by Bree Baker
“Hopefully, the drugs will knock you out completely before the water reaches your face,” he said. “The others were unconscious by now, but they both weighed less. Just give it a few minutes.”
Another hot tear ran down my cheek. Then another. “You don’t have to do this,” I cried, the words barely more than rasps and whispers.
“I’m going to do better when I get home,” Quinn said. “I’ll double down on the good I can do with science and research. I won’t get drawn into Rose’s nonsense again. I don’t need to be a part of her artsy schemes to raise money for my work. I’ll use my theories and findings to wow minds and raise interest on my own.”
He rubbed a palm against the back of his neck and turned to watch the water. “All I wanted was to stop Mitzi Calgon from supporting this documentary so we’d have to start over looking for funding. Rose only got the money because your aunts gave her Mitzi. Without her, this would have been my project. I’d raised enough to cover the cost of a short scientific film, but Rose landed big money and took the reins. Now she calls the shots and I’m little more than a silent partner. The film she’s making won’t help anyone but her. She’s made a mockery of your aunts, who are brilliant.” He shook his head as water rushed into the cave, washing over his feet to cover my legs and bottom. He lifted his soaking shoes as the tide pulled sand from beneath them. “I’ve got to go.”
“Please don’t,” I begged.
But he was gone.
My mind lightened and floated as the world outside my tomb grew dark. I dreamed I was a kid again, between smacks of cold water. Running on the beach, flying kites, building castles with my grandma. She was young and so were Aunt Clara and Aunt Fran. They wrapped me in their arms and told me stories of ancestors who’d beaten all odds. Swan women were cursed in love, but we were safe on our island. We belonged here. We were enchanted here.
My head rolled against the earthen wall and water lapped my chin, popping my eyes open again.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my will suddenly restored. Adrenaline surged in my veins and fought against the drugs. The water was deep, and my arms floated in front of me like disembodied zombie limbs. Help! I thought. Help! But the word didn’t come.
I opened my mouth to try again, and water ran inside. The briny sting burned my eyes and nose. I choked and gagged as another wave crashed over me, covering my face for an eternity before retreating briefly, then coming again.
“Help!” The word erupted from my burning throat and echoed in my ears, absorbed instantly by water in the filling cave.
“Everly!” My name came back to me on the wind, distant and weak. A whisper that had traveled too far. A hallucination. Or maybe an ancestor coming to collect me from the grave.
Except, I didn’t want to be collected. Or in a grave.
I wanted to live.
I opened my mouth again as the next wave retreated, freeing my nose and mouth. I tipped my head back, keeping my air passages temporarily clear. And I screamed. The next wave rode over me, enveloping my face before I could prepare.
I gagged and choked, swallowing gulps and lungfuls of the ocean, no longer able to find air.
The tide had won. The water covered me.
And I would die like I had in my dreams of Magnolia Bane. Lost to the sea.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Something gripped my arms and pulled me into the sea. I was floating. Flying. Dying, I thought, the heartbeat that had echoed in my ears growing soft and thin.
I was dying.
My back collided with something hard and rough, stealing the lovely ethereal sensations from my limbs, and replacing them with a steady rocking pressure against my chest.
Then, I heard the angry voice.
“Come on, Everly!” the voice demanded. “Breathe! Dammit! Breathe!”
Something was wrong. Someone was angry, and I felt…bad.
My chest constricted and ached. The burn spread across my torso, cracking my peace like an eggshell. Spilling the lovely warmth from my bones and replacing it with icy chills. I opened my mouth and gave up the water that had filled me.
“Everly,” an angel whispered. “I knew you could do it. You’re a fighter. Stay with me, now.” His breath sweet on my cheek. His hands familiar in my hair. “Over here!” he called. “Hurry!”
I peeled my stinging, blurry eyes open and found Grady staring back.
His face was as white as the moon above us, his eyes as glossy as the sea. “Stay with me,” he said again, and a set of tears fell over his stubbled cheeks. “Don’t go, Everly. Hear me?”
I nodded as a pair of people in matching EMT uniforms landed in the sand beside us.
Grady had found me. He’d saved me, and he was right. I was a fighter.
* * *
Four weeks later, I fought with my unruly hair, a body-shaper designed in Hades and the zipper on my new dress. Then, I collected myself and my beaded clutch before stepping bravely into the night. I would have preferred to curl up in my old home forever like a conch in her shell, but I had a party to attend.
“I still can’t believe you agreed to come to this with me,” I said an hour later, sinking my teeth into a strawberry I’d dunked in chocolate. Maybe it was the near-death experience, being saved by Grady’s impressive mouth-to-mouth skills, or the fact I was eating tons of delicious foods Mary Grace Chatsworth-Vanders had paid for, but I was in heaven.
The ambience Mary Grace’s reception planner had created was lavish and decadent. They’d been right to choose the historic home on the bay for the event. It was like a scene from The Great Gatsby, except everything was white and drenched in wedding-themed décor. Hundreds of roses filled dozens of crystal vases, their petals adorning every flat surface from tabletops to windowsills. Collections of flameless pillar candles were arranged in mounds of sand and surrounded by clusters of seashells and sand dollars—a tribute to our island I couldn’t help but love. The food had been flown in from a hoity five-star catering service on the mainland, and it was delicious. My taste buds took extensive notes on foods I wanted to try at the café.
Grady stole the rest of the strawberry from my fingertips and stuffed it into his mouth. “It’s not as if I could have told you no,” he said. “Most of the town is here, and you’re wearing that dress.”
If he knew about the commercial grade spandex keeping me from busting a zipper or taking a deep breath, he would’ve been less impressed. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Detective Hays,” I said, giving his lapel a little pat.
He stared at my lips a long moment before smiling back at my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
I paused to make an internal assessment. It was my first official outing after my run-in with death, but all things considered, I was doing okay. I’d only closed Sun, Sand, and Tea for a few days before returning to business as usual. The doctors had prescribed rest when they released me from the hospital after a night of observation, but too much peace and quiet had made me antsy. Cooking and baking had always been my drugs of choice, so I’d done that instead. The processes of chopping, measuring, and mixing soothed my mind. The soft tick of a heating oven helped me process the trauma and re-center my thoughts. Owning and operating my café had been just the therapy I needed.
Denise, Amelia, and my aunts had done the things I couldn’t, like shopping and errands. It had taken two weeks for me to venture off my porches and decks. I still hadn’t gone farther than my garden alone, but I was getting braver by the day. It was strange how quickly my body had recovered from the trauma of the cave and how tightly my mind was holding on.
“Everly?” he pressed, stepping closer, looking acutely unsure.
I forced a tight smile and selected another strawberry. “I’m good.”
He narrowed his eyes, evaluating me. “It’s a crowded room. New place. Lots of noise.”
“I’m okay.” I patted
his chest. “I’m not alone or in danger. I’m with you.”
Grady was convinced I had a touch of PTSD, and I didn’t want to think about whether he was right or wrong. I just wanted to press on, and tonight seemed like a good time to begin.
“I don’t mind the crowd,” I said. “I know almost everyone, and they’ve all been very sweet and kind. The atmosphere and location are posh and inviting. Food and music are great. Company’s not bad.” I smiled. “I feel a little like a nineteenth-century debutante entering society. Plus, my appearance tonight should stop the incessant gossip over my well-being. Half the town has seen me looking poised and happy tonight.”
Grady smiled. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a debutante.” He relieved me of my plate and lifted my right hand in his. Then he twirled me.
My creamy sheath dress flared at the knee as I spun.
When he pulled me against his chest and secured a strong arm around my back, I nearly swooned. I was pretty sure I could spend eternity like that and never want for anything else.
“Oh, get a room.” Ryan’s voice reached my ears before I saw his approach. And despite myself, I smiled.
Grady groaned and released me. “Does he live here now or what?” he asked quietly as Ryan and Amelia approached from the nearby dance floor.
Her dress was sky blue and floor length. It accentuated her petite frame with an elegant neckline and sexy side slit to her knee. She’d worked her blond hair into a side chignon and added rhinestone earrings and a necklace. I envied her sense of style and ability to remain upright in four-inch, open-toe heels.
I hugged her immediately. “You look beautiful,” I whispered.
“Thanks, you too.” She kissed my cheek and released me.
“Va-va-voom,” Ryan said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as well. He straightened and extended a hand to Grady. “I don’t know, detective, but I think we might be here with the prettiest ladies on the island tonight. The bride must hate that she invited you.”
“Oh, she does,” I said. “The bride hates me.”
“The bride hates everything,” Amelia said.
Grady accepted Ryan’s handshake. “Welcome back, reporter. You here on another big story?”
“I’m here on a big date,” Ryan said, winking at Amelia.
She beamed, and I couldn’t help liking Ryan a little more. I had to give the man credit. He made her happy.
Ryan gave me a long look. “How are you?”
“Annoyed.”
He barked a laugh, then looked to Grady and tipped his head in my direction. “How’s she doing?”
“Not bad,” Grady said. “She’s tough. Brave. Resilient. And gorgeous in this dress that I’m betting she can’t wait to change out of.”
Amelia smiled at him. “Agreed.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked, fighting the urge to tug at my plunging neckline.
Grady’s eyes sparkled. “No, but I know you’d rather be on the beach. I would too, which is why I brought a change of clothes for later.”
An instant smile split my face. “Do you think there’ll be time?”
Grady and I had ended most nights this month with a walk on the beach. I looked forward to our walks like I’d once looked forward to birthdays and Christmases. The hot summer nights were perfect for bare feet in the surf. Sharing a blanket on the sand and staring at the stars. “I thought you’d have to go home. You know Mary Grace will drag this out all night.”
“I’m not staying here all night,” he said. “I have things to do.”
I grinned.
Ryan watched Grady and me, his keen gaze moving from my face to his.
My cheeks heated furiously as I imagined what was going through his know-it-all head.
“What happened with Quinn at the arraignment?” Ryan asked, momentarily confusing me. “Off-record, of course. I’m just dying to know you got this son-of-a—”
Amelia cleared her throat.
“Biscuit,” Ryan finished.
Grady cast a guarded look at me as he stretched taller, angling himself protectively against my side. It was his standard physical response to questions made about my captor or that day in my presence. At first, I’d assumed his predictable tension was about me, about whether or not I was up to hearing the details again. Lately, I’d been wondering which of us was struggling with my abduction more. He thought he should’ve been there—instead of at the nature center, awaiting Quinn’s arrival.
Quinn had been right to worry. Grady had traced the sedative in Mitzi and the Canary’s systems to a lab in the building where Quinn worked. He’d found evidence of correspondence between Quinn and the Canary before either of them had left California, and he’d gotten our local news reporter to name Quinn as a source in the leaked photos of Mitzi’s death. He’d pulled Quinn’s prints from a page of the Canary’s folder that had been dropped in the marsh, and he’d matched the pillowcase put over my head in the gazebo with one from the beach rental Quinn shared with Rose. She’d immediately granted Grady access to Quinn’s room, and the evidence had stacked into an airtight case. There were receipts for three burner phones from Hilton Head, all with numbers matching the call and texts Mitzi and I had received. A search warrant for Quinn’s laptop had done the rest. Grady had followed the facts, he’d identified the killer, and he’d been waiting to take him in.
“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s all good news, and I’m glad.”
Ryan took a tray of champagne flutes from a passing waiter. “It’s all right,” he told him, “I’m with Detective Hays, and we need to commandeer this vehicle.”
The waiter rolled his eyes and left the tray with Ryan, who placed it on the nearest table and pulled out a chair for Amelia.
I helped myself to a flute, then chugged it before taking a seat beside her.
I was dealing better each day with what had happened to me in that cave, but it didn’t mean I was over it. “Go on.” I motioned from Grady to Ryan.
The men unbuttoned their jackets, then took their seats, Grady at my side and Ryan at Amelia’s.
She curled her hand over mine on the table and gave my fingers a firm squeeze before releasing them.
“Quinn pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter for Mitzi Calgon,” Grady began. “He stuck to his claim of only wanting to ruin the documentary with a scandal. He initially tried to end Mitzi’s involvement with the Bee Loved project by creating the illusion of a stalker in California. He leaked the details anonymously to Skeet, who was supposed to share them with his followers and raise hysteria within the community. In theory, the stalker would send Mitzi back into hiding. But she was never hiding. She was retired, and a few letters didn’t worry her. Quinn continued the charade here with calls to her cell phone, weird poems, and photos. It was unfortunate for Mr. Butters that his painting matched the tone and mood of the poems and letters.” He cast an apologetic look in Amelia’s direction.
She nodded magnanimously. “It’s okay. We’re just thankful you’re good at your job.”
His lips turned down in disagreement, but he nodded back in solemn thanks. “When the stalker didn’t send her packing, Quinn resorted to his backup plan—sedatives he’d stolen from a lab in his building. Unfortunately, he didn’t know anything about medication interactions or dosages, and he gave each of his victims a deadly amount.”
Ryan turned wide eyes on me.
“Her too,” Grady said, his voice low and seething. “Despite Quinn’s assertion that he wanted to foil the film without committing murder, stealing the sedatives shows premeditation. It will be hard for his attorney to prove the plan wasn’t murder all along. I’ve brought charges against him for stealing and administering the drugs too. Quinn forged the suicide note he left in Skeet Ulvanich’s pocket, so first-degree murder charges apply there. He followed Skeet to the lighthouse, then injected him with the drugs and gui
ded him to the top of the steps. He opened the window, balanced him on the ledge, and pushed. Add the kidnapping and attempted murder of Everly…” His voice caught on my name, and he cleared his throat. “Quinn will go away for a long while. I’m making certain of that.”
Ryan swirled the bubbly in his glass, considering the statement. “Utilizing some of your most powerful connections, I see.”
“I’ve wrapped this case airtight on my own,” Grady said. “He’s never walking free.”
“Good,” Ryan said. “That’s everything I’d hoped to hear.”
I smiled at Ryan, feeling the sting of emotion in my eyes. “Your dumb livestream app saved my life, you know. I’ve never properly thanked you for that.”
Ryan’s jaw tightened. “I know,” he said. “I was watching.”
I looked to Amelia. We hadn’t talked about the specifics of that day, but I knew that the footage of my abduction was streamed to all my followers as it happened. Most of them lived too far away to help or truly understand what was going on, but according to Grady, there had been a search team of Charmers on the beach within minutes.
“We went the wrong way,” Amelia said. “I was sure we should start looking near your house.”
Ryan gripped her hand on the table, then lifted it to his cheek.
Mr. Waters, apparently also one of my livestream followers, had called Grady and pointed him in the right direction. He’d known I was with Quinn and that we’d headed toward my aunts’ home when we left him on the sidewalk. Grady had gone onto the beach and moved in that direction, keeping watch on the unchanging sand and surf image being transmitted by my phone.
“Grady got there in time,” I said. “That’s what matters. I’m okay, and Quinn can’t hurt anyone else.”
Anguish washed over Grady’s tight expression, and I could practically see the memories replaying in his mind.
He’d found my phone, but the little cave was already underwater. It had looked like any other hill from the beach where he stood. Still, Grady said something had called to him.
