Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense

by Emily McIntire

  The last time I saw them was the night my father caught us on his boat; she’d had the flashlight pressed up against her chin as he drove the boat back to shore, trying to distract me from my punishment with ghost stories.

  I just didn’t know that the next day, she’d become one.

  “Lincoln?” Sloane—Morgan?—utters softly, still stuck in my grasp.

  The single word feels like flames licking against my skin, and I snatch my hand back, releasing her as if she’s burned me.

  When I wiggle my fingers, trying to expel the sensation, it only solidifies. A phantom making its home in my limbs.

  “Paul, can I talk to you alone?” Sloane’s mouth opens to protest, and I hold a finger up, silencing her. “It’ll just be a minute, Detective.”

  She frowns. “Fine. But don’t try and convince him not to talk to me.”

  “To be fair, little girl, I still haven’t decided one way or the other,” Paul says, giving her a look I don’t have the patience to decipher.

  We start toward the cottage, and I toss a glance over my shoulder at Sloane as we move up the porch steps. She turns in a circle, hands on her hips as she assesses the outside of the lighthouse, and even that feels familiar.

  The old man looks like he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, and for some reason, the fact that this situation doesn’t seem to have fazed him in the slightest niggles at something in the back of my mind.

  I don’t know what the fuck is going on, and I don’t like it.

  Paul pauses on the bottom step, slinging his rifle out so it bars my path to the porch. “Wanna explain what the hell’s going on with you?”

  My mouth dries up, and I card a hand through my hair, yanking hard at the ends. “Her name’s Morgan.”

  His face remains totally still, a long pause bleeding out between us. “And?”

  My eyes widen. “And... you don’t think it’s odd that she’s the first Morgan we’ve had in town in almost twenty years?”

  “No more so than you keeping track.” He narrows his dark eyes, the wind rustling his white locks.

  “It cannot possibly be a coincidence.” I nod my chin in her direction. “Her eyes? Tell me you saw them. They look just like hers!”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he snaps, rage pouring through his tone.

  I pull my chin back, pressing my lips together.

  Sighing, Paul runs a hand down the side of his face, his wrinkled skin smoothing temporarily with the action. “Look, Lincoln, you know I appreciate you keeping her memory alive all these years, but...”

  Straightening my spine, I cock an eyebrow, my chest tightening. “But what?”

  “It’s been years, son. No amount of mourning is gonna bring her back. You need to move on.”

  “I don’t even have anything to move on from,” I bite out, irritation boiling in my blood. Emotion stings behind my eyes, and I curl my hands into fists at my side, shoving them into my pockets. “People don’t just fucking disappear, Paul. Don’t act like you believe that story any more than I do.”

  When he doesn’t immediately respond, I tilt my head, taking in his calm, unbothered demeanor. He doesn’t even give Sloane another glance, eyes sliding right past to the ocean beyond.

  Anger simmers in my veins, splashing red across my vision. I lean back on the rail leading up the steps, studying him, waiting for a chink to appear in his stoic armor.

  “Or is this admitting you did kill your daughter and wife, after all these years?” I continue, breath hitching when his gaze snaps to mine. “Has the town been right about you all along, Jensen?”

  Slowly, he raises his gun, pressing the barrel into the center of my chest. “You come around here accusing me, boy, you’d better have some goddamn proof.”

  “I’m not accusing you, I’m just saying. Isn’t there some part of you that wonders what happened that night? What if—”

  “Oh, my god!” Sloane’s voice splinters through the air, interrupting the conversation. Our heads whip toward her as she approaches, pistol drawn and clasped between her hands, pointed at Paul.

  He grunts. “Put that down.”

  “You first.” She jerks her chin at the rifle, glaring. “As much of a pain in the ass Mr. Porter may be, I need him unharmed. I don’t want to know how much more unbearable he gets when injured.”

  Tsking, Paul lets the weapon drop, shaking his head as he moves up a step. “Get the hell off my property, you two.”

  Anxiety coasts along my skin, tiny pinpricks that have me clenching my jaw. “We have a warrant to speak with you—”

  “We can come back another time,” Sloane offers, lifting a shoulder as she reholsters her gun. “If that works for you, sir.”

  My nostrils flare with each heavy breath I pull in and subsequently release. Paul just grunts again, the noncommittal sound more emphatic than any other I’ve heard him make, and he makes his way up the steps without another word, slamming the front door shut behind him.

  Sloane looks at me, folding her arms over her chest. “What just happened?”

  I remove my hands from my pockets, smoothing them down over my jeans. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

  She falls in line behind me as I head back to the truck, unease and awareness humming along my skin like a tide rising to slap against the shore.

  Out of habit, I walk to her side and yank the door open; she steps past me, quietly obeying the unspoken command to get in, but then my hand is lashing out and encircling her wrist, and I’m twisting her so she’s backed against the polished metal.

  Her eyes are as wide and deep as the ocean itself as they stare up at me, and I feel a little dizzy as I try to focus on them.

  Little flecks of white float around her pupils, dispersing the otherwise crystalline shades of blue, and in a second I’m transported into the past, standing in this exact spot as an eleven-year-old, convincing my best friend that she’s not going to get in trouble for sneaking away.

  “I’m so grounded,” she says, pushing out her bottom lip as we say our goodbyes. My pops’s run-down pickup rumbles off to the side, almost obscuring the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

  He’s waiting, letting me say goodbye before I’m unable to see Morgan again for a month. All because I let Gabe convince me it’d be fine to bring her on the boat.

  Gabe is always getting me into freaking trouble.

  I reach up and flick the end of her nose, grinning when she groans, shoving me away. Her little fists tighten on the straps of her backpack, and she sighs when I pinch her chin.

  “You’ll be fine,” I say, meaning it from the depths of my soul. “Your daddy’ll take one look in these eyes and be helpless against them, like always.”

  She chews on her bottom lip. “It’s not my daddy I’m afraid of.”

  Standing here now, I’m willing to bet my entire life that I’m looking into the same gaze.

  I just don’t know how it’s possible.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sloane whispers, shifting so her pelvis brushes mine.

  Gritting my teeth, I push away from her before the feel of her against me unravels my resolve and shake my head. My eyes catch on the lighthouse behind us, heart thick in my throat as I consider the possibilities.

  It’s insane, frankly. I don’t have an explanation for it.

  But the longer I ponder, the more I rack my brain for hidden memories and false truths, the more this thought forms like a marble statue in my mind.

  Is Detective Sloane... the lightkeeper’s daughter?

  Chapter 26

  My heart has been kicking my ribs since the second Lincoln backed me against the side of his truck.

  He’s been tense on the way back to his cabin, not a single word said between us. My teeth chew on the inside of my cheek, worrying the flesh, my gaze bouncing from the landscape whizzing by the windows to his stern face, and the way his knuckles turn white from his grip on the steering wheel.

/>   My stomach is in my throat, wondering what just happened and why it is that he seems to be a live wire on the edge of exploding. He’s always been hot and cold with me, but this... this is something else entirely.

  We pull down the long drive to his cabin, and it’s only when it comes into view that I let out a big breath, anxious to escape this enclosed space with him; the air suffocating from the tension pouring off of him in waves.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as he throws the truck in park and turns off the engine.

  He doesn’t respond, both of his fists still wrapped around the wheel, his face staring straight ahead, and his jaw muscles clenching and releasing.

  “Careful,” I try again, reaching my finger out to poke him in the cheek. “You’ll crack a tooth.”

  He looks over at me then, and the intensity swirling in his green gaze steals my breath, making the smile drop off my face. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  As if in slow motion, his hand releases the wheel and reaches down, unbuckling his seat belt. Then he moves, leaning over me until I’m pressed against the passenger side door, the glass window chilling the skin of my neck, and the handle digging into my back.

  Still, he doesn’t speak.

  He just stares, almost as if he’s searching for something that belongs to him. Something I don’t know how to give.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” I stutter.

  “Looking,” he replies.

  My fingernails cut into my palms so I can resist the urge to either drag him in closer or push him away. I lick my lips. “Looking for what?”

  His gaze bounces over my face. “I’m not sure yet.”

  He pulls back, and my lungs expand as I exhale my first full breath since we got in the truck.

  “Where did you grow up?” he asks.

  I tilt my head. “Portland.”

  His brow quirks. “Maine?”

  “Yep. Same place I live now.”

  “And you were born there?”

  My forehead scrunches, muscles tightening beneath my skin, itching to break free. “You know, you ask a lot of questions for someone who never likes to answer them.”

  He nods slowly.

  I point at him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  His eyes widen. “Like what?”

  “Like I’m something you’re trying to solve.”

  “Sloane.”

  “You can call me Morgan,” I reply.

  Truthfully, I don’t really care what he calls me, but I can’t help irritating the beast, wanting to make sure that what I think is the reason he’s lost his mind is actually the reason.

  “Right,” he bites back. “And you haven’t told me until now because…?”

  My hands fly out to my sides. “Because it never came up? I don’t know, everyone calls me Sloane. What’s the big deal?”

  He shakes his head.

  My eyes flick from his face to the windshield, taking in his cabin before coasting over the fallen leaves in his yard that lead out to the dock where his boat floats on the water.

  Captain Morgan.

  My lungs compress as realization hits me and I twist back to him, my gaze narrowing. “You were close with Morgan, weren’t you? The lightkeeper’s daughter.”

  “What?” he asks, dropping his hand from where it was tugging on his roots.

  “My name,” I continue. “Is that why you’re freaking out? You knew her?”

  Something dark and haunted ghosts across his eyes. “I did.”

  “Oh.” My stomach tenses.

  He doesn’t say anything else, and in the silent moments, I can’t help but feel a tiny pinprick of jealousy trickling through my veins like a leaky faucet from all the things he isn’t saying. From everything I’ve learned, she disappeared when she was ten, almost two decades ago, but if he named a boat after her and has such a visceral reaction still, she must have been important.

  “I’m sorry if I reminded you of her,” I whisper.

  “You don’t remind me of her.”

  My chest twists.

  He blows out a heavy breath, that forest green gaze spearing through me and pinning me to my spot. “I think you are her.”

  I jerk back from his words, a laugh bubbling from my throat and escaping into the air. “What?” I huff out. “Did you hit your head when I wasn’t looking? That’s insane, Lincoln.”

  “I know,” he grumbles. “I know it is. But...”

  His words are cut off by a sharp rap on the passenger side window. Lincoln’s eyes move behind me and harden, and I twist my head to come face-to-face with Alex peering in.

  I had forgotten he was staying here.

  Sighing, I look back to Lincoln. “Listen, I want to talk about this more, but... I was born in Washington, I’m not even from here, okay? I can’t be the same person you’re thinking of.”

  And then I open the door and jump out of the truck, changing my focus from Lincoln’s outburst to what really matters; my job. The one I’m determined to stop failing at.

  Three hours later, and Alex and I are still in the same spot we were, splaying out all of the evidence we have, and all of our notes, trying to connect the dots, but only winding up going in circles. And as much as I try to concentrate, it’s extremely difficult with the way Lincoln hasn’t moved from his spot either.

  He hasn’t left.

  He’s just sitting in the corner of the room with his elbows perched on his knees, his hands in a prayer over his mouth while his eyes are locked on every move I make.

  He’s crazy.

  The heat of his stare singes my neck, and that combined with the fact that nothing about this case adds up, is enough to make me explode like a geyser, my blood boiling until it bursts from my veins.

  “What?” I snap, throwing down my pen and turning to meet his gaze.

  “You were born in Washington?” he asks.

  Lifting my head to the ceiling, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, Lincoln. Washington, and then we moved to Maine when I was in fifth grade.”

  His eyes squint.

  “What do you want from me? Want me to go to my parents’ house and dig up my birth certificate or pictures of me just to prove it?”

  He tilts his head. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  Alex clears his throat, his head swinging back and forth between us. “What are you two talking about?”

  I wave my hand toward Lincoln in exasperation. “He’s crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Lincoln states firmly.

  “You are. And I’m going to, once again, not do my job here, while I drive to my parents’ house, just so you can calm down and let me focus on the case.”

  “Whoa,” Alex cuts in. “Wait. What?”

  “Great,” Lincoln snips. “And then we’ll go back out on the water.”

  I shake my head. “Nope. You’ll go on the water.” I nod toward Alex. “With him.”

  Alex grins, leaning back in his chair, and Lincoln scoffs. “Fuck no. He’s not coming on my boat.”

  “You’re making me waste my time, and I want to solve this case.”

  “The answer is no,” he says again.

  My lips thin, my middle burning from irritation. “The quicker we do, the quicker we’ll be out of your life for good.”

  Lincoln lifts his chin in the air, his gaze narrowing. “Fine.”

  I smile, exasperation wringing my bones dry. “Fine.”

  Standing up, I walk to the front, grabbing my coat and slipping my arms through the sleeves.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Alex asks.

  “Home,” I reply, pointing toward the door.

  “Right now?” His brows raise.

  I grin, sliding into my shoes and digging through my purse to find my keys. “No time like the present.”

  A sudden pang of worry wiggles through my chest and slithers down my middle, making my eyes pop up and bounce between the two of them. Clenching my keys in my fist, I point at them.

  “You two behave, and don
’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Chapter 27

  Instead of heading straight for the water with Caruso’s big head in tow, I drive downtown and park in the mostly vacant lot outside Petey’s.

  Leaning over the seat, I pop open the glove compartment and take out the plastic baggie full of my personal evidence—the stuff that won’t fit in the lockbox—running my fingers over the glossy material.

  A Polaroid faces up at me, my arm slung around Morgan’s shoulders at her tenth birthday party, both of us leaning in to blow out the candles. That was our little tradition each year, blowing out the candles together and splitting the wish silently.

  The wound her presence once filled in my heart festers the longer I stare, bleeding like it’s been reopened, so I turn the baggie over and push out of the truck, shrugging my shoulders against the crisp afternoon air.

  As usual, Petey’s is sparsely patronized; a young couple sits in a red booth in the back corner, clinking their pints together as if in celebration, but otherwise the floor is empty.

  Not that it stops anyone from decking the place out for Halloween.

  Stepping inside, the door swings shut behind me, and Isa’s head pops up from behind the bar. A smile splits her heart-shaped face, and she raps her knuckles against the metal top, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Well, well,” she chirps, crossing her tattooed arms over her chest. “Look what the dead lobsters dragged in.”

  I smother a grin in return, my feet heavy as I avoid a cackling witch beside the doors and close the distance between us. “Isa.”

  “That all I get? Jeez, Linc, the lengths I go to making sure this town puts respect on your name, and I can’t even get a ‘good to see you?’ Tough crowd.”

  Rolling my eyes, warmth spreads through my chest as I pull out a wooden barstool and straddle it, resting my forearms on the counter. “It’s great to see you.”

  “Much better.” Glancing over her shoulder, she kicks open the kitchen door with her heel, hollering, “Gabe, your boyfriend’s here!”