by Nalini Singh
Nikau, still sporting a heavy five-o’clock shadow that was turning into a beard, nodded. It wasn’t until they were in his truck that he said, “When’s your cop getting back?”
Anahera shot him a hard look. “What the hell is up with you?” It wasn’t the first edgy comment he’d made about her and Will tonight. “I know you’re not jealous.”
He didn’t speak again the entire drive, finally bringing his truck to a stop in front of Tom and Josie’s place. Sitting in the vehicle with him, his mood dark and turbulent, Anahera realized she might’ve made a stupid mistake after all. Because this Nikau wasn’t the man she’d once known, was angry inside in a way that verged on frightening. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him taking out his anger on a vulnerable woman. Punishing her in place of—
Oh, God.
She, Josie, Matilda, they’d all made a mistake: Anahera wasn’t the only person in town who fit the summer killer’s preference. Keira had been dyeing her hair to a light brown shade with blonde streaks since she turned eighteen, and often wore gray or green contacts. Strip away the artifice, however, and she was brown eyed, black haired, with skin and bone structure like Anahera’s.
Her mouth went dry.
“It’s got nothing to do with you, or with Will,” Nikau said suddenly. “I’m just being a bastard because Keira is pregnant.” He spit out the last word. “She’s going to have that asshole’s baby.”
“Who told you?”
She expected to hear that it had been a gloating Daniel.
“Keira.” His pain was too big for the truck, a suffocating pressure. “She came to see me, told me she didn’t want this kind of anger between us during her pregnancy. Asked me to chill it. Said we should be friends.”
Focused on survival, Anahera didn’t say what she thought. At least not until she’d undone her seat belt and pushed open the door. “Look,” she said, “it’s not good for you to be around her all the time.” Stepping out, she shut the door, but leaned down to speak through the open window. “Get out of this town and move on, explore the world through your career. You’re a great guy, Nik. So many women would be happy to be with you.”
Nikau shot her a look of anger so cold that she moved away from the window. “I can get her to love me again.”
Anahera decided to keep her mouth shut on any further comments. If Nikau was a monster under the skin, then she might inadvertently put Keira in the crosshairs. Saying a quick thanks for the ride instead, she began to walk up Josie’s drive.
Nikau’s truck didn’t move.
One second, two, three—
Josie opened the door, her pregnant form silhouetted in the light behind her, and Anahera finally heard Nikau’s truck revving off and away, taking with it a friend who’d turned into a stranger.
56
Darkness shrouded the road into Golden Cove, the trees seeming to lean in to embrace the night. The twin beams of Will’s headlights were the only points of brightness in the pitch-black landscape. Take away the road markings, cut off access to the outside world, and the land would swallow you up until nothing remained.
Or until only bones remained.
Robert had called him an hour earlier to say he was attempting to get new copies of the dental and medical records of the missing hikers; the ones in the original case files were no longer in the best condition. “Speed things up for the forensic anthropologist,” the other detective had said. “Everyone should have a name.”
Yes. No one should be buried in a grave without a name.
Will’s eyes skimmed the glowing digits of the dashboard clock. It was well past eleven at night. He should let Anahera rest. But, after all the death today, and even if she was angry with him for doubting Tom’s family man persona, he had a craving inside him to see her alive and vibrant.
The supermarket’s great big corporate symbol blazed against the night, but, as always at this time, the store was shut—along with nearly all the other businesses in Golden Cove. Only the pub remained open, patrons and staff moving beyond the street-facing windows.
He was about to bring the SUV to a halt by the police station so he could call Anahera, when he saw a hint of something on the horizon that captured his attention. It twisted like fog against the bluish black of the night sky, but that made no sense. There was no sign of fog anywhere in the vicinity and what he’d seen was rising too fast.
Smoke.
Will stepped out of his vehicle into the cold, the wet tarmac gleaming in the beams of his headlights, but the sky was clear of rain. He didn’t smell any hint of fire on the air currents, but he had not a single doubt that was smoke on the horizon.
And it was drifting in from the beach end of town.
Normally, that would’ve made it less of a threat. Especially with the weather having been so damp. Things were too wet for the vegetation to catch fire. But not only was that smoke too strong, too high, it was coming from the direction of Anahera’s cabin.
Getting back into his vehicle, he drove screamingly fast to the firehouse, then jumped out and used his emergency key to get into the building. Golden Cove had too small a population to have volunteer firefighters standing by, so the town had come up with another system.
A second after he entered the firehouse, he pushed the button that set off a piercing siren, then used his authorization to send an emergency message to the pagers worn by all the volunteers. He relocked the door to protect the gear inside, as the trained volunteers all had keys, and was back in his SUV before anyone responded.
He knew it wouldn’t be long. The brigade’s total response time was a matter of minutes—Will had been their timekeeper during the last test.
Activating his vehicle’s hands-free system as he drove toward Anahera’s cabin, he made a direct call to the leader of the volunteer firefighters. “It’s Will,” he said. “I’m pretty sure Anahera’s cabin is on fire. I’m heading in that direction to confirm.”
The other man didn’t waste time on unimportant questions. “I’ve just reached the firehouse. You want us to wait or do you want us to head out straightaway?”
Will could see even more smoke now. It speared out through the darkness, thick columns of gray smudging the night. “Get your people to the location as fast as possible.”
He screeched into Anahera’s drive.
The red glow of flames crackled hot against the shadowy backdrop of trees, and a second after he braked to a shuddering stop off the gravel path so that the firefighters could come through, the roof collapsed in a shower of embers.
Stepping out, he braced himself. The heat pulsed against his face, the smoke coating his nostrils, his throat, sinking into his clothing. It was a nightmare come to life, one that threatened to suck him into the abyss, but Will wasn’t fucking done yet. If Anahera was in that house, he’d damn well get her out.
No matter what the price.
Grabbing his phone, he called her.
It rang and rang and rang—“Will?”
He staggered against the driver’s-side door of the SUV just as the fire appliance turned into the drive, its siren going full blast. “You’re all right!” he yelled, barely able to hear himself. “Is there a reason anyone else would’ve been in your cabin today?”
“No, I locked up when I left,” she said. “Are you at the fire? Tom left to—oh, my God, is it my cabin?”
“I’m sorry, Anahera.”
But she’d already hung up, and he knew she was on her way. A number of others arrived before her, probably the folks who’d been in the pub, or who lived closest to the center of town. But they let Anahera pass to the front, their faces soft with pity and sorrow except for two drunks who stared at the flames, their eyes reflecting the greedy yellow-red tongues.
Anahera said nothing when she reached Will; the two of them stood a third of the way down the drive while the firefighters worked to control t
he blaze. Will caught the locked tension of her muscles, but he also saw the shimmer of water in her eyes. And he remembered that this had been her mother’s home. It was the safe haven Anahera had come to, to lick her own wounds and attempt to heal.
He didn’t have any words to comfort her, so he just put his arm around her and tugged her against his body. She resisted, her hands fisted and her jaw a brutal line. “There was no gas inside,” she said. “My tank ran out last night just as I finished reheating the stew and I haven’t had a chance to return the empty and pick up a new one. And you saw me turn the electricity off at the mains.”
“Yes.” She’d opened up the box mounted to one side of the porch right before they left for Matilda’s what felt like a lifetime ago.
“My mother taught me to do that if I might be away overnight because the cabin was all the way out here by itself. She worried about shorts in the wiring.”
Will heard the firefighters shout to each other, their faces glowing with sweat. “I don’t think this was an accident,” he said. “It’s too much of a coincidence with everything else that’s going on.”
A massive crackle as a wall collapsed inward.
“Did you have a run-in with anyone tonight?”
A short pause before she shook her head. “No.”
“You can’t protect your friends now.”
“Nikau was acting off, but that’s because he just heard Keira is pregnant.” She blew out a breath. “She looks like me. Under the dyed hair and the colored contacts.”
Will thought of Nikau’s alibi for the time of Miriama’s disappearance, and then he thought about the three hikers and how Anahera’s picture would fit right in. “I’ll find out where he was earlier tonight.” The fire could’ve been set an hour or more ago, a small flame left to slowly creep across the cabin.
“There’s something else.” Anahera glanced at him before returning her gaze to her cabin. “It’s all over town that you spent the night here. And it’s far easier to get to my place than it is to yours.”
She was right. Will’s home was in the middle of a neighborhood, complete with nosy Evelyn Triskell only three houses down. “You were attacked to send me a message.” He’d been rattling cages, asking questions, while Anahera was a local come home and should’ve been safe. It made more sense than a serial killer suddenly changing the way he stalked and attacked his victims.
Anahera closed her hand over the forearm he had across her chest. “I was attacked because this person is a coward. Don’t let them mess with your head, cop.”
Will forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I know the cabin meant a lot to you,” he said, “but did you lose anything else important?”
“Both my laptops and my passport,” she told him. “But I can get the passport replaced, and my work’s all backed up in the cloud so I’m fine there.” Her hand rose to her throat, to the pounamu carving he’d never seen her without. “This is safe.” Strong fingers curving around the greenstone, her body finally softening slightly into his. “I still have photos of my mother, all backed up in triplicate, including a set on Josie’s computer. That’s the most important thing.”
“Good.” Will wondered at his chances of getting a fire investigator out here. With no fatalities and the only casualty an old cabin with what would be considered suspect wiring, it was probably highly unlikely—but Will had been on the force a long time. He’d see if he could call in another favor.
“You were burned in a fire.” Anahera’s back stayed pressed against his chest, her eyes on the cabin. “This must remind you of it.”
Will’s instincts recoiled against the memories, but he shook his head. “No, because you weren’t inside.” He could’ve stopped at that, but he gave her the whole ugly truth. “The rapist husband killed his wife and child by setting their supposed safe house on fire.”
“You tried to save them.”
“The bastard had doused the entire place in kerosene. It went up like paper. Part of a wall fell on me.” Breaking nothing, just searing his skin and trapping him in place until smoke inhalation took him under.
He’d survived because the firefighters he’d called before going into the house had hauled him out. “The pathologist later confirmed both bodies were found in their beds. I like to imagine they never woke, were never afraid, that the smoke got them before the flames.” But he’d never know for sure.
Sometimes, he had nightmares where he imagined three-year-old Alfie screaming and screaming as his flesh melted off.
Anahera shifted to his side, then slipped her arm around his waist, hugging him tight. “Then,” she said, “using fire to get at you isn’t a coincidence, is it?”
Yes, it was cunning and vicious both. “I want to point the finger at Kyle. He’s vindictive enough to do something like this—but he isn’t the only person I’ve pissed off recently.” Just because Kyle Baker was a psychopath didn’t mean he was also a firestarter.
“What about Vincent?”
“He strikes me as too controlled.” Everything and everyone in its place, including his wife and his mistress. Both marionettes Vincent had manipulated to get them to dance to his tune.
“I suppose you’re right.” Anahera didn’t look away from the cabin, but her tone said she was thinking of something else. “It’s just . . . I remember, when we were teenagers, it was always Vincent who started the bonfires. He was just so good at it. We used to joke that he must have a Boy Scout badge for starting fires.”
The hairs prickled on the back of Will’s neck. “Did he ever start fires outside of the bonfires?”
“Not that I know of,” Anahera admitted. “We were all brought up to be very careful with fire, what with the risk of forest fires in summer. The only place we felt safe to have a bonfire was on the beach. And Nikau, Daniel, even me, we were all into it just as much as Vincent.”
Her fingers clenched on the back of his jacket. “Truth is, I don’t really have any reason to suspect Vincent. It’s just that I don’t like him much now that I’ve spoken to Jemima.”
People began to rustle behind them as the flames started to stutter and die one by one.
The spectacle was over.
“I get the feeling he went shopping for a wife,” Anahera added. “Jemima has the right pedigree, the right kind of beauty, even the right kind of personality—she’s never going to leave Vincent, no matter what he does.”
“Do you think she’d assist him if he decided to get rid of an inconvenient woman?” Because—and assuming the baby had been Vincent’s—that was what Miriama would’ve become in his eyes the instant she fell pregnant.
“I don’t know, but if he did it and Jemima knows, she won’t tell. She loves him too much to ever turn him in.”
“It could work the other way, too,” Will said softly. “Jemima getting rid of the competition.”
Sucking in a breath, Anahera said, “I get the feeling she’s too passive . . . but Jemima also loves Vincent. Desperately.”
Her words hung in a disturbing pocket of silence.
Up ahead, the firefighters were smothering the last embers. It helped that the cabin had been wet from the rain, and though it had blazed hotly for a short period, there hadn’t been enough fuel for it to keep going once the place was drenched with firefighting foam. Now it sat there, a crumbled ruin frothing with white.
57
Anahera didn’t sleep that night and, come dawn, she left Will’s bed without waking him. It had taken painstaking care, but he needed his sleep after the long drive the previous day and the hours he’d spent at the site where the cabin had once stood—writing everything up and making calls that had woken more than one person.
One of those calls had led eventually to a fire investigator. The other man had agreed to come to Golden Cove today, see if he could confirm their suspicions of arson.
Anahera needed to say good-bye t
o her home first, needed to say good-bye to her mother.
Throat thick and body reclad in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, she pulled on her boots and walked out of the house. She made no attempt to take the police SUV—a walk would do her good. Fog rolled around her ankles and a cool morning wind whispered across her cheeks as she strode along the road heading to the beach.
The small stops she made left her hand wet and color in her grasp.
When she heard an engine behind her, she glanced back—and wished she hadn’t.
Jason Rawiri brought his truck to a stop next to her. “Heard about the cabin,” he said, his jaw grizzled gray but his hair black. “I’m driving out to see.”
The invitation was unspoken.
Anahera wanted nothing from him, but neither could she allow him to go there alone, not after what he’d done. Ignoring the passenger-side door, she hauled herself up onto the bed of the truck and sat with her back to her father as he drove on through the fog.
Thankfully, it was a relatively short drive.
Jumping off the instant they arrived, Anahera walked to the ruins of the small home where her mother had been happiest. She didn’t attempt to go into the debris—if there was anything for the arson investigator to find, she didn’t want to contaminate the evidence. Anahera didn’t need to enter to see that it was all gone.
Burned down right to the foundations.
Gone with it was the last place in this world where Anahera had felt the echo of her mother’s footsteps. There was no grave; Haeata had told Anahera she wanted to be cremated when she died, her ashes scattered into the ocean.
Anahera had followed her mother’s wishes.
She placed the wildflowers she’d picked beside one corner of the foundations. Then, filling her lungs, she sang a waiata—singing in the tongue of her people again for the first time since she’d found her mother’s body . . . and cracking the hard, scarred shell that encased her soul. And because she knew her mother was in a better place, she sang it not as a lament but as full of piercing hope even as her eyes burned and her chest ached.
