“Man likes being burned now and then.” Nikau turned his attention back to the bar. “What about you? How long you gonna turn down the invitations coming your way?”
“Let’s say I’m not in the mood.” He wasn’t in the mood for much, not even living.
“You still got a dick?”
“Last time I looked.”
“Then you’re in the mood. Go grab Miss Tierney of the big blue eyes and the big tits and heat up the sheets. She’s been shooting you ‘come to me, cowboy’ looks since we sat down.”
Will had nothing against the schoolteacher who worked in the next town over, but he had no desire to screw her, much less date her. It was like that part of him had switched off thirteen months ago. Will wasn’t even sure he wanted it to switch back on.
Deciding to change the focus of the conversation, he said, “You ever going to tell me what you’re doing in Golden Cove?” Will had run a background check on the other man the day after he took up the position of local cop—Nikau had looked like trouble and Will had wanted to know how bad it was.
What he’d discovered hadn’t been anything like what he’d expected.
“Field research,” was the mocking answer. “Talking of which”—he swung off the bar stool—“your dick might have taken a vacation, but mine hasn’t.” A slap of Will’s shoulder. “Christine Tierney off-limits?”
“Only if she says so. I’ve got nothing to do with it.” He raised his bottle. “Good luck.” Throwing back the last of his beer, he put the bottle down on the stained and scarred wood of the bar and got up. “I’m going home.”
Shaking his head at that, Nikau prowled off toward the group of women that held Christine Tierney. Despite the other man’s question about Christine, Will wasn’t sure who it was that Nikau had in his sights—and he wasn’t sure Nik cared.
Having already confirmed that Nikau was planning to walk home, he said good-bye to a few others, then headed out. The night wind was cold, bracing, the salt water heavy in the air tonight. He strode toward the street that would lead him to the far eastern end of town.
He’d lived in the B&B for the first month, until he got sick of the landlord knowing his every move. So he’d rented a house that belonged to a couple who’d left Golden Cove but hadn’t been able to find a buyer for their property. Not many people wanted to move to such a remote area on a permanent basis.
Spotting a group of teenagers loitering in front of the closed tourism center, he crossed the empty road to them. They immediately straightened. He caught the fading hint of tobacco smoke, decided to let it go. It was the harder stuff that was a real problem—and there was plenty of that floating around in town.
“I think it’s time you went home,” he said quietly. “I heard you guys have an exam tomorrow.” The teenagers caught the bus to a high school an hour away, but that didn’t mean the town didn’t know the details of their studies.
The kids scuffed their shoes. “It’s gonna be stupid basic,” one of them muttered, but when Will met his eyes, the boy dropped his head.
“I’ll walk you home,” Will said, even though two of them lived out of his way.
The teens weren’t exactly thrilled at the escort, but they were young enough not to give him lip. He knew Golden Cove wasn’t a big city, that it was unlikely they’d get in trouble the way a city kid might—but then again, the most evil monsters often wore a familiar face. Could be he was walking them home to danger, but he knew the parents of all these kids: a couple were apathetic, uncaring of where their kids wandered, but the rest did their best on meager budgets.
Only once they’d all walked through their front doors did he continue on his way, his gaze drawn toward the trees that hid the ocean. He’d heard through the grapevine that the new face in town, Anahera Spencer-Ashby, formerly Anahera Rawiri, had moved into a clifftop cabin that had once belonged to her mother.
The place hadn’t looked safe to him the last time he’d checked it out, so he’d made a few inquiries. The town was too small to have a mayor, but the leader of the business council had assured him the cabin was solidly built. “Though it’ll be filthy,” Evelyn Triskell had said with a shudder that threatened to dislodge the tight silver bun on top of her head. “Probably spiders everywhere. Anahera is braver than me.”
Almost without thought, Will’s feet turned toward the cabin. It was a long walk, but he had plenty of time—he didn’t sleep much—and the night was crisp, the sky above studded with stars. He stopped halfway down the graveled drive to the cabin, able to see it clearly from his position. Light blazed from the window that faced the drive.
A body moved across the uncurtained window right then, the shape feminine.
She froze midmove, staring out at the darkness, as if she sensed him. He knew she couldn’t see him out here in the blackness and he wondered who else might watch her. She needed to get curtains, he thought as she flicked off the light, putting them on an even footing.
Satisfied that she was safe for the night, he turned and left. The crashing thunder of the ocean was his only accompaniment as he walked, the rhythm a steady beat that was a dark pulse.
6
Anahera woke to the sound of tuis outside her window, the talkative birds chattering away at the crack of dawn, their song deeply familiar. She hadn’t gotten much done yesterday, but she had cleaned out the bedroom that had always been hers in this small home—she couldn’t bear to take the larger bedroom for her own.
That had always been her mother’s.
The metal frame of her old bed had survived the years, but the sheets and bedding, mattress included, came courtesy of Josie and had been dropped off by her husband two hours after Anahera returned to the cabin. Except for his short beard, Tom Taufa was as Anahera remembered—big and husky and practical.
Josie had also sent a pillow and a little rug for beside the bed, plus plates, cups, and utensils. Anahera was very glad for her friend because the truth was that she hadn’t thought this through. Her things were currently on a container ship somewhere in the North Atlantic. She’d brought a suitcase of clothes with her, as well as other odds and ends that had seemed important at the time, but she’d forgotten more than one necessary thing.
Obviously, her head was still not where it should be.
Pushing aside the memories, she lay in bed for ten minutes just listening to the birds, the crisp lemony scent of the sheets and comforter around her. It wasn’t until her eyes began to burn that she realized she was waiting for her mother’s soft knock on the door, and for Haeata to come in with a cup of coffee for her slugabed daughter. She’d sit on the bed, her silvery black hair in disarray from the walk on the beach she’d already taken, and her skin cold to the touch but her eyes warm and joyful.
Anahera swallowed hard and sat up, her gaze going to the window from where she’d felt someone watching her last night. “Curtains,” she muttered to herself. There were no shops in town that sold homewares, but if Josie didn’t have some old sheets that she could use then she’d drive out to the nearest town with a larger shopping district. She didn’t know where the old curtains had gone. Maybe they’d rotted away until the kids who’d probably used this place as their clubhouse and hookup spot had finally pulled them off.
At least the kids hadn’t graffitied either the inside or the outside.
She’d also, she thought after a quick shower, have to have new locks installed. And get a plumber out here to see if they could do something about the thin trickle of water that fell from the showerhead. That last should be simple enough—Tom was a plumber who worked all across the region, but last night he’d mentioned that with Josie so pregnant he was sticking close to town for now.
The one thing she didn’t have to worry about was electricity—she’d remembered to call the electricity company from London. And since the lights had come on and her shower had been hot, the wires had apparently survived the years they’d lain unused, the cabin
cold and dark.
Dressed in shorts and a large T-shirt, she set about brewing some coffee in the French press she’d brought with her from London; she’d picked up the coffee after landing. “I guess you know your priorities, Ana.” She hadn’t even packed the glass and metal object particularly well, but it had survived unscathed.
Given the haphazard way she’d packed, it was also pure luck that she had a mix of clothes. Enough to get by even with the reversal in the seasons. She’d boarded the plane on a rainy spring day, disembarked to the first bite of autumn.
Taking a steaming cup of coffee out onto the porch, she stood and watched the sun’s rays paint the sky, the colors ruby red and deep orange and vivid pink with hints of golden cream.
There had never been a sunrise like this in London.
The crackle of car tires on gravel had her looking up her drive to see a small and beat-up old truck. It might’ve once been black, but was now more chips and cracks than anything. The face that hung out the open driver’s-side window when the truck came to a stop beside her own car was unforgettable—but it was new, too.
He got out.
“Nikau,” she said, walking down to join him on the grass that fronted the cabin. “Keeping early hours.”
“I figured you’d have jet lag.” Putting his hands on his hips, he gave her a sidelong glance. The moko he’d had done five years earlier was a thing of sweeping lines and curves that she was sure told a story of his whakapapa—his genealogy and place in the world. Nikau treasured tikaka Māori too much to have settled on the design lightly.
“So,” he said, switching to a language she hadn’t spoken since the day she walked out of this place, “you came back. I never figured you would.”
Anahera returned her eyes to the horizon and to a sunrise that screamed “home” with the same angry beauty that it whispered of the dead. She didn’t speak until the final echo had faded. “Last I heard”—she turned to face Nikau—“you were presenting on Māori culture at international academic conferences.” The words came easier today, the language so much a part of her that even eight years of silence couldn’t erase it.
“Yeah, well, shit happens.” Nikau’s face went hard as he glanced back and to the right, looking not at the drive but at something far beyond. “I guess Josie told you about me and Keira?”
“I was sorry to hear about the divorce.” She’d always wondered what Nikau saw in Keira, but that he’d loved her wasn’t in doubt. They’d been joined at the hip since they were seventeen: quiet, intense, and studious Nik with beautiful but somehow… empty Keira. She’d always seemed to echo others rather than being a whole person.
Nikau looked at her, his gaze strangely flat. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m not sure what else you expect me to say.” Anahera didn’t have the emotional patience to read between the lines about another bad marriage. “I’m your friend. I’m sorry your marriage broke up. I know you loved her.”
Nikau stared at her for another disturbing second before he blew out a breath and thrust a hand through his hair. “Shit, sorry. I guess Josie didn’t pass on the dirt.”
The answer to his bitterness lay in her own cold anger. “Did she cheat on you?”
“Worse. She hooked up with that asshole a year after our separation.” A glance to the distant right again. “They got married fourteen months ago.”
That asshole, when added to the direction of Nikau’s vicious gaze, made the identity of Keira’s new husband clear. “Daniel May?”
A hard nod.
They’d known one another all of their lives, Anahera and Josie, Keira and Daniel, Vincent and Nikau. There had been others—Tom, Peter, Christine—but those three had come and gone. It was the six of them who had been a constant, a tight-knit group that had snuck out at night to make bonfires on the beach and that had flowed back together each time the holidays rolled around and everyone was back in the Cove. It hadn’t mattered that Daniel May and Vincent Baker were private-school kids who came from the two richest families in town, while Nikau and Anahera came from the poorest.
Then they’d grown up.
“That sucks, Nik.” What else was there to say? Daniel had used his father’s money and influence to “win” an international exchange scholarship for which Nikau had been far better qualified—and deserving. For Daniel, it had been another line to add to his CV later on in life. For a teenage Nikau, it had been the only way he could hope to travel internationally.
It was the kind of betrayal that could never be forgotten or forgiven. “What about Vincent?” she asked. “Did he turn into an asshole while I was away? I have him on my online friends list, but I haven’t actually logged into my account in months.”
A bark of laughter from Nikau, his coldness melting. “Nah,” he said, “Vincent’s still Vincent.”
Which meant the handsome Baker scion was still living up to his family’s expectations. “He looked happy in the last photos I saw of him—with his wife and the kids.”
“Yeah, I think he actually is happy. Go figure, huh?” A shrug. “He should be the most messed up one of us with all the pressure his parents put on him.”
Anahera nodded; she’d always felt sorry for Vincent—but he seemed to like the borders on his life, appeared to have thrived inside them. “They weren’t the best parents, I guess, but he and his brother must miss them.”
“Yeah, a fire gutted the old Baker place. No way for them to survive—I went to the funeral. Vin did a nice job of it.”
Anahera would expect nothing less from Vincent. “Come on, I’ll pour you some coffee.” Nik had changed and so had she, but she found she was still comfortable with this angry man who’d once been a hopeful boy she’d known.
Nikau had settled down on a rickety chair he’d dragged from inside, Anahera passing him his coffee and bracing herself with her butt against the porch railing—after checking its sturdiness—when there was the sound of another car coming down the drive. “London has nothing on Golden Cove traffic.”
She’d half expected a cheerful Josie in Tom’s plumbing truck, but it was the police SUV that appeared in view a second later. The long-legged cop with the broad shoulders and the face that was too thin got out soon afterward.
“Will.” Nikau raised his coffee cup. “You come to do a welfare check on our returnee?”
“Nik. Ms. Spencer-Ashby.”
His words were a punch to the solar plexus. “Anahera is fine.” Rawiri or Spencer-Ashby, she wanted to claim neither surname. “Would you like some coffee? I think I have another mug.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass this time.” Impossible to read those eyes, that grim face. “I did want to make sure you had a way of contacting help if you need it. I know there’s no landline phone at this address.”
Anahera wasn’t certain if she was amused or not; it had been a long time since she’d answered to anyone. “I have a mobile phone, just like most of the universe.”
No change in his expression. “You mind checking the signal for me?”
“And if I do?”
No smile. “Then I guess I’ll be doing a welfare check on you every morning.”
Nikau laughed at that, but his tone was serious when he met Anahera’s eyes again. “Will’s right, Ana. You should check. This place is in the middle of nowhere of the middle of nowhere.”
Rolling her eyes, Anahera went inside and grabbed her phone. She brought up the home screen as she walked out… and cursed. At least the cop didn’t say “I told you so.” Instead, he said, “I suggest you move to a different provider.” He named which one. “Their signal appears to reach even the far edges of Golden Cove.”
“Upside is their plans are cheap,” Nikau said. “I can lend you my phone until you switch.”
Anahera waved aside the offer. “I’ll be fine. I have nothing to steal and we all know petty burglary is at the top of the Golden Cove crime stats.” Some
folks stole out of boredom, others out of poverty.
“Crime isn’t the only threat,” the cop said. “If you have an accident, it’s possible no one will find you for days.”
Anahera could feel herself going white. Squeezing her hand around the phone, she stared at the cop. “You’ve done your job. Far as I know, cops aren’t babysitters.”
7
Will wondered what he’d said. Not only had Anahera iced up, but Nikau’s face had gone hostile between one heartbeat and the next. Mentally tracing back the conversation, he realized it had been his statement about a possible domestic accident that had done it. Obviously, he’d stepped on a nerve. That was what happened when everyone in a small town knew something but no one talked about it: hapless outsiders put their foot in it.
“You’re right,” he said mildly. “I was a terrible babysitter. Used to let my neighbors’ kids eat candy all night.” He nodded at a stony-faced Anahera, then Nikau. “Have a good day.”
He felt their eyes on him as he got into his vehicle, both dark, both impenetrable.
It was a good thing he’d never told himself that he understood Nikau; their friendship was a surface thing based on their liking for the same sport, a good run through the trees, and the odd beer. Will knew Nikau was pissed his ex had married rich-and-liked-people-to-know-it Daniel May, and that Nikau was in the Cove because of that same ex.
That was pretty much the extent of his personal knowledge of Nikau Martin.
Nik knew even less about Will.
As he backed down the drive, unable to turn with Nikau’s truck parked where it was, he was again aware of both of them watching him leave. Watching the outsider leave. He’d never had any illusions about that, either—in a place like this, a man stayed an outsider for decades, no matter how hard he tried.
Of course, Will wasn’t exactly hankering to belong anywhere.
Which made him the perfect cop to send to Golden Cove.
A Madness of Sunshine Page 3