“What are yours then, Lacey?” Mia asked.
“Oh.” Lacey let go of Robert and slid off the counter. She edged around the table until she was close to Mia but not within arm’s reach. Her eyes were dark, dilated. Mia flushed hot, her pulse thrumming in every soft spot on her body. “That was actually a good question, Detective. I’m almost impressed.”
Mia pressed her lips together so that they wouldn’t tremble as she inhaled through her nose. The slip of oxygen along her throat steadied her. “Enough to answer?”
Lacey laughed, the serrated edges of it slicing into Mia’s skin. She tried not to recoil.
Without warning, Lacey reached out, her hand catching the back of Mia’s neck. Her breath was too warm against Mia’s ear. “Boredom.”
She was gone as quick as she’d come, before Mia could even react. Dancing away, giggling.
“Boredom,” Mia repeated, fighting the urge to swipe at the smear of lipstick that Lacey had left behind on her skin.
“That summer was so fucking boring,” Lacey said, hopping back up on the counter. “Don’t you remember? But you all . . .”
She trailed off and tipped her head back, an undulating shiver running through her body. “All of your petty drama and big eyes and fragile emotions.” She met Mia’s gaze, her own lashes heavy. “Delicious.”
“Was Cash supposed to be there that night?”
For the first time since she’d walked into the kitchen, Lacey’s glee flickered. “He was supposed to be. I don’t know why . . .” Lacey paused, shook her head. Thrown for the first time all night. When she continued, it was soft, more to herself than to Mia, her eyes on the floor. “But then I saw him.”
It was a button to push, and it helped Mia wrap her arms around her own fear, helped her press it down. “Not quite as in control as you thought, huh? You couldn’t get him to do exactly what you wanted?”
Lacey’s nostrils flared. Anger. That was so much better than the odd high Lacey had been riding. Anger made people lose control.
“Pup, give me the gun,” Lacey said to Robert, her palm out, her gaze locked on Mia still. Mia’s heartbeat tripped, that panic she’d just reined in snapping at its restraints, begging to be let free.
She eyed the door. Too far. The table would provide some cover if she could be quick about it, but it would be a risk.
“Please don’t think I won’t shoot if you so much as breathe wrong, Detective.”
Dead if she did, dead if she didn’t. At least Mia could try. Go down with a fight. Her thighs tensed, and she shifted her weight to one hip, ready to fling herself sideways.
“Oh, calm down, I’m just going to have pup here tie you up,” Lacey said, waving toward Robert. He took his cue and crossed the room, his eyes on the floor.
Mia gauged his slender frame. She could take him, but a hostage was only as valuable as their worth to whoever had the gun. Mia guessed Lacey would shoot through his body to get to her. She held her hands out.
Robert slipped a zip tie over her wrists, and Mia thanked God for small favors. As long as she was standing, the plastic was easy enough to overcome. But then he bent and began tying a rope around her ankle, to the base of the heavy bench of the kitchen table.
Lacey watched, patient and assessing, until he stepped back. Then she held out the gun for Robert to take, crossed the room in three long strides, and slapped Mia so hard she ended up on the floor, with nothing to break her fall. Her elbow caught most of her weight. Spiky, white flashes of pain radiated out from her arm, her nerve endings begging for relief that didn’t come.
When Mia was finally able to blink her eyes open, Lacey was hovering over her, gripping her chin. Mia tried to pull away, but Lacey held firm.
“Everyone does what I tell them,” Lacey said, her voice disturbing in its calmness, a stark contrast to the violence of her handprint on Mia’s cheek.
It was a remarkable study in Lacey’s tight control of her own anger. Mia had provoked her over Cash so long ago, and yet she’d sat, unperturbed, through Robert’s fumbling attempts to bind Mia. Only when it was safe to act did Lacey let loose her rage.
Mia didn’t move, her eyes slipping over each of Lacey’s features, cataloging the twist of her lips, the sigh that escaped when she sat back on her heels.
“Asher wouldn’t have hurt me,” Mia said, taking advantage of being so close to Lacey. Without her constant fidgeting, she was so much easier to read. Before, her tells got lost in a constant barrage of little movements. Now they were amplified by her stillness.
Lacey was thinking about lying.
Mia could see it in the tug of her mouth, caught between a smirk and a grimace. She could see it in Lacey’s eyes, the way they darted to the side and then flicked up—so fast Mia almost missed it. She could see it in the press of Lacey’s knuckle against her own thigh. The truth or a lie? Mia waited.
Lacey leaned forward, her delicate hand pulling at Mia’s wrist until she was no longer sprawled on the floor but rather sitting up, in danger of tipping into Lacey’s lap. Thumbs dug into Mia’s flesh as Lacey maneuvered her forearms within the tight confines of the plastic zip tie. She didn’t let up until Mia’s left wrist was showing, the razor-thin scar almost terrifically beautiful against Mia’s pale skin.
Ducking her head, Lacey pressed her lips to it like it was a cherished child, lingering at Mia’s pulse point when she drew back.
This should have been the moment where Mia moved, kicked, lashed out, grabbed Lacey’s hair or necklace or hands, which still cradled Mia’s. But her muscles had locked up with the gentle touch of mouth against scar, her lungs refusing to drag in air, her vision blurred with tears.
“Tell me,” Mia whispered into the hushed room. “Who did it?”
Lacey’s fingertip traced along the smooth line, again, and again, and again. But her hungry, greedy eyes were locked with Mia’s.
“You did, darling.” The words dripped, poison coated, from slick cherry lips.
Everything unlocked. Oxygen was followed swiftly by adrenaline, and her body throbbed beneath the onslaught of chemicals. “No.”
It came out as a raspy exhale instead of the denial she’d intended.
Lacey scrunched her nose, as if unbearably fond of an endearing pet. “You, you were the best of all of them.”
“No.” It was firmer this time.
Lacey smiled, and it was that same dreamy one she’d worn earlier. “Memories are funny, aren’t they? They only show us what we think happened, not what really did.”
Without warning, the tip of Lacey’s nail burrowed into the end of the scar, and the pain that licked up Mia’s arm brought with it glimpses of that summer, the rose-gold nostalgia stripped away.
At the beach—the bonfire that first night. Mia had turned to find Lacey watching her instead of Monroe and Asher.
Mia stood up, the edges of Cash’s fingers trailing over the frayed hem of her jean shorts, and walked toward the beach. Lacey was sitting on the slick black rocks, the ocean teasing at her feet.
“Don’t feel bad. No one can take their eyes off her,” Lacey said as Mia sat, pulling her legs up to her chest.
“What?”
Lacey threw her a pitying look that, coming from the younger girl, jangled at Mia’s nerves. “Your boys there.”
Mia glanced back toward the bonfire. Cash’s gaze was still fixed on the scene across from him, the intertwined pair.
Lacey waited for Mia’s attention to shift back and then raised one perfectly plucked brow, the corner of her lip lifting in nothing resembling amusement. “You’ll see.”
“We didn’t . . . We didn’t ever talk,” Mia stuttered, gasping out of the memory. “You and I. We never talked.”
“Is that how it went?” Lacey asked.
Mia never climbed up to the lighthouse’s lookout tower by herself. But tonight she went up the stairs, holding tight to the bottle of Eagle Rare she’d nabbed from the bar when Max wasn’t looking. She’d leave him a twenty in the reg
ister later, but she’d needed the numbness it had offered, and Mama had run out of her supply.
Mia went out onto the metal grating that circled the tower, her legs slipping through the bars, her butt at the very edge. When she looked out, there seemed to be nothing beneath her, nothing in front of her. Just water and emptiness.
“You gonna share?” Lacey asked from the doorway. She must have seen Mia, must have followed her. If it had been someone else, Mia would have been annoyed. But Lacey didn’t know her, didn’t give a shit about her. Right now, it was what Mia needed. Someone who didn’t give a shit.
She took a too-big swig, then held out the bottle.
Time passed until it became meaningless. Only after what had to be hours did Lacey ask what happened.
“Didn’t get the scholarship.” Mia shrugged, as if it didn’t mean anything. As if her world hadn’t shattered. “Means I’ll be stuck here after school. Forever.”
“You fucked it up?” Lacey asked, in that blunt way of hers that was just on the wrong side of painful.
“Yup.”
“We can be fuckups together.”
Then there was that picture of Lacey and Mia in Cash’s attic, at the festival, a mini tableau of jealousy and anger playing out behind them.
“Here, smile big and pretty,” Lacey said, smooshing her cheek to Mia’s, holding the camera at arm’s length, tilted just enough that she was probably capturing Cash talking to Monroe, too. Probably capturing the scene from which Mia had just ripped her attention.
Mia plastered on something that must’ve looked like a grimace, the flash blinding when they had adjusted to the dark. Lacey’s fingers dug into the flesh of Mia’s upper arm, painful and bruising, and Mia pulled away.
But Lacey didn’t let her get far, her eyes locked on Mia’s face, unwavering in their intensity.
She leaned in, quick, a snake striking, and pressed her gloss-sticky lips to the hollow of Mia’s cheek, the smack of it loud and exaggerated.
“I told you,” Lacey whispered, her mouth now at Mia’s temple, as if comforting a child. “I told you he’d get tired of you.”
Then she was gone, lost in the festival’s crowd, Mia left once again watching Cash watch Asher and Monroe as they walked away from him together, just like that first night at the beach.
Mia blinked back into the present, even as the memories of a million little barbs wrapped around her, slid into her chest, her belly, every empty, aching part of her. Lacey had chipped away at Mia that summer, slow and methodical, patient and vicious.
Lacey leaned forward until her nose brushed lovingly against Mia’s cheek. Her lips came to rest along Mia’s hairline, so she could murmur in her ear, just like she had that one night. “You, darling, are my masterpiece.”
And maybe Lacey was too used to the way she could make her puppets dance to worry about Mia. But Mia wasn’t a scared little girl.
She deliberately let out a shattered breath, one that made it sound like she was on the verge of giving in completely.
Then, without hesitation, Mia brought her bound hands up and over Lacey’s head so that her wrists rested at the nape of Lacey’s neck. There was only a second to savor the flash of surprise on Lacey’s face before Mia used the leverage she’d just gained to slam her forehead into the woman’s nose.
The crack that sliced through the quiet was satisfying, though Mia knew she wouldn’t go down completely. The hit had done enough that Lacey went a little limp, her hands clutching at her face. Mia unlooped her arms from around Lacey’s neck and pushed her, hard, so that she went easily to the floor.
Then Mia rolled up to her feet and repeated the motion she’d executed in the basement, bringing her arms up and then down quickly. By this point her wrists were rubbed raw, bleeding in spots, but it didn’t matter. The plastic snapped.
She glanced at Robert, who was staring back wide eyed. When his finger didn’t twitch against the trigger, Mia bent, and with a few easy tugs the knot around her ankles relaxed. Not only had it been tied by inexpert hands, but as Lacey had been talking, Mia had been slowly working it loose with small movements.
Mia had two options: Either fade into the shadows of the house in the hope of getting lost in the vastness of its long hallways and empty rooms. Or risk the temperatures outside, the snow, and the ice with her damp jeans and T-shirt.
Get the hell out of there, Hart.
Without hesitation, Mia ran to the door, flung it open, and fled into the safety of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
IZZY
The wings of the plane tipped precariously against the wind. Izzy clutched the handle of the door, her fingers numb from the strain of it.
“Almost there,” Quinn yelled out, but there was a smile on her face. Maybe someone had to be slightly deranged to fly in this weather.
Izzy flashed her a quick thumbs-up with her free hand and then concentrated on swallowing the extra spit that was gathering in her mouth.
Soon enough, Quinn was directing the nose of the plane toward the water. The little thing was so light that Izzy thought it might just get taken away by a strong gust, but they did manage to land. It wasn’t smooth, and Izzy had been praying even though she stopped praying years ago.
“Quinn, don’t tell anyone I’m back, okay?” Izzy said after she’d crawled out onto the dock. She wanted to just lie there on her back, feel the solid ground beneath her weight. But she indulged for only the space of a heartbeat before she was on her feet again. Moving.
“Aye, aye, captain,” Quinn shouted at her back. Izzy shook her head, bemused by the woman but also so grateful to her that Izzy spared the moment to turn and wave.
Then she started up the hill as fast as the freshly fallen snow would allow. Izzy would start at Edie Hart’s house, then go from there. Mia had mentioned searching Cash Bishop’s place for things Earl had left behind. That would be her next stop.
The minute she stepped into Edie’s pale pink house, Izzy knew it was empty and wrong.
Izzy had spent the morning keeping the worst-case scenarios at bay, but they started circling now, prowling at the boundaries of her self-control.
She went through the rooms, but each confirmed her initial impression. There was no one there.
But. Nothing was overturned. Nothing broken or in disarray. This was not the scene of a crime.
Before leaving, she jotted a quick note, just in case Mia came back. When she was done, she started down the hill at a near run, anxiety not so quietly pacing along the inside of her skull.
Not yet, not yet, not yet. The mantra kept it at bay, each boot fall drilling in the point.
By the time she got to Bishop’s front door, Izzy was panting, in a combination of exertion and fear. She pounded on the wood with both fists, just as Cash had done days earlier when he’d found Earl.
The thought gave her pause. Lacey had probably killed the older Bishop. She’d been in town that night; she’d been at the bar. She must have stayed with Cash after.
One more victim. The tally kept ticking up.
The door gave way beneath her hands as Cash ripped it open. Izzy hadn’t yet figured out if he was involved, but she had to risk it.
“Is Mia here?”
“Izzy,” Cash said, which wasn’t an answer. She wanted to grip him by the collar of his shirt, haul him into the air, just like he’d done with Mia.
“Is. Mia. Here?” Izzy repeated, patience long ago worn thin.
“She was. But she left. Maybe an hour or two ago?”
“Shit.” The curse was wrenched from her, and Cash shifted back as if it had been a slap.
“Did you ever see the body?” Izzy asked, her eyes on his face.
He blinked, but in surprise. “From the bay? The reporter’s? No.”
Izzy glanced around. There was no one to overhear the conversation. She weighed her options. There was a good chance Mia was at the diner or at the store or back at Jimmy’s. But there was an uneasiness in her gut that was te
lling her that wasn’t the case. If Lacey had Mia, Izzy would need help. She licked her lips, turning back to Cash.
“I need you to tell me where you were that night,” Izzy finally said. “I need you tell me, and I need you not to lie. Do you understand?”
Cash swiveled his jaw, opened his mouth, closed it. His gaze flicked past her, out to the bay. They stood like that, in silence, for far too long. But she didn’t push.
Finally, he nodded once.
“I was at the lighthouse.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MIA
The snow gave way beneath Mia’s bare feet, the frozen crust shattering so that it sliced at her skin. She knew it should hurt, but it was nothing more than a nuisance—the crimson drops a breadcrumb trail that would make her easier to follow.
Mia tripped, went down on a knee, and the world spun out from underneath her even as she remained still, frozen where she’d crouched. Her chest was tight, her head thick, filled with heavy words and blurry thoughts. The heartbeat that should have been thundering at her pulse points was weak, thready when she found it with the tips of fingers that scrambled at clammy skin.
Soon everything would be numb. Then warm.
It was animal instinct more than anything else that had her stumbling back up to her feet, to keep moving forward, even as her palms caught, ripped along the sharp barbs of the fence lining the gardens.
The dramatic black rock cliffs fell off into the ocean to her left, the Bell mansion stood in the distance to her right.
The forest. It wasn’t far. She could lose herself in it, find some kind of shelter.
The lighthouse, her traitorous mind whispered.
And she was running again.
Wind lashed against her, a whip biting into flesh. Her skin burned. She kept running. The trees would protect her. Get to the trees.
A wall of silence slammed into her when she made it to the woods—the waves, the wind, her blood all silenced.
The hush was not welcoming, though. It wasn’t the pause after a sigh of relief. It was the breath that was bated while watching prey scamper from predator. It was the silence right before a kill.
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