffed loudly. “I had to stop him.”

“Rosa, maybe you should have a lawyer—”

“I don’t need a lawyer. What I did was wrong, and I know I need to pay for it.” Her chest heaved as she tried to get past the tears.

“But, Rosa—” Tessa began.

Rosa held up her hands. “Listen to me. I have to say this.” She shuddered, exhaling a large breath as she ran a hand down the cat’s back. Her eyes were still wet, but determination shone. She wanted to talk.

Kurt squeezed her shoulder. “Only if you want to. You don’t have to do this now.”

Her chin lifted, her eyes flashing. “There’s no point in waiting. I ran Brad over with my car so he wouldn’t hurt my son.”

Cate racked her brain trying to picture Rosa’s son. She had no recollection of one. In her mind, Rosa had always been a solitary person without family.

Kurt slowly nodded, his gaze distant. “I faintly remember him . . . Travis, right? He’d visit occasionally when he was younger.”

“He hasn’t come in a long, long time,” Rosa said softly, her face falling. “He lives on the property his father left him on the mainland.”

“You are divorced, right?” Cate asked.

“Yes. For nearly thirty years now.” Rosa winced. “How has time gone so fast? I first came to Widow’s to visit a friend after my divorce . . . and breast cancer,” she added, lowering her eyes. “Everything fell apart when I was diagnosed. My husband couldn’t handle it. I was on the island, mourning my marriage and the loss of both breasts, when I noticed all the noise in my head was gone. There was a peace that I hadn’t experienced since I first had Travis. So I never went back, and I opened the bookstore. I don’t go to the mainland for anything. I’m content here.”

Cate had heard similar stories all her life.

“Travis would come visit sometimes. I was crushed that I only received partial custody. He was ten and very impressionable, and his father did his best to turn him against me.” Her shoulders sagged. “Travis was bitter every time he came to the island. He hated it here.”

“Travis knew Brad Gill?” Tessa asked. “They’d be about the same age.”

“You have to understand how much I love my son,” Rosa told her earnestly, not answering Tessa’s question. “Even though he’s been lost to me for years, he will always be my heart. I’d die for him.” Her face paled, as if she’d realized that she might have given up her life for her son. There was no death penalty in Washington, but if what Rosa said was true, her life would never be hers again.

“We can see you care about your son,” Cate said carefully. “But what does he have to do with Brad Gill?”

“Travis doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore,” Rosa said. “He’s changed. He thinks everyone is out to get him—the government, his neighbors, even me. He lives in isolation on that property and only interacts with conspiracy theorists. He used to send me emails outlining how the government is controlling us through our food, our water, taxes, and vaccinations. I asked him to stop, but he said I needed to know the truth.” Her mouth turned down. “That’s not the boy I raised. It can’t be healthy to constantly obsess and live in a state of fear.”

Is she avoiding my question about Brad?

“Rosa, if Travis hasn’t been here in ages, why hurt Brad today?” Cate asked, studying the woman. Kurt continued to keep a protective hand on Rosa’s shoulder. There were occasional flashes of confusion in his eyes that Cate knew were also appearing in her own.

“Oh, you girls.” She looked from Cate to Tessa, her eyes welling again. “Why did it have to be you two here today?”

Alarm raced up Cate’s spine, premonition spiking. “Rosa . . . is something going to happen?” She surveyed the small store, not sure what she was looking for, and the deputies did the same. The cat met her gaze and slowly blinked, making Cate feel she’d been judged.

“No . . . no, everything has already happened.” Her face crinkled. “I’m so sorry, girls.”

Does she think Tessa and I are children?

Hair rose on the back of Cate’s neck, and an odd prickling started in her stomach.

“Why are you sorry, Rosa?” Cate forced out.

The woman closed her eyes for a long moment, her chin quivering. “Because my Travis accidentally killed your friend Samantha all those years ago.”

A buzz started in Cate’s ears. Samantha is dead?

“Travis killed Samantha?” Kurt asked in a choked voice. “Twenty years ago? You knew and never told anyone?”

Rosa covered her face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want him to get in trouble back then. It was an accident.”

Cate sat down, her legs shaking and icy. Tessa hadn’t moved a muscle, her eyes locked on Rosa.

“Is this true, Rosa?” Tessa asked, her voice rough.

Her hands still over her face, Rosa nodded.

“What happened?” Cate’s voice quivered.

“He told me they were partying . . . getting high and drinking, I think.” Rosa lowered her arms, but her gaze was downcast. “He said he woke up, and she was blue . . . then he panicked.”

The buzz in Cate’s head grew into a chainsaw.

“It was an accident,” Rosa repeated. “It wasn’t intentional.”

“Where is she?” Tessa asked through white lips.

“He weighted her down and put her in the ocean. I don’t know where.” Rosa bent over, her entire body trembling. “I told him to get off the island and not come back.” Wet sobs started again. “He’s never been back.”

“But why did you hit Brad with your car today?” Kurt asked.

“Brad was with them that night, and then he helped Travis hide her body.”

Two people have known what happened to Samantha. Three including Rosa.

“When I heard the necklace had been found on Jon Gill’s old property, I knew the investigation would eventually include Brad. And he’d tell them what Travis did.” She raised her head, her eyes showing her pain. “I couldn’t let that happen to my son.”

She killed Brad to keep him quiet.

Cate closed her eyes.

Samantha has been alone in the ocean for twenty years.

“I can’t find a work history or credit history for Travis Underwood,” Cate’s boss, Phillip, told her over the phone the next morning. “He could be using another name . . . or maybe he’s dead. His driver’s license was never renewed when it expired a long time ago.”

“His mother estimates she got an email from him within the last three years but hasn’t heard from him since.”

“Well, I’ve contacted the county sheriff near Blaine. They’re going to get some eyes on the property and see if he’s there. They think it’s possibly abandoned. Are you sure the mother won’t try to get a message to her son?”

“Rosa is currently in a cell,” said Cate. “She said she doesn’t need to call anyone, and she doesn’t have internet access. I don’t see how she could.”

I need to check on her cat at the bookstore.

The cat’s name was Ghost. He had jumped down and vanished between the shelves as Kurt took Rosa away.

“What about other people who might warn Travis Underwood? Maybe some friends that are still on the island?”

“I don’t think he has friends,” Cate answered. “We did our best to keep Rosa’s confession quiet, but somehow the word got out. Half the island is mourning Samantha already.” She swallowed hard. Nonstop messages had been rolling in from concerned islanders, expressing sorrow at the confirmation of Sam’s death.

“You holding up okay?” Phillip asked gently. “I know you were close.”

“It was a long time ago,” Cate said. “I think deep down, I knew she was gone . . . I just didn’t want to admit it. That would be giving up.”

“How about your wound?”

Cate was quiet for a long moment. “It’s much better, but, Phillip . . . ” She struggled to continue, hating to voice her weakness. “I’ve had some bad moments. Panicking when I shouldn’t be. I think I need to talk to someone again before I return to work. I need to be steady, and I’m not.” The phone shook in her hand.

“It’s okay, Cate,” Phillip reassured her. “No one can experience what you did without some lingering trauma. I expected it even if you didn’t. We’ll get you set up with someone again when you come back to town and keep you at a desk until you’re ready. Light duty.”

The idea didn’t sit well. She wanted to perform her job. Not be coddled.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Phillip said. “Get over it. It takes time. You’re not Wonder Woman.”

“I could be if I tried,” she muttered.

“Don’t even consider it. We’ll have a plan in place for you after the beginning of the year. Relax and enjoy the holidays with your family. You’ll be happy to come back to work by then.”

Will I?

4

Samantha’s wake was Henry’s first experience in seeing the island pull together, and he was amazed.

Cate’s grandmother had taken charge. Jane Sutton was an organizational powerhouse and together with her circle of friends could probably solve most of the nation’s crises. By noon Jane’s home was overflowing with food delivered by mourners. She had brought Samantha’s mother into her home because Marsha’s own house was simply too small for the turnout Jane had known would happen. Every five minutes, someone came by with a casserole or flowers for Marsha.

People congregated, standing in small groups, murmuring quietly. Several framed photos of Samantha were displayed on the center of the dining table, which was packed with covered hot dishes.

Henry stayed back, a tongue-curling strong drink in his grip. Jane was playing bartender in addition to organizer and had served drinks to everyone who would accept. Marsha sat in a wingback chair, a woman holding her hand and other women sticking close by, keeping a careful eye on her. Marsha’s eyes were red, and Henry watched her closely, wondering if she’d need medication to get through the heartbreaking day. He soon realized that the women of Jane’s circle were more powerful than anything he could prescribe for Marsha.

Jane had sent two women with arms full of food to Jon Gill’s home—his son had died too, after all—but the women had soon returned. Jon hadn’t needed their company. Two of his friends were there and had reassured the women that Jon wouldn’t be alone. But they’d eagerly accepted the food.

Henry’s gaze went to Cate. She leaned against one wall with a few others, letting the conversation flow around her, one of Jane’s concoctions in her grip. Her face was a mask, her eyes staring at nothing, but he knew her mind was going full speed. Nearby, Tessa wore the same expression.

The two women had waited twenty years for news, and it was crushing.

He walked over and took Cate’s hand. She gave him a grateful glance and led him to a private corner.

“Your grandmother is unstoppable,” said Henry.

“Don’t I know it.” Cate sent an affectionate look Jane’s way. The woman was moving from group to group, refreshing drinks. “Tons of food, caring company, and sometimes a little alcohol can help people bear the unbearable. That is Jane’s mantra.”

He wanted to ask Cate how she felt, but he already knew. He’d learned to read her over the last few weeks. He saw disappointment, determination, and a lot of introspection.

“I have something for you.” He slipped two fingers into a pocket and pulled out a thin chain.

Cate caught her breath at the sight of Sam’s necklace. “You cleaned it up.” She took the pendant with a shaky hand. “Thank you. It looks brand new.” Her eyes held his as she wrapped her fingers around the pendant, the corners of her lips turning up.

Fixing the necklace was a small gesture. He’d hated the tarnish and the dirt that had been ground into it. It’d felt disrespectful.

“Marsha should have it,” she whispered, glancing at Samantha’s mother.

“You could ask.” He followed her to the center of the room, where Marsha sat.

Cate crouched next to the chair and handed Marsha the necklace. “This was Samantha’s,” she said. “I want you to have it.”

Marsha studied the delicate piece of jewelry. “Oh, no, dear. This is your memory of Samantha. I won’t take that from you.” She returned it to Cate’s hand, pressing her fingers over the necklace. “I have so many other things of Samantha’s . . . pieces that are a part of my history with her. This one belongs with you.” The women around her nodded in unison.

Henry agreed too. He knew the necklace would mean the most to Cate.

Cate pressed her lips into a thin line, and for a brief second Henry thought she would refuse. But she nodded. “Thank you, Marsha. I’ll treasure it.”

“Thank you for always caring about her, Cate.” Marsha patted her hand. “You were a true friend.” The woman’s haunted eyes studied Cate with longing.

Is she imagining Samantha at Cate’s age?

Cate stood as Jane waved at her from across the room. “Excuse me, Marsha.” She and Henry joined Jane, who was having a serious discussion with Edith Starr from the bakery.

“We’re not sure what to do about Rosa,” Jane told the two of them.

“Why does something need to be done?” Henry asked. The woman was in jail.

“Well, we’ve never had a circle member arrested before . . . at least not for murder,” Edith said.

The qualifier made Henry bite back a grin.

“I’m sure Rosa could use your support,” Cate told them.

“But she knew about Samantha’s death for twenty years and said nothing,” Jane pointed out. “I don’t know if I can forgive her for that.”

“What would you have done if I accidentally caused someone’s death like Travis did?” Cate asked her grandmother. “Would you hand me over to the police?”

Emotions warred on Jane’s face, and Henry pitied her. “I don’t know.”

Henry wasn’t certain of his answer either.

“It’s a hard decision to consider—I know I struggle when I think about what she hid from everyone. But it’s never wrong to be kind,” Cate said.

“What about the bookstore?” Edith asked. “Widow’s Island needs that store. And someone needs to take in Ghost.”

“It should be easy to find Ghost a home,” Henry said. “That’s a friendly cat. But the bookstore is a full-time job.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Jane. “It seems like Rosa mainly sat and read.” She looked thoughtfully at Edith. “And Edith here is ready to finish at the bakery. We’ll be seeing a lot of change in North Sound.”

“No more bakery?” The loss slammed painfully into Henry’s chest. The Black Tail Bakery was Widow’s Island.

“Her niece is thinking about taking over,” Jane said. “That’ll be much better than a stranger. We don’t need more Seattleites moving here for six months and then bailing on their fledgling business.”

“What about the ice cream store owners?” Cate suggested. “Maybe they’re ready to expand and take on the bakery.”

“I’ll bring it up at the next meeting,” said Jane. “And we’ll figure out the best way to handle Rosa.”

Henry had no doubts the women would make a caring decision.

Cate’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and stepped away from the group as Henry listened to Jane and Edith discuss whether rum drinks had been appropriate to serve that day. Jane thought they implied tropical vacations, but Edith argued there was nothing wrong with that on a sad day like today. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cate straighten as she spoke into the phone, gesturing for Tessa to join her. A tip of her head included Henry.

She ended her phone call as they approached. “They’ve arranged for a team of deputies to visit Travis Underwood’s home with a warrant for his arrest on the mainland tomorrow morning. It’s just outside the city of Blaine. I want to be there.”

Henry froze. “You want to watch them arrest him?” Cate’s eyes were on fire, projecting her need to see Travis Underwood in custody.

“Will they let us?” Tessa breathed. The heat in her eyes matched Cate’s.

“If we can get there in time. My boss will smooth the way.”

“There are no more ferries until noon tomorrow,” said Henry.

“We can find someone to take us,” said Tessa. “I’ll ask around.” She gave Cate a fierce look. “Are we doing this?”

“Absolutely. I want to see Travis Underwood go down.”

“You’re not the only one,” agreed Tessa. “I’m going to look him in the eye and grill him about Samantha.”

“You’re not leaving me out of this,” Henry said, catching their excitement.

Cate grinned and squeezed his hand.

5

“I didn’t know Adam had a plane,” Cate mumbled to herself for the third time the next morning.

No one could hear her. It was too noisy inside the small floatplane. Henry sat beside Adam Jacobs while she and Tessa took the two seats directly behind them. Adam’s father had operated an unofficial boat taxi on Widow’s for decades, and Adam was in the process of taking over. To Cate’s surprise, Adam had expanded the boat taxi business to include a floatplane.

Cate hadn’t been thrilled when Tessa had told her who would fly them.

She watched the pilot with an eagle eye. Adam had made a poor impression when she first returned to Widow’s, but he had mostly redeemed himself when he’d bailed on an appointed boat fare to transport her to an emergency without asking questions. He might leer at women and occasionally get stoned, but he seemed to aptly handle the plane.

They were currently in the air, having left Harlot Harbor as soon as the sun rose that morning. Adam had told her it would take less than forty-five minutes to get to Blaine Harbor. Cate steadily breathed in and out, not liking how her stomach had complained since the moment they took off and headed north.

The northern boundary of the city of Blaine was the Canadian border. The small city had less than five thousand people, and one was a murderer—that Cate was aware of. She and Tessa had discussed whether Travis had killed Samantha and lied to his mother or if it had truly been an accident as he said. “Either way, he left. He ran and hid like a coward, leaving her family destroyed,” Tessa stated. “Right now, I don’t care which happened.”

Cate hoped Travis was still in the US, because he could have easily slipped to the Canadian side at some point, but his mother had said Travis refused to live in Canada because he believed it was a socialist country. He might like to stay off the grid and avoid taxes in the US, but he was emotionally attached to his idea of a democratic nation.

Cate didn’t try to understand his standards.

She simply wanted him caught. And to pay for the rest of his life for hurting Sam.

Am I obsessed with retribution?

Maybe.

It won’t bring Sam back.

But it would make Cate feel a lot better.

The plane circled Blaine Harbor, and Cate peered out the window. The dark clouds were low, turning the water gray. Boats filled a good-sized marina, and a small grid of streets formed the attached town. It looked peaceful and incapable of hiding the man who’d hurt Samantha.

He’s not in the city.

She looked to the east, wondering exactly where the property was. The county sheriff had told her boss Travis lived less than a half hour outside of town. Tension vibrated inside her bones. She wanted results. Now.

After a surprisingly smooth landing, the plane taxied them to a dock. Henry slapped Adam on the shoulder, delight in his eyes. Cate grimaced. She’d been too tied in knots to enjoy the flight. They climbed out at the dock, each carrying a duffel, where two uniformed Whatcom County officers waited.

“Special Agent Wilde?” one deputy asked, looking at Henry.

Henry grinned and pointed at Cate, clearly enjoying the surprise in the young man’s eyes. Cate tried not to roll hers as she held out her hand. “I’m Wilde.”

The deputy shook it and then everyone else’s. “Sergeant Gunderson and Deputy McClure. We’ll take you out to the Underwood property.” He pointed to a county SUV.

Cate’s stomach did a small spin as the dock swayed, and she turned to Adam, who had just stepped out of his plane. “Thanks, Adam. It was a smooth ride.” Her breath showed in the icy air.

Gratitude lit up his face. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re hanging around, right?”

“Yep. Gonna find a diner or something to chill at for a while. I’ll be here when you’re ready to go back.”

Cate took off after the others and caught up at the SUV, where Henry held her door open. “You okay?” he asked, concern in his eyes.

“I’m good. My stomach didn’t care for the takeoff and has been bothering me ever since.”

“I’m having a bit of that too. I’ve never been in a plane that small.”

Cate refocused on the reason they were there. Travis Underwood.

“Let’s get this done.”

“We had a car do a drive-by last night,” Gunderson said as he drove. “It was too dark, so he didn’t turn down the drive. According to the neighbors, it appears abandoned and a bit of a shithole.”

That wasn’t what Cate wanted to hear. I will find him.

Henry tightened his hand on hers. He understood.

They drove east on a winding two-lane highway and took several turnoffs until Cate had completely lost track of where they were.

“You just missed the entrance,” McClure suddenly said as he twisted to look behind them.

Gunderson made an awkward U-turn, and Cate strained her eyes to see a driveway among the brush and trees.

Two tire-width tracks led from the road and disappeared in the trees. On the sides of the tracks were two narrow posts with small red reflectors that blended into the brush.

“That’s the driveway?” asked Henry.

“Yep.” Gunderson turned, and the SUV lurched down the uneven tracks.

“This looks like no one has driven it in years,” said Tessa as branches snapped against the sides of the vehicle.

Loud chimes sounded outside, and Gunderson hit the brakes. “What was that?” he asked, looking wildly from side to side.

“I think you just hit a trip wire,” said Henry.

Cate scanned her side of the woods for threats and opened her door. Behind the vehicle she found a low wire that had snapped as they drove through it. She peered into the trees. The chimes had stopped.

What are we driving into?

McClure appeared and scowled at the wire. “Someone wants to know when people come.”

“It’s rusted,” Cate pointed out. “It could have been here for years.”

“You got a vest?” he asked, his eyes serious.

“We both do,” said Tessa from the other side of the SUV. She opened the rear hatch and unzipped her duffel. Cate did the same, and each strapped on their vests. She and Tessa had discussed the possibility of Travis putting up a fight when the deputies took him in, so the women had planned ahead. McClure dug a vest out of a stack of equipment and handed it to Henry.

“I brought a medical kit in case I have to stitch up one of you,” Henry joked as he strapped it on, but his gaze was sober. “Please don’t make me use it.”

“You don’t know anything about Travis Underwood?” Gunderson asked, eyeing Cate and Tessa, caution hovering around him.

The trip wire had woken them to dozens of potential dangers.

“Not really. His mother said he lives off the grid and was obsessed with conspiracy theories,” Cate said. “But she hadn’t heard from him in a few years.”

“Conspiracy theorists, eh?” Gunderson said as he and McClure exchanged a look. “We’ve got a few of those along with several preppers and sovereign citizens out here. Usually keep to themselves. Can get testy if poked, though.”

“You’re not here to poke,” Cate said. “You’ve got a warrant for his arrest, and it doesn’t matter if he gets testy about it. He’s coming in.”

“McClure and I will knock on the door. You three will stay with the vehicle.”

Cate, Tessa, and Henry nodded, and the five of them piled back in the SUV, the rear bench seat even tighter than before from the bulk of their ballistic vests. Gunderson continued down the narrow track, but the atmosphere inside had changed. The easy camaraderie of before had been replaced by watchfulness and tension.

The trees cleared, and a mobile home came into sight. Behind it were three scattered outbuildings, two large and one small. The home had plywood nailed over the windows, but the door appeared accessible. The SUV stopped at the edge of the clearing, and the two deputies stepped out. As they strode toward the door, the three others waited.

“Need to clear all the buildings,” Tessa muttered, her gaze flicking between the structures.

“They’ll get to it,” said Cate. Her stomach clenched, and a wave of dread swept through her. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” Both Henry and Tessa turned to her.

“No . . . that’s not what I mean,” Cate tried to explain. “I’ve got a bad feeling. That’s all. Everything feels off.”

“Do we warn them?” asked Henry, looking to the two deputies, who’d reached the house and were knocking on the door.

“About my gut? No.” She’d watched the deputies. They were using every proper precaution for approaching an unknown property. “It’s probably the idea of knocking on a strange door that’s affecting me.”

Tessa tipped her head, her gaze holding Cate’s. “Still an issue?”

“Yeah,” Cate said softly. “It’s not good.”

An explosion filled the clearing, making Cate’s ears ring and blasting air through her window. The three of them gasped and focused on the sudden smoke rising behind the house. The deputies leaped off the small porch at the door and stood with their backs flat against the home, their weapons drawn, scanning their surroundings.

Cate couldn’t move.

“Get them out of there,” said Tessa as she stepped out of the vehicle. She drew her weapon and stood behind her open door.

They need our help.

Cate shoved her anxiety aside and copied Tessa’s actions on the other side of the vehicle, offering cover for the deputies to return to the SUV. Tessa waved them back as she and Cate watched the house and area for possible threats.

Black smoke billowed behind the home, but no flames rose.

A movement near one of the outbuildings grabbed Cate’s attention. Is that a child?

“Did you see that?” Tessa asked. “It looked like a kid!”

“It was. He had a dog with him as he ran into the barn,” said Cate. “He looked right at us.”

“Is he hurt?” Henry asked as he leaned over the back seat to grab his bag.

“He was running pretty fast,” answered Cate. “I suspect he’s fine.”

The deputies reached the SUV, and everyone moved behind the vehicle, putting as much metal between the house and themselves as possible. “We need backup,” panted McClure.

“Already called it in,” answered Gunderson, his chest heaving from his dash across the clearing. He surveyed the smoke, his eyes taking in every detail. “What blew up? I don’t see any flames.”

“Did you hear anything when you were at the house?” asked Cate.

“Thought I heard a door close a few seconds before the explosion,” said McClure. “It sounded like it was at the back of the house.”

“Same,” agreed Gunderson.

Cate watched the smoke vanish as it rose. “I think that was a distraction,” she said slowly, scanning their surroundings for the twentieth time. “We saw a kid with a dog dart into the barn. If it’d been an emergency, I think he’d run away from the blast, not hide.”

“He wasn’t interested in coming our way,” Tessa said. “He saw us, but he didn’t seem scared . . . just intent on getting inside the barn.”

“How old?” asked Gunderson.

“Maybe seven? Younger?” said Cate as Tessa agreed.

“We can’t have a child running around when stuff is blowing up,” said McClure. “Which building did he go in?”

“The largest,” said Cate.

“What if he’s the one who set it?” said Tessa. “No one else has shown their face. No one is shooting. Just one big bang to send us running away.”

“Let’s check the barn,” said Gunderson. “I want that kid out of the way before more officers step foot on this property.” He eyed Cate and Tessa. “I’ll need you two.”

“I don’t want to patch up any bullet holes either.” Henry was grim.

“I want one of you with each of us since we have radios,” Gunderson told Cate. “You and McClure circle around to the back of the barn in case Tessa and I flush him out from the front.”

The four of them slowly moved into position, leaving Henry at the SUV. Cate followed the deputy along the side of the barn, trying to listen over the sound of her pounding heart for any sign of the boy. The explosion’s acrid odor filled the area, making her want to cough. McClure did a quick check around the corner of the barn.

“There’s no other entrance or windows at the back,” McClure said into the mic at his shoulder. “There’s nowhere for him to go.”

“Return to the front,” Gunderson’s voice crackled. “Keep an eye out for the dog.”

“I’d rather face a human than a dog any day,” Cate told McClure, who agreed with her.

They joined the other two at the front. Ferocious barking started inside.

“Whatcom County Sheriff’s Department! Hold your dog!” shouted Gunderson.

The barking continued.

“Please exit the barn! One hand on the dog and the other where I can see it!” Gunderson tentatively slid open the large barn door.

The two deputies stood on each side of the opening, weapons ready, and Cate held her breath. Deputy McClure was between her and the entrance, but she felt fully exposed.

It’s just a child.

Maybe.

“You have ten seconds to exit the barn, and then we are entering! Your dog will be shot if it attacks.”

“No!” shouted a young voice. “Don’t shoot my dog!”

“Is there anyone else in the barn?” asked Gunderson.

“No!”

The officers exchanged a look, not believing the child. “It’s time to come out! Hang on to that dog, and we won’t hurt him.”

Rustling sounded inside, and the boy spoke in quiet tones. Cate thought he was calming the dog.

“Come on out, son,” said Gunderson in a gentle voice. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We just want to make certain no one was injured in that explosion.”

“No one was hurt.” The boy appeared in the opening, a black-and-brown mutt on a tight rope beside him. “I was careful.” The dog was quiet, but its fierce eyes studied each of them. The boy’s red hair looked as if it had been cut with dull scissors three months ago, and he wore rubber boots, dirty jeans, and a heavy coat that was much too large. The coat hung open, revealing a thin torso, and Cate wondered how he wasn’t freezing. His gaze shone with curiosity and caution as he looked at each of them. McClure slipped into the barn behind him to clear the space.

“You set off the explosion?” asked Tessa. Cate looked up at the sky; all the smoke had cleared.

Definitely a distraction.

His shoulders rose and dropped.

“Why?”

He didn’t say anything, his gaze on his boots.

“Is your dog nice?” Cate asked. “Or does he bite?”

“He’s good.”

“Would he let me hold the rope?” she asked. The boy was small, and the dog wasn’t large, but it had a powerful wide chest. Cate easily imagined the dog ripping the rope out of the boy’s hand.

“No. Me.”

The rope was wrapped several times around his hand. It would have to do for now. “What’s your name?”

“Mickey.”

“Where are your parents, Mickey?” asked McClure as he reappeared, giving Gunderson a quick shake of his head, indicating he’d found no one in the barn.

The boy did the shoulder movement again, looking unconcerned.

The four officers exchanged a look. “Is anyone in the house?” asked Cate.

“No.”

“We’ll go double-check,” said McClure. “Keep the other two outbuildings in sight,” he told Cate and Tessa. “We’ll clear them next.”

The two men strode toward the house, and Cate spotted Henry watching intently from the SUV. She waved him over, wanting his opinion on Mickey, who appeared much too thin to her. Relief was in Henry’s eyes as he approached.

“This is Mickey,” Cate said. “Henry is a doctor.”

The boy shrank away, putting his dog between himself and Henry, fear blatant on his face.

He’s terrified.

Henry froze as he took in the boy’s reaction. He crouched down and held out his knuckles to the dog, who carefully sniffed them. “What’s your dog’s name?” he asked, keeping his gaze on the dog.

“Bishy.”

“Cool name.” The dog pushed its head against Henry’s hand, and he scratched its ears. Henry finally looked at Mickey, his eyes assessing, missing nothing.

“Why did you decide to make the explosion?” Cate asked, phrasing the question in a softer way than Tessa had asked him minutes ago. Henry’s brows shot up at her question, and his focus on the boy intensified.

“Because you came.”

An answer at last.

“Why did you want to greet us with something so loud? It made us nervous,” Cate continued. Both Mickey and Henry were petting the dog, Mickey risking quick glances at Henry.

“Was supposed to.”

“Who told you that?”

“The commander.”

Tessa caught Cate’s eye. What the hell?

6

“Where is the commander?” Cate asked, struggling to keep her voice nonchalant.

Mickey said nothing.

The deputies stepped out of the house, giving the others a signal that it was clear. They headed directly for one of the other outbuildings.

“Do you need some lunch, Mickey?” asked Tessa. “Let’s go inside and find something for you to eat.”

The boy ignored her, watching the deputies as they reached the large shed. “They shouldn’t go in there.” His hands twitched, and he wiped one across his mouth.

“Is there something dangerous in there?” Cate asked quickly, another explosion coming to mind.

“No. They just shouldn’t. I’ll get in trouble.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and the dog pressed against Mickey’s leg, sensing his anxiety.

“Trouble from the commander?”

The boy nodded, his gaze locked on the outbuilding.

“Well, he’s not here, is he?” Cate asked. “He won’t know, and obviously you’re not going in the shed.”

“He’ll know. He always knows.”

“We’ll talk to him and let him know you said for us not to do that. Where can I find him?” asked Tessa.

“Dunno.”

The deputies left the shed and headed for the last outbuilding as Cate watched. Whatever Mickey had been worried about in the shed hadn’t concerned them.

“They need to stop.” Mickey’s voice shook. “I’ll be punished.” He tried to leave, pulling Bishy’s rope, but Henry firmly held the dog’s collar.

“It’s okay, Mickey,” Henry said calmly. “We won’t let you be punished. We’re here to protect you.”

Cate’s heart broke at the terror in the boy’s voice. He was petrified of the commander.

Is Travis the commander?

“No! You’re strangers! I’m not supposed to talk to strangers!” He tugged harder on the dog’s rope, his gaze bouncing between the deputies entering the shed and Henry.

“Mickey, is your commander’s name Travis?” asked Cate.

Confusion scrunched up the little face. “What?”

Maybe not.

“Hey! Doc!” Gunderson shouted from the door of the last building. “We need you over here!”

“No!” cried Mickey. “You can’t go in there! He’ll hurt me.”

Tessa replaced Henry’s grip on Bishy’s collar. After exchanging a quick glance, he and Cate jogged to the outbuilding, and Mickey wailed behind them.

“What is going on?” mumbled Cate. “Why isn’t there an adult here with Mickey?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that kid needs a lot of calories and balanced nutrition.”

“And to lose the fear of his ‘commander.’”

“Damn right.”

They followed Gunderson into the shed. The smell made Cate slap a hand over her nose and mouth.

What in the hell?

Light from two barred windows showed a room with a twin bed, worn rugs, a chair, and stacks and stacks of books.

A woman cowered on the bed, trying to get as far away as possible from the intruders, a long chain leading from her ankle to a bolt in the concrete floor. The room was barely warmer than the outdoors, and she was wrapped in several quilts. Her face was painfully thin, and she held up a hand to stop them from coming closer.

“Get out,” came her loud whisper. “Go away!”

Cate stared, and her knees weakened.

She grabbed Henry’s arm, suddenly dizzy and straining to see in the poor light.

It can’t be.

“Go away!”

That voice.

“Samantha?” Cate’s voice cracked, and Henry sucked in a sharp breath.

The woman’s face was partially hidden, her hair pulled back in a long loose braid. But Cate knew. She knew with every cell of her body that this was Samantha.

She’s not dead. Why . . .  ?

“Sam. It’s Cate. Honey . . . look at me,” she whispered, wanting to cry at Sam’s crushing fear.

My God. I don’t understand . . .

“Samantha . . . we’re here to take you home . . . your mother is waiting for you.” Cate took two steps closer, her knees threatening to give way, but she craved eye contact. The woman curled tighter into herself, shaking her head.

How did this happen?

The deputies and Henry stayed silent, letting Cate attempt to calm the woman.

“Samantha.” Cate reached the bed and knelt on the cold concrete floor, never taking her gaze from the woman. In the dim light she saw the braid was red, darker than when Sam was a teenager. But the profile resonated with Cate’s memories.

It’s her.

She put a shaking hand on Sam’s leg, horrified by the chain and heavy cuff. “It’s Cate. Tessa is here too.” She raised her voice. “Get Tessa.” Footsteps receded out the door. “You’re safe, Sam. We’re going to get you out of here, and you will never be chained again.”

Cate sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve, realizing her face was wet. She’s chained up like a dog . . . for how long?

Samantha lowered the hand she’d rigidly held out to stave off the invaders. Her eyes met Cate’s, but there was no recognition in their depths.

“Samantha Eloise Bishop,” Cate whispered, hoping her words would reach the woman hiding inside this pitiful figure. “You are going back to Widow’s. You are going back to your mother, who’s been waiting years for you. Tessa and I—”

“Samantha?” Tessa burst into the shed.

Samantha threw both arms over her face.

“Oh, my god!” Tessa dropped to her knees beside Cate, who put a staying hand on her shoulder to keep her from lunging at Samantha.

“She’s terrified, Tessa. I don’t think she knows it’s us.”

Tessa nodded and took several deep breaths. “Samantha,” she said, her voice calm. “We were told you were dead.” Tears choked her words. “All these years we didn’t know what happened to you . . . and here you are . . . ” Tessa spotted the chain and yanked on its attachment to the floor. “What the fuck? Get some bolt cutters. Now.”

One of the men left.

Samantha watched him leave from behind her fingers, fear in her eyes.

“Henry,” said Cate, a suspicion dawning. “Can you guys step outside?”

The men left, and Sam lowered her hands. Cate tentatively took one, and Sam didn’t resist. She gently squeezed Sam’s fingers. “It’s over, honey. It’s all over.”

“I’m not dreaming?” The words barely audible.

“Not a dream,” stated Tessa. “We’re getting you out of here.”

“Where is he?” Sam whispered.

“Who are you talking about?” Cate asked slowly.

“Him.” Sam swallowed. “The commander.”

“Sam . . . are you talking about Travis Underwood?” Cate couldn’t breathe.

Confusion and then comprehension crossed Samantha’s eyes, and she gave the smallest nod.

Cate exhaled and heard Tessa do the same. Travis is behind this. He lied to his mother.

Sam went rigid. “Mickey! Where is Mickey? If the commander—”

“Mickey is right outside,” said Tessa. “He was upset that we entered this building, but he’s fine.”

Sam grabbed Cate’s arm, her eyes feral. “You’ve got to keep him away from the commander. If he discovers someone found me, he’ll hurt Mickey.”

Shock rocked through Cate. “Is Mickey your son?” she whispered, thinking of the boy’s red hair.

“He’s my baby.”

Did she give birth to him in this shed? Cate’s heart mourned for her friend’s pain.

“Mickey is with two police officers, and more are on the way,” Cate assured her. “No one will hurt him without going through them.”

“You don’t know the commander,” Sam whispered. “He will kill to get what he wants. Nothing can stop him.” She released Cate’s arm and started to quietly cry.

Tessa stood and left the shed, but Cate wouldn’t let go of Samantha’s hand. She’d finally found her; she wasn’t letting go. She let the woman cry and gently stroked her hand. They would get her and Mickey out of here before Travis came back.

Samantha has a son.

Cate ached to melt into the ground and sob along with Samantha, but she shoved away her emotions. Sam needed her strong.

“Watch out.” Tessa had returned, the bolt cutters in her hands. She clamped them on the chain and snapped it in half adjacent to Sam’s ankle. “Can you stand up, Samantha? It’s time to leave this place.”

Samantha raised her head and stared at the broken chain, her lips silently moving. Cate slid to one side as Sam shifted her legs over the edge of the bed and sat, her chest heaving with the effort.

Progress.

Sam tilted her head, her gaze shifting between the two women. “It’s really you? Cate . . . Tessa?” She stumbled over their names, as if the words were brand new to her vocabulary. Her eyes were still haunted, her eye contact hesitant. “My brain won’t let me believe it.”

She’s so thin.

“Yes. It’s us.” A thick lump formed in the back of Cate’s throat. “See?” She pulled her third of the sisters pendant out from under her sweater, holding it closer to Sam. “We didn’t forget you.”

Beside her Tessa did the same thing, and confusion filled Sam’s face as she looked from one necklace to the other.

She doesn’t remember.

Fresh hot tears ran down Cate’s cheeks. How much abuse had Sam endured?

Samantha’s hand shook as she touched her own bare neck. “Mine is gone.”

“No, we found it,” Tessa told her. “Finding your necklace is what led us here.”

Cate dug in the pocket of her jeans. She’d grabbed Samantha’s restored necklace that morning, wanting a piece of Samantha with her when her killer was captured.

Travis didn’t kill her.

Or did he?

She held the shiny necklace out with one finger, and Samantha stared at it in wonder.

Then Samantha crumpled into herself and melted into sobs.

Henry watched as the backup they’d requested pulled into the clearing at the Underwood property, his mind still reeling over finding Cate’s friend.

“This is insane,” McClure said. “I thought Samantha Bishop was dead. Are they sure it’s her?”

Henry had never been so certain of anything. “I’m positive.”

“So the guy they believed killed her has been holding her captive for two decades?”

“Sure looks that way.”

“Where is the asshole?” McClure scanned the property as if Travis Underwood were hiding close by. “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. He had her chained up like a dog.” He shook his head. “I’m going to help Gunderson update the new guys.”

Henry looked back at the shed as McClure left, wondering if Cate and Tessa were getting through to Samantha. Like Mickey she was clearly malnourished—worse than the boy, it appeared. When body weight dropped below a certain level, the brain struggled to function properly. And who knew how long Samantha had been at that low weight. She could have permanent brain and organ damage if Travis had starved her the way Henry suspected he had.

Mickey and his dog sat on the ground a few yards away, the boy cuddling Bishy. Henry wondered if it was for warmth as much as security. Mickey had stopped staring at them with suspicion and now seemed to want to stick close, his gaze constantly searching his surroundings as if he expected a demon to jump out.

Is that fear of the commander?

Nothing was going to scare that boy again. Henry would see to it.

Kids were resilient. He believed with the right environment and support, Mickey would be just fine.

But what about Samantha?

Twenty years. She’d been a prisoner for twenty years. He couldn’t comprehend losing that big of a chunk of his life. Twenty years ago he’d been in high school. What if he’d been denied every life experience since then? And left in a shed with books for company? Would Samantha recover? She’d spent more of her life in captivity than out.

Mickey’s red hair caught his eye, and comprehension nearly drove him to his knees.

Samantha had given birth to a son. Here in the middle of nowhere.

Rape. Twenty years of rape?

Henry shuddered.

He thought Mickey looked about six but wouldn’t be surprised if he was eight, if his diet was poor. “Mickey, can you show me where you set up the explosion?”

The boy considered the question and then stood, leading his dog toward the back of the house.

Four other deputies had responded to Gunderson’s call for support and had split up and were now walking the property. Gunderson was on his phone, no doubt calling his supervisors. The discovery of a woman who’d been held captive for two decades would need careful investigation.

Henry followed Mickey behind the house and found a firepit with wisps of smoke still rising from its ashes. The air smelled like fireworks. Someone had put effort into creating the explosive and then had taught Mickey how to set it off.

“Do you have more of the things that you blew up?” Henry asked.

“They’re in the house.”

“Where in the house?” He stores explosives inside his home?

“The tall cupboard in the kitchen.”

Henry waved over the closest deputy and informed him of the danger in the kitchen. The deputy immediately made a beeline for Gunderson.

Will they need an explosives expert to remove them?

“Mickey, you said you lit the explosive because we had arrived. Are you supposed to do that when anyone comes?”

“No, only when I’m ordered to.”

Ordered? So the man was here.

“What did the commander do after he gave you the order?”

The boy kicked at the bricks of the firepit with his toe as Bishy sniffed at the wet grass.

“Why would he leave you behind?”

Mickey frowned. “Because I’m safe. People don’t care about kids and ignore me. The commander has people who want to hurt him.” He tipped up his head and eyed Henry suspiciously.

“I don’t hurt people. I’m a doctor; I help people when they’re hurt.”

The boy considered that statement, his face thoughtful. “The commander says doctors make up stuff to get people to pay them money for help.”

“I’ve never lied to someone who was sick. I do my best to get them feeling better.” He paused. “Samantha seems a bit sick. Is she always tired?”

“Who?”

“The woman in the shed. What does the commander call her?”

“Kristin, but I call her Mommy. She is sick. That’s why the commander keeps her in there, so she won’t get us sick.”

As his mind tried to accept what Mickey told him, Henry steered him back to the original point of the conversation. “We need to let the commander know that Kristin is going to the hospital to get better. Where can I find him?” Henry didn’t like manipulating Mickey, but this man needed to be found. Mickey mulled over the question, his little eyebrows coming together as he thought.

“Don’t you think he’ll want to know where Kristin goes so he can bring her back?” asked Henry.

Mickey’s face cleared. “He always needs to know where she is.” He tugged on Bishy’s leash and headed away from the buildings. Henry took two steps after him, realized he shouldn’t go find a felon alone, and called a deputy to follow him.

“What’s up?” the county deputy asked.

“Mickey has agreed to lead me to the guy we’re looking for.” Henry pointed at the boy, who had stopped and was patiently waiting a few yards away.

“Holy shit.” The deputy spoke into his mic, asking for more men. Three came running, including Sergeant Gunderson.

Mickey watched the group form with a frown on his face.

“You need to stay here,” Gunderson told Henry.

“No,” said Mickey. “I want the doctor to see.”

He’s no longer terrified of me. Progress.

“What are we going to see, Mickey?” asked Henry.

“The hole.”

7

Twenty yards from the back of the house, Mickey showed Henry and the officers some hidden boards. Below the boards they saw a tunnel. Henry stared down into the dark, narrow pit. He wouldn’t crawl inside even if it would create world peace. The thought that someone had physically dug it out made his insides clench.

“That’s so cool,” said one of the deputies, his eyes lit with excitement. “I’d totally check that out.”

Judging by the negative reaction of the other deputies, Henry guessed they thought he was nuts.

“Where does it end, Mickey?” asked Henry.

“Dunno.”

“I can’t send someone down there,” Gunderson muttered. “It looks like something out of Vietnam.”

“It can’t go far,” said Henry. “Can you imagine the effort it took to dig that?”

“You’re right.” Gunderson proceeded to divide up the men to search the immediate area for the end of the tunnel. He gestured for Henry to step aside with him. “I’m calling child services,” he said in a low voice. “Can you keep an eye on him until they get here?”

Henry agreed.

He walked Mickey back to the clearing and found Cate standing outside Samantha’s shed. She wiped her eyes as they walked up.

“Where is everyone?” she asked. Her question wavered with the tiniest inflection.

“They found a tunnel entrance behind the house, and now they’re looking for the end.”

Surprise crossed her gaze. “So that’s how he got away.” She glanced at Mickey. “I want to get Samantha checked out at a hospital.”

“I agree—”

“Her name is Kristin,” interrupted Mickey.

“She told me that,” Cate told him in a somber voice. “I knew her a long time ago when we were kids, and her name was Samantha back then.”

“Kids?” The boy’s nose wrinkled.

“Hard to believe your mom was your age at one time, isn’t it? I think she’d like to talk to you now.” Her smile was forced, a tremor in her words.

Mickey headed into Samantha’s shed, Bishy following.

Once the boy vanished, Cate took one step and fell into Henry’s arms with a small cry. He pulled her tight against his chest, wishing they weren’t wearing the ballistic vests, but until Travis was found or they left the property, the vests were staying on. Regardless, he felt her quiver. She buried her face against his neck and quietly sobbed. He was in shock over finding Samantha, but Cate’s shock had to be ten times stronger.

“She’s a wreck,” Cate said, gulping to catch her breath between tears. “She can’t stop crying and shaking.”

“Sorta like you right now.”

Her small jolt of laughter warmed him, but her tears flowed stronger.

“We came here believing she’d been dead for twenty years. And instead we found her.” Wonder filled Cate’s voice. “I knew instantly it was her. Her voice, her profile, the way she moved her head. I had no doubt.”

“She’s been in your thoughts recently.”

“I’ve been poring over photos of her since we decided to look into her case. I’ve got to call her mother.” She shuddered. “I don’t know if I can speak to her about it yet. It’s amazing but so awful too.”

“I can do it.”

“No, Tessa or I should call her. And then we’ll put Samantha on.”

“Has she said much about her time here?”

“No. We’ve primarily been talking about home.” She met his gaze, concern radiating. “We need to get her out of here. She’s terrified he’ll return.”

“I’ll find someone to drive us.”

“Mickey needs to come with us,” Cate added.

“No question. He should be with his mother, but Gunderson is calling child services to come get him.”

“No!” She stiffened in his arms. “Dammit. Samantha can’t take care of him at the moment, and they’ll never release him to me—I’m not a relative.”

“Sounds like you better call Sam’s mother right away.”

“I’ll do it right now.” She pulled back, and he instantly missed her touch. “Can you ask Gunderson to come here? I assume he’ll want to talk to Sam’s mom before he allows Mickey to go with us. If he says a verbal agreement over the phone isn’t enough, he’ll have me and the entire Bellingham FBI office to answer to.” She turned her head, eyeing Sam’s shed. “I can’t comprehend what she’s been through. She’ll carry this forever.”

“But because of you and Tessa, her nightmare is over.”

Thoughtful eyes met his. “Is it?”

Cate was done with being inside the foul-smelling shed. A bucket in the corner was the source of the smell.

When’s the last time Sam used a real toilet?

She dragged a chair outside for Samantha to sit in, and then she and Tessa helped Samantha bundle up. They put on her socks, which were full of holes, and her shoes, which were way too big. No coat was found, so they used every blanket from her bed. Samantha squinted outdoors in the natural light and took deep breaths. Cate did the same; she’d never take fresh air for granted again.

“We need to call your mom,” Cate told her. “You can’t take care of Mickey while you’re in the hospital, so we need a relative to agree to take him. Are you ready?”

Samantha’s chin quivered. “Yes. I might not be able to do anything more than cry, though.”

“I think that would be just fine.”

Cate sent her grandmother a quick text, asking her to go to Marsha Bishop’s home immediately because she shouldn’t be alone for the next few hours.

Jane’s reply was immediate. Why?

We found Sam. She’s alive. She’s about to call Marsha.

HOLY SHIT! Leaving now!

She dialed Marsha’s number.

“Hello, Cate. How are you this morning?” Marsha was unaware of their trek to the mainland to find Travis Underwood. Cate hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.

“Marsha . . .” Suddenly Cate didn’t know what to say. She stared at Tessa, who nodded encouragingly. “Marsha, I need to tell you something—and it’s a good thing—but first I want to assure you that it is absolutely true. It will sound too good to be true, but it is. Does that make sense? I don’t want you questioning it.”

Marsha was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

“Samantha is sitting beside me. We found her on the mainland in the city of Blaine. She’s okay, Marsha. We’re bringing her home.” Cate’s voice cracked as her words rushed together. “I’m going to put her on the phone now.” She handed the phone to Sam, whose hand shook as she held it to her ear.

“Mom?” She covered her eyes and lowered her head, and her entire body shook as she sobbed.

Cate crouched beside the chair, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulders. She couldn’t make out Marsha’s words, but the tone was overjoyed and went on and on as Sam cried into the phone.

Tessa’s wet gaze met Cate’s, and happiness warmed her again.

We did it.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Sam repeated a dozen times. “I’ll tell you when you get here. Mom . . . I have a son.”

The voice on the phone grew louder.

“He’s eight. His name is Michael,” she said in a watery voice. “Yes, he’s named after Dad.”

Tessa inhaled sharply, and Cate closed her eyes. Samantha’s father had committed suicide a year after she’d vanished. He’d been thoroughly investigated by the police and tried by public opinion in the media. The loss of his daughter and the condemnation of the public had been too much.

“Cate.”

Henry had returned with Gunderson and a deputy she hadn’t met yet. She stood and followed them a few yards away from Sam’s conversation. “They found the end of the tunnel,” Henry told her in a quiet voice. “Not far from it are fresh tire tracks and some netting covered with branches. He had a vehicle hidden and ready to go.”

“We need to get Sam and Mickey out of here,” Cate told Gunderson. “Is talking to Mickey’s maternal grandmother sufficient to release him to us? I want Sam and Mickey seen at the hospital in Bellingham as soon as possible. We can fly Marsha in to pick him up there.”

Cate made a mental note to have Jane come with Marsha in case she was a little . . . spacey. She knew Jane would take responsibility for the boy and grandmother until Samantha was well enough.

“That’ll do,” Gunderson agreed. He glanced at Sam. Her expression was awestruck as she listened to her mother’s voice. “I’ll talk to the grandmother when they’re done.”

Cate smiled. “It might be a while.”

8

One week later

Cate handed Sam a cup of tea and took a seat in Marsha’s living room recliner. A Christmas tree sat in one corner, and fresh evergreen branches with lights decorated the mantel above the fireplace. Mickey and Marsha had gone to bed an hour ago, but Sam was still wide awake, so Cate stayed with her, fighting back her yawns. Nonstop Christmas music played at a low volume; Sam insisted on it. Travis had refused to provide any source of music, and she’d filled her silence by singing every song she could remember over and over, especially to put baby Mickey to sleep. When the deputy who drove them to the hospital had turned on the radio, Sam had burst into tears. “I’d forgotten what instruments sound like.”

A world without music.

Sam now looked a lot different than the woman they’d discovered in a shed. She’d been hydrated and fed nutrition-packed food for two days in the hospital before moving into her mother’s home on Widow’s. Her face was fuller, and her skin no longer looked like paper. A neighbor had trimmed her hair into a flattering shoulder-length cut, and she wore soft knit pants and warm tops that Tessa had bought in Bellingham. Cate still studied Sam nonstop; it hadn’t sunk in that she was home. And twenty years older. Sam had been frozen in her mind as a teenager even though Cate and Tessa had aged.

This new Sam was quiet.

The old Sam hadn’t been; she’d been vivacious and stubborn.

The new Sam worried Cate. But there was no getting around the fact that the woman had lived in hell for twenty years and would never forget a minute of it.

It was suspected that Travis Underwood had crossed into Canada, but the police didn’t know what kind of vehicle he drove, and they didn’t have a current photo. Finding Travis would be searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

Mickey was thrilled with his new living conditions. Consistent heat, water, and food, and a plush dog bed for Bishy—whose real name was Bishop, Samantha’s last name. A dozen times Cate had caught Mickey standing in front of the open refrigerator, simply staring. Ample stock of fresh food seemed like riches to him.

When Mickey had spotted two boys riding bikes, he’d begged to join, fascinated with the sight of children his age. Cate took him outside and learned the boys lived three houses away, and within five minutes, Mickey was on one of the boys’ bikes, riding in wobbly circles. And then in return he showed them how to track a squirrel who’d vanished into their yard.

Instant friends.

Samantha touched and hugged her son constantly. It’d started in the hospital once some shock had worn off. Mickey had appeared uncomfortable with his mother’s touch at first but quickly warmed to it.

“The commander wouldn’t let me touch him,” Sam had said. “He didn’t want me to baby him. Once he was a toddler, the commander moved him into the house with him, saying he’d make a man out of him. Now I can hug him and not worry about being punished,” she’d said with wonder. “He also had Mickey call him Commander and treated him like a servant or soldier, not a son. He didn’t give him any affection, but Mickey didn’t know any better. He figured everyone’s life was like that.”

Either Cate or Tessa had spent every night with Samantha since she’d been found. She’d had nightmares in the hospital, waking up convinced that Travis was trying to kill her or kidnap Mickey. The only thing that calmed her was the presence of one of her friends, reassuring her she was safe. At Marsha’s house Samantha’s bedroom only had a small twin bed, so Tessa added an air mattress so she or Cate would be close all hours of the night. Marsha’s presence was comforting, but at night Samantha wanted her friends.

Since she’d appeared at the hospital, Marsha Bishop had not shown a moment of confusion. It was as if she’d emerged from a twenty-year fog. After weeping in the arms of her daughter, she’d taken charge of her grandson, ecstatic about the new little man in her life. Mickey had been fascinated that his mother had a mother, and he and Marsha had immediately hit it off. Especially when his grandmother had introduced him to ice cream in the hospital cafeteria.

“I’m not needed to supervise,” Jane had whispered to Cate. “She’s been a different woman since that phone call.”

“But will it last?” Cate had murmured, watching Marsha show Mickey pictures from her phone.

Jane had considered. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if it did. Her mind has been on hold for a long time. Sam’s reappearance has released it. It’s like a switch was turned on.”

Samantha had given the police only the bare facts about her abduction, agreeing to provide more details later. “Don’t make me talk about it,” she’d told the investigators. “It’s too much right now.”

Everything had been too much for the woman kept in a shed for twenty years. The sight of traffic, crowds of people, the electronics in the hospital, doctors poking and prodding her, and people asking questions. At first she’d cowered and hidden in her hospital bed, unable to make eye contact. Twenty-four hours of fluids and food had created a huge difference, but the world was still overwhelming. “I remember the outside world. I’ve dreamed nonstop of it,” she had said from her hospital bed. “But I haven’t experienced this. It’s too intense.”

“Sam,” Cate began as they sat in Marsha’s living room. “I know you told the police that Travis smuggled you off the island in the trunk of his car, but how did you get there?” She leaned toward her friend and set a hand on her knee. “You’d asked us to meet you that night. What happened?”

She’d tried to have the conversation with Sam several times but had been shut down. Now in this cozy room with the Christmas music and hot tea, Sam finally seemed enveloped in peace.

Sam took a sip of tea, her eyes focused on the fireplace. “I first met Travis in North Sound the day before . . . it happened. He had just stepped out of Buzz’s Head Shop as I walked by and told me he liked my eyes.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “He was cute and older, and I was flattered. He flirted, and I flirted back.” A small tremor made her cup twitch in her hands. “Every day I’ve regretted that my fucking vanity made this happen.”

“You didn’t do it, and your vanity didn’t make it happen. Travis did it. He carries full responsibility. He’s the one who acted.”

Sam’s face stayed blank.

For twenty years, she thought it was her fault.

“Separate the actions,” Cate told her. “If only your flirting had happened, would you have ended up in Washington? No. If only Travis’s kidnapping had happened, would you have ended up in Washington? Yes. You didn’t make him grab you. He did it himself.”

A tightening in Sam’s jaw made Cate optimistic that at least she’d listened. The believing could come later. “He flirted with you. Then what?”

“We found a quiet spot away from everyone and talked for an hour. He showed me the pipe he’d bought at the head shop and asked if I’d meet him the following evening at Widow’s Walk to try it out.” The pulse at her neck sped up. “He kissed me. I’d never been kissed like that. I instantly fell in love.” Loathing filled her words.

“An understandable reaction for a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“He was an adult; I was a kid. I chose to ignore my little voice inside that said it was wrong.”

“He knew it was wrong, Sam.”

“The next night I snuck out. He was waiting down the street and told me we were going to meet some friends of his at the old orchard property instead of Widow’s Walk. I said I’d asked my friends to meet at Widow’s, and he said too bad and that they could come next time.”

“Tessa and I told you we couldn’t go.”

“I know, but I’d hoped you’d do it anyway. His change in plans bothered me a little bit, but I was flattered that he was excited to see me. He kissed me again, and I no longer cared where he took me.” Her knuckles grew white as her grip on her cup tightened. “We hiked through the apple trees. He was funny and full of adventure, and I loved the way he looked at me. We got to the pump house—I knew other kids had partied there, but I’d never been—and a friend of his was waiting.”

“Brad Gill?”

“Yeah. I didn’t like him. He looked at me weird, but I felt safe with Travis. Brad brought beer, and the three of us smoked pot and drank.” She made a sour face. “The beer was nasty. I pretended to like it so they wouldn’t think I was a little kid.”

“You were a kid,” Cate said softly.

Sam sighed, and her shoulders deflated. “Yeah.” For a long moment, she pressed her lips together before continuing. “I think there was something in the beer. I don’t remember much after that. I know I woke up in the pump house the next morning and felt horrible. They were gone, and the door was chained. I screamed and pounded and searched for a way out. Eventually I sat in the corner and cried. I figured someone had to visit the pump house eventually, but I was petrified that I’d die from thirst first.” She hadn’t looked away from the fireplace. “Later I wished a million times that I had died in there.”

Cate couldn’t speak, her limbs heavy with sorrow.

“He came back with a bottle of water, but I had to swallow some pills before he’d share the water. I was so thirsty, I did it.” Guilt flashed.

You weren’t kidnapped because you accepted a pill. Cate bit her tongue; Sam had already heard her point.

“I remember he made me climb into his trunk. I was tired, and it was hot in there. I tried to fight, but I could barely move my arms. I don’t remember the ferry ride. When I woke again, he was helping me out of the trunk and into the back seat. The next time I woke, I was tied up in . . . that place.” Her chin quivered. “At first he used rope. Later he installed the chain.” She finally looked at Cate, her eyes desperate. “I fought him, Cate. I screamed and scratched and fought him every chance I had.”

Cate believed her. That was the Sam she’d grown up with. Scrappy. Outspoken. Confident. “I know you did.”

“But he kept drugging me and said he’d kill my parents if I didn’t behave. I don’t know how long it took before I simply stopped fighting. He broke me, Cate. He barely fed me, and I didn’t get to bathe unless . . . ” Her arms twitched, sloshing a bit of tea onto the blanket in her lap. She didn’t appear to notice.

Unless he wanted to rape you.

“I understand, Sam.”

“He showed me my father’s death notice and said he’d killed him and that my mother would be next if I didn’t do everything he said.” Her gaze went to the cup in her hands. “I gave up. There was no point anymore. He changed my name, telling me I’d never hear anyone say Samantha again because that person no longer existed. I was now Kristin and belonged to him. I hate that name.”

“Did he ever let you walk around the property? Or stay in the house?”

“Only with him. And on a rope,” she whispered. “He said he’d never trust me. I was there for one purpose and that was to help him walk a straight path.”

A flare went off in Cate’s brain. “What did ‘a straight path’ mean?” she asked steadily, dreading the answer.

“He said he had uncontrollable impulses.” Sam’s voice went monotone, robotic. “I was there to keep him from attacking other women because of the impulses, possibly hurting them and getting arrested. Instead he satisfied them with me.”

He is a predator. A rapist.

“Oh, my god, Sam.” Tears rolled down Cate’s cheeks.

“Don’t cry for me,” Sam snapped. “Stop it. Don’t pity me.” More tea spilled as she leaned toward Cate, her eyes blazing. “I don’t want your pity!”

Cate wiped her cheeks. “It’s hate, not pity. Hatred for him and what he is.”

“Knowing I kept him from hurting other people is the only thing that kept me sane. Until Mickey came.” Her tone softened with love for her son. “I’d believed I was dead inside, that Travis had obliterated every emotion of mine. Once I realized I was pregnant, I experienced love for my baby . . . even though I’d never seen him. And when he came, I finally had someone to love. I think part of the reason Travis kept him away from me so much was that he was jealous of my affection for Mickey.”

“I’m amazed you didn’t get pregnant before that.”

“I think I did. I didn’t know it then, but looking back I think I had a few early miscarriages.”

“No one ever came to the property?” Cate asked.

“He’d gag me and tie me up when he expected someone. He rarely had visitors. One time when Mickey was a baby, he tried to gag him too, worried he’d cry at the wrong moment. I panicked, begging him not to do it. I knew my baby wouldn’t be able to breathe. Travis stopped, but he was angry and said he’d kill Mickey if he cried while someone was there. He rolled me on my side, pulled up my shirt, and put Mickey at my breast, telling me to nurse him if he woke.” She gave a choking laugh. “My hands were tied behind my back. I spent the next hour terrified out of my mind that Mickey would wake. I knew I couldn’t get in the right position to keep him quiet.”

“He will pay for what he did to you, Sam.” It was a promise.

Sam met her gaze. “He’s gone, Cate. He always had a plan for every emergency. I have no doubt that he’s settled in a well-stocked escape spot.” Sorrow filled her eyes. “But now he’ll hurt someone else because I’m not there.”

“That’s not your fault. Don’t tell me you believe it’s your duty to keep him from committing crimes,” Cate said fiercely.

Indecision flickered in Sam’s eyes. “I’ve been told for twenty years it’s my responsibility. It’s a little hard to change that pattern of thinking.”

“I’ll help you.” And I’ll find you the best therapist.

“I know you will.” Sam looked at the clock on the wall. “I’m suddenly exhausted. I haven’t talked this much since . . . you’re staying tonight, right?” This was the third time she’d asked since dinner. Her anxiety about sleeping alone triggered a pain in Cate’s heart.

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

9

Cate smiled at the sound of Mickey’s padding footsteps in the hallway.

She was on the air mattress in Sam’s room but unable to fall asleep. Sam had crashed almost immediately. Mickey was a frequent visitor to Sam’s room in the middle of the night. Several times, Cate had seen him come to the door simply to watch his mother sleep in her small twin bed. Cate had tried to convince him to come in and sleep in his mother’s bed, but he’d refused.

But each visit, he stayed a little longer, a hungry look on his face.

Mickey needed affection. Now that Sam was able to give it, the boy craved more at all hours of the day. Cate guessed he’d be in his mother’s bed within days. She’d told Samantha about his late-night visits, and his mother had gotten teary, wanting him by her side too.

Perhaps tonight was the night he’d let his guard down.

Maybe if Mickey is with her, she won’t need me or Tessa to spend the night.

Cate would like to get back in her regular routine—her and Henry’s routine. She missed Henry at night, but they knew that Sam needed to come first for a little while. Cate watched the doorway in the dim light, waiting for the familiar silhouette. It didn’t come. Listening, she heard his footsteps suddenly go in the opposite direction. Awww. He chickened out.

She threw off the blanket, got up from the mattress, and went after the boy, betting she could convince him to sleep next to his mother.

The light over the kitchen stove cast a small glow down the hallway to the bedrooms. As Cate turned from the hall into the living room, she heard a whimper.

“Mickey?” Her fingers flipped the light switch on the wall, and she stared.

“Don’t move.” A tall man clamped Mickey to his torso with one arm, a large knife at the boy’s neck. The man’s jeans were frayed at the hem, and his thick coat looked like a ski jacket from the eighties. His face was thin, and his eyes glowed with fury.

“Travis.” Shock froze her in place, and her stomach heaved.

Why didn’t I assume he’d come after them?

Cate slowly raised her hands, furious with herself.

I’m unprepared.

And Mickey and Sam might pay because of it.

“Where is she?”

Mickey’s eyes were wide, and a thin rivulet of blood already ran from the blade down to the collar of his pajamas. “It hurts.”

If he hurts that boy any more . . .

Travis’s gaze darted around the room. He worked his mouth and lips, nervous energy radiating from him.

“Quiet. Where’s Kristin?” he asked Cate.

“Sleeping.” She tamped down her fury. Focus. Cate’s hostage-negotiation classes spun in her head, a confused mix of phrases and rules. “Nothing has happened yet, Travis. If you turn around and leave, no crime has happened.” Not quite true. “But if you hurt Mickey or Samantha—”

“Do not call her that! Her name is Kristin!”

She flinched. Don’t make that mistake again. “If you hurt either of them, then you’re guilty of a crime. I would leave now before you make it worse for yourself.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?” he roared.

“I’m a friend.” He doesn’t know I’m law enforcement.

A mark in her favor.

But her weapon was in her purse on the dresser in Samantha’s room.

A mark against her.

“Go get her!”

Yes! I can get my—

“I’m right here, Travis.” Samantha spoke behind Cate.

Dammit.

Samantha moved to stand beside Cate. “Please don’t hurt Mickey.” Her voice cracked.

“He’s a waste of space. Was just another mouth to feed. I need you back.” Travis jerked, his attention shooting to the figure past Samantha. “Stay the fuck back.”

Marsha had come out of her room and stood in a flannel nightgown, her arms raised with a large metal figurine as a weapon in one hand and determination on her face. She was prepared to fight for her family. “He’s bleeding.”

“I don’t give a fuck. We’re going. Kristin, outside now,” he ordered, pointing the knife toward the door.

“Not yet, Travis.”

Cate blinked. Sam’s voice was steady, strong.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Kristin.” Each word was spoken with emphasis. He lowered his chin, his gaze penetrating. “You know why I need you. I might hurt somebody. Only you can help me.”

Dread and disgust slammed into Cate. The predator thought only about himself.

“Her name’s not Kristin,” Mickey said as tears ran down his face, mixing with the blood on his neck. “It’s Sam. Her mother gave it to her, so it’s her name.”

“You stole my daughter.” Fury dripped from Marsha’s words, and she gripped the figurine with both hands. “You stole my life and hers . . . and her father’s!”

The statue would crack a skull if swung with enough force, but Cate doubted Marsha had the strength. And she wouldn’t have the opportunity as long as the knife was at Mickey’s throat.

How can I get Mickey away?

“I’m not going anywhere until you listen to me, Travis,” Sam said in the same strong voice as before. “I won’t go back to how things were. There will be changes.”

“Sam—” Cate started.

“I didn’t say you could speak.” Travis pointed the knife at Cate for a long second before returning it to Mickey’s neck.

Cate knew some captives became attached to their captors, even willing to break laws or hide from people who came to rescue them. That hadn’t happened to Sam. Or had it? Cate gazed at her friend, willing her not to talk to Travis.

“I want four hours a day without chains.”

Cate’s stomach heaved.

“I want to walk outside without a rope every day. You can walk with me but no rope.”

Travis stared at Sam, and he was listening.

Has she ever talked to him this way?

“I want to live in the house. I deserve a proper house.” Sam’s chin was up, her demands clear.

Dammit, Sam.

Travis held her gaze. “Agreed. Let’s go. But the boy stays here.”

Sam gasped and briefly closed her eyes. “But Mickey . . . ”

“No boy.”

Her face crumpled. “Okay.”

“Sam.” Cate couldn’t let her walk away with this monster.

“It’s okay, Cate. I know Mickey will be safe this way.” Despair lurked in Sam’s eyes.

“You can’t—”

“Cate. Stop.”

“Let’s go!”

“I want to get my clothes first. They bought me warm clothes,” she told Travis. “It’s a waste to leave them behind.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Cate thought fast. “Sam, you can have that bag of mine you liked so much. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t—”

“It’s yours. You told me how much you loved the purse, so I want you to have it. It’s on the dresser in your room.” She willed Sam to understand, pleading with her eyes, but she only saw confusion. “Grab it too,” she said firmly.

Sam walked down the hall, and Cate’s heart pounded. Will she bring my bag? She couldn’t see any other way out of the mess. Should I let her leave with Travis?

Carrying a small armful of clothes, Sam returned. Cate’s purse was slung over her shoulder, and Sam’s gaze said she now understood. There was no mistaking the weight of Cate’s gun in the bag.

“You should remove your wallet first.” Sam held the purse out to Cate.

“Kristin,” Travis snapped, pointing the knife at her. He released Mickey to deliberately drag his fingers along the blade, holding her gaze. “You will pay for talking to me like that. Trying to give me orders. That was a punishable offense. Several times over.”

His meaning was clear: Sam would feel the blade when she walked out the door with him.

Cate nonchalantly took her purse from Sam, whose eyes were full of fear again, and unzipped the outside pocket. An odd calm had settled in her limbs. Her movements mechanical.

“I want to say farewell to Mickey. Come here,” said Sam, holding her arms out to the boy, who darted toward her. “Let’s say goodbye.”

“No! You are not to touch him!” Travis grabbed for Mickey, but the boy avoided his grasp and flung himself into Sam’s arms.

Cate felt the grip of the gun against her palm.

Now.

She drew and fired in one smooth motion, shooting until the threat stopped.

Travis dropped to his knees, touching the holes in his chest in confusion.

I had to. He would have hurt—or killed—Mickey. And Sam.

Bile rose in the back of her throat as she stared at the bleeding man on his knees.

Sam held Mickey’s face against her stomach so he wouldn’t see the horror behind him, and she calmly watched as Travis fell face first to the floor.

“Goodbye,” Sam whispered.

10

Three days later

Cate, Sam, and Tessa leaned against the fence at Widow’s Walk, shoulder to shoulder against the chill of the breeze. Cate felt peace. Everything was in its right place.

Almost.

“It looks so different up here now that there is a fence,” Sam said, pulling her coat tight.

A light dusting of snow had covered the island overnight, creating a perfect Christmas atmosphere for the holiday tomorrow. As they gazed across Breakneck Strait, the forests of Camilla’s Island appeared as if they’d been frosted. The island seemed untouched, pristine.

Far below them, the ocean crashed on the rocks, its never-ending low roar a backdrop for their memories.

“This was where your jacket was found,” Tessa told her, taking a sip of her eggnog latte. She’d brought homemade lattes for the three of them.

Sam’s gaze dropped to the rocks. “I can’t imagine what you must have thought.”

Flashes of the girl she used to be rose occasionally to the surface. A smile that touched her eyes. A toss of her head in laughter. But the haunted—and hunted—look in her eyes still hadn’t faded.

The night Cate shot Travis, Sam had immediately rushed Mickey back to his bedroom, not letting him see the bloody mess on the floor. The boy had been scared by the noise, but his mother’s presence had reassured him. The lack of affection from Travis was a boon; Mickey wasn’t emotionally attached to the man. He understood death and had seen dead animals. “The commander can’t hurt you anymore, right?” had been his only question for Sam.

“Never again,” she’d told him.

On the outside, Mickey appeared fine, but Cate noticed he stuck very close to his mother at all times. Jane was in the process of lining up therapists for both Sam and Mickey.

In her gut, Cate knew they’d eventually be okay.

Sam admitted she had negotiated to leave with Travis that night to get him out of her mother’s house and away from Mickey. She’d been confident that Travis wouldn’t get far with Cate watching them leave. A risky decision.

One that could have ended very badly.

“What’s the latest on Brad Gill’s death investigation?” Cate asked Tessa. In all the excitement of bringing Sam home and helping her adjust, she’d nearly forgotten about the man who’d been killed by Travis’s mother.

“Rosa Underwood was sent to Yakima County’s correctional facility until her trial. I don’t think she’ll ever return to the island. She was shocked to learn Travis had lied to her about Sam and horrified by what her son had done.”

“Killing Brad triggered the opposite result of what she wanted,” Cate said. If Rosa hadn’t killed Brad, Cate suspected he would have eventually led them to Travis’s location in Blaine, where they would have found Sam. Brad and Travis would likely still be alive.

Cate believed Travis had known his mother would protect him and keep his secret about causing Sam’s death but figured she wouldn’t about a kidnapping. Especially once the police started looking for the missing girl.

No one would ever know for certain.

“Are you still feeding Ghost at the bookstore?” Tessa asked.

“I am. I worried that he was lonely, but he doesn’t come running when I show up. I have to call to get him to appear, and then he glares at me like I disturbed his nap.”

“He’ll need a new home,” Tessa said. “You can’t keep feeding him forever.”

“Maybe Mickey would like him,” suggested Sam.

Cate considered. “I don’t know if Ghost would like kids, but you could bring Mickey to the store and see what Ghost thinks.”

Sam repositioned her forearms on the fence, and her necklace glittered at her neck. She hadn’t taken it off. Cate slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to her side, touching her head to Sam’s. On Sam’s other side, Tessa did the same. They were silent as affection flowed between them.

“I’m going to miss you, Cate,” Sam said softly. “I just got here, and you’re leaving.”

Cate bit her lip, considering her words. “I’ll be around. And Tessa will always be here. You’ll never be alone.”

“I know.”

Snow crunched as a vehicle parked nearby, and the women looked over their shoulders.

“It’s a hot doctor,” Sam said, nudging Cate with her elbow. “Some girl is very lucky.”

Sam made a joke.

She’s going to be okay.

Henry stepped out and smiled, his eyes only for her, his dimple at full force.

And I’m the lucky girl.

Cate tightened her arms around Henry. He was warm and solid. A rock to hold on to.

“I don’t want to take you away from your friends.” Henry glanced back as Sam and Tessa trudged to the far end of the walk, giving Cate and him some privacy.

“You didn’t.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” he said, looking across the water.

“I didn’t know that.”

“Very funny.” He kissed her forehead. “And then a week until the New Year.”

“I’m very aware.” They’d tiptoed around the subject of her return to her job, neither wanting to discuss it. The thought of leaving him hurt.

“We’ve been avoiding the topic,” he said, lifting her chin until she looked him in the eyes. “For the past month we’ve gone on as if you’re leaving after next week, and I’ve kept my mouth shut about it because it’s your life and your job, but I’ve realized I need to tell you my opinion.”

Cate held her breath. She’d never seen his eyes so serious.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said firmly. “I’m going to be selfish and say that I want you to stay. The last few weeks have been the happiest of my life, and it’s hurting me that you’ll no longer be physically within reach. Ever since I stepped foot on this island, I’ve known my fate was here. And I think you might be a big part of that.”

He wants me to stay.

She’d thought of little else for weeks.

“Do you remember when we both didn’t feel right after flying to the mainland?” she asked. “That feeling stayed with me the entire time I was there, even at the hospital with Sam. But the minute we took off to come home, the feeling eased. And touching down was a relief.”

He nodded vehemently, agreeing. “I felt that too.”

She laughed. “For a while I thought I needed a pregnancy test.”

The sudden light in his eyes touched her heart.

“Since I was a kid, I’d heard stories,” she continued. “Some people are meant to be on Widow’s. They belong to the island. My view of the island is much different as an adult than it was when I was a teen,” she added thoughtfully. “I left as soon as I could and was thrilled to be off the island and out in the real world. But now it’s different.” She frowned. “When we went to get Sam, I felt I shouldn’t leave. Why do I feel different today than when I left for college?” She tilted her head, holding his gaze. “I think it’s because you’re on the island now.”

His hands tightened on her waist.

“I’m lucky to have been raised in paradise,” Cate said. “Maybe paradise is the wrong word. So many of our days are gray, but when I’m around you, there is color everywhere I look. Is it because you were brought to Widow’s for me?”

“You sound confused,” he said.

“I was, but I’m not anymore. I’m not going to question my gut. I’m not going back to the mainland or the FBI. I can’t do my job anyway; I panic simply standing in front of doors.”

“You didn’t panic in front of Travis.”

“That was different. People I loved were in danger. There was no time for my brain to ruin my concentration. I just acted.”

“You’re not going back to the FBI.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

He hugged her and planted a kiss on her mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

“I know.”

“But what will you do? You’ve got to have a purpose. You’ve been driven your whole life. You can help me at the clinic . . . maybe figure out how I can expand to serve some of the neighboring small islands that don’t have a doctor, but I don’t think that’ll be sufficient for you.”

“You’re right, it won’t.”

He waited.

“I want to buy the bookstore. I don’t think Rosa Underwood will be back.”

Henry sucked in a breath. “You do? Will that be enough? I mean, I swear sometimes she didn’t have a customer for days. That definitely won’t be a challenge.”

“I’m going to ask Edith if she’d consider selling the bakery to me.”

“You want both?”

“Yep. I haven’t been able to think about anything else—maybe I’ll combine them.” Cate grew excited as she voiced the thoughts that had been bouncing in her head for days. “Jane would love to be involved in the bakery—I can bake. I was taught by the best, my grandmother. I just don’t do it that much, and between her and me, I know we could do it, and Sam could work with us.”

“And you’d read books and pet that cat whenever you wanted.”

“Sounds pretty great to me.” She smiled, feeling it all the way to her toes. She’d never been more sure of anything in her life. Except maybe the man in front of her. This was meant to happen; she knew it.

“You have my full support for whatever you want if it means you’ll stay with me.” He leaned his head against hers. “The thought of you leaving has been killing me for weeks, but I didn’t think it was fair to say anything.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“But you were already making plans to stay anyway?”

“Maybe.”

“You were, you totally were.” He took her head in his hands and kissed her deeply.

“Go, Doc Henry!” shouted Tessa as Sam whooped her delight.

Cate smiled against his kiss.

Everything was perfect.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

After writing ten Rogue River novellas, Melinda and I were ready to write about new characters and a new location. A trip to the beautiful San Juan Islands convinced us a Pacific Northwest island would be a fabulous setting for more mystery and murder, and the concept of Widow’s Island was born. We carried over a couple of characters from Rogue River—we weren’t ready to leave it completely behind. Thank you to Montlake and our editor, Anh Schluep, for their enthusiasm about this project. Thank you to Charlotte Herscher for helping us sound like we know what we’re doing. Thank you to our readers who loved our first novella series and constantly begged for more. We hope you enjoy Widow’s Island as much as we do.

Kendra Elliot

Melinda Leigh

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2016 Rebekah Jule Photography

Kendra Elliot has landed on the Wall Street Journal bestseller list multiple times and is the award-winning author of the Bone Secrets and Callahan & McLane series, as well as the Mercy Kilpatrick novels. Kendra is a three-time winner of the Daphne du Maurier Award, an International Thriller Writers Award finalist, and an RT Award finalist. She has always been a voracious reader, cutting her teeth on classic female heroines such as Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, and Laura Ingalls. She was born, raised, and still lives in the rainy Pacific Northwest with her family, but she looks forward to the day she can live in flip-flops. Visit her at www.kendraelliot.com.