I twist around, my breath wheezing out as sharp bursts of air.
“Morgan,” the wind whispers in my ear. “Run.”
My heart jumps, blood pounding in my ears as I turn back around to stare at the dark depths beyond the cliff’s edge.
There isn’t anywhere to run.
The crunch of broken twigs from someone approaching shoots my stomach into my throat, and I do what I always do.
I jump.
And just like always, I land on something soft.
A bed of roses, the black petals cushioning my fall.
Gasping for breath, I shoot up from my childhood bed, sweat dripping along my brow, my heart slamming out a staccato rhythm.
I fumble, reaching over to the end table and flicking on the light switch, my hands blindly searching for my journal before realizing that it isn’t here.
Sighing, I grab my cell and hit the button on the side so the screen lights up and I can see what time it is.
Four a.m.
Just around the time Lincoln would be out on the water, either hauling up his traps or baiting new ones.
My heart pinches, stomach cramping. I push back the blankets and move to a sitting position, knowing that I’m nowhere near being able to fall back asleep.
My legs bounce up and down, antsy to head back to the island and find answers.
Stretching into a stand, I make my way out of the bedroom and down the long hallway, my knees cracking as I head down the stairs and into the kitchen to grab a glass of water.
“You’re up early.”
The voice makes me jump, my nerves still frazzled from the dream. Water sloshes over the side of my glass and I spin, my hand resting on my chest. “Dad, you scared me.”
He hums, his thick brown brows jumping as he smiles at me from the family room couch, patting the spot beside him.
I walk over, sitting down and taking a sip of my water before placing it on the side table, and wiping my wet hand off on the side of my sweats. “What are you doing up?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.” He watches me for a minute, his head cocked to the side. “How’s the case going?”
I smirk as I look at him. “You know I can’t talk about it.”
The smile on his face makes him look younger than his sixty-seven years. “Not even for your old man?”
“Especially not for you.” I bite back a chuckle. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”
He scoffs, reaching out and nudging my leg. “I’m an excellent secret keeper.”
I lower my head, looking at him through my lashes and grinning. “Oh, so you’re saying you don’t tell mom everything?”
His lips twist. “Spouses don’t count.”
“They absolutely do.” I laugh.
He shakes his head. “No. Your person is the other half of you, bug.”
My chest warms at the nickname.
“So, really,” he continues. “I’d just be telling me, which technically would make it still a secret.”
“Well, the other part of you worries like it’s her job, and I don’t want her to know the details and show up to Skelm Island to make sure I stay safe.”
He nods his head. “Can’t argue with you there.”
His arm shoots out and wraps around my shoulder, bringing me in to lean against him. “It’s good to have you here, bug.”
I revel in the comfort he provides, his presence enough to calm my heart and settle the anxiety still flowing through me from my dream. And that’s how we stay through the rest of the morning, until my mom comes downstairs, shoves pancakes down my throat and begs me to stay another day.
But we both know that I can’t.
On my way out, I grab the box of photos she brought down from the attic but we never went through and place it in the passenger seat of my car to take with me and show Lincoln.
And when I make it back to the cabin, I realize it will be another day or so until they get back, so I set it on the center of the coffee table for Lincoln to see when he returns, and I go back to what’s important.
Solving the murders of Skelm Island.
But I can’t shake the voice from my dream.
The one that always tells me to run.
Chapter 29
“Christ, fold again.”
Gabe tosses his playing cards down, leaning back in his plastic seat as he runs a hand through his hair. Across the folding table, Alex smirks, using the side of his hand to pull in the pile of peanuts from the center.
Two full days out on the water, and even though Alex appears to be decent at his job, it still doesn’t feel like we’ve made any headway in the investigation. No one has come or gone the entire time we’ve been out, and so there’s been a lot of leisure time.
Most of it’s been spent getting our asses grilled by Alex, but this morning we’ve officially taken a break.
“You want back in, Porter?” the detective calls, pointing at me with his beer in hand. “Wouldn’t mind wiping the floor with your ass a third time.”
My jaw tics, and I press harder on the tip of my pencil. The line work expands with the force, smudging the lashes like wet mascara, obscuring the overall sketch.
Sighing, I uncross my legs and sit up straighter, glancing up at the full moon hanging over Jensen’s lighthouse.
“Linc knows to quit while he’s ahead,” Gabe answers, reaching into his coat pocket for a cigarette.
He lights up, and I look over to him. “Thought you went cold turkey.”
“I did,” he says, taking a long drag and releasing the smoke up into the early morning air. “But nicotine helps with stress, and lately I seem to have it in spades.”
The scent of the tobacco hits my nostrils as it carries over on the salty wind, making my body come alive. I haven’t smoked since before my BUDS days, but fuck if I wouldn’t kill for a hit right now.
Anything to help calm the storm of confusion raging inside me, swelling with every passing second that I’m stuck out here with these idiots, rather than looking into Detective Sloane’s background.
My heartbeat thrums at the thought of seeing her in a few hours—we didn’t exactly leave on great terms—never do—but I’d be lying if I said I’m not anxious to find out more about her past.
To see if it solves the mystery that’s plagued me for twenty years.
It’s a slim chance, or so Gabe’s reminded me repeatedly over the last two days on the water.
Less than slim, even.
The odds are definitely not in my favor here, but my gut is telling me something isn’t quite right with the situation.
SEALs undergo the most grueling, rigorous training, and in order to come out the other side, all you have to do is persevere. Even when you’re handcuffed and submerged underwater, jumping out of an aircraft, or learning to operate in extreme climates.
And right now, I’m channeling that energy into a potential dead end, but quitting and moving on without answers isn’t an option.
“You have a kid, right?” Alex asks Gabe, taking a sip of his beer.
Gabe nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Part of me wants to sock him in the balls for getting along with the fucking enemy, but I suppose the quiet camaraderie has been a nice reprieve from our usual bickering.
“Charlie, four and a half months old.” He reaches into his pants and pulls out his wallet, sliding a small photo from the front window. “My pride and joy, except that no one tells you how much babies shit. Ever changed a diaper, Caruso?”
Alex smirks, leaning in to look at the picture. “My nieces, years ago.”
“You get it, then.” Gabe hooks his thumb in my direction. “Ol’ Captain over there changed Charlie’s once, and it was game over.”
“It was projectile,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the memory of Charlie’s feces spraying along the walls of his parents’ bedroom.
“My boy’s got mad pipes.” Gabe chuckles, stuffing the picture back in his wallet. He pulls o
ut another, holding it up for Alex to see.
The detective lets out a low whistle. “That what’s waiting for you at home?”
“Well, she’s usually wearing a lot less when I get home, but you get the idea. Childbirth did wonders on that woman’s body.”
I frown, chucking my pencil at Gabe’s head. “Don’t fucking talk about my sister that way, dick.”
“What? Can’t a man appreciate his wife?”
“Appreciate her silently.” I pause, then chuck another pencil at him. “And not while alone on my boat.”
Gabe laughs, gripping the pencils in his hand. “So, you can fuck the lady detective on here, but I can’t even fantasize about my wife? Typical Lincoln.”
The air seems to come to a complete halt around us, time almost freezing itself. I curse inwardly at myself for telling the fucker in the first place, knowing damn well he can’t keep a secret.
When I chance a glance at Alex, his eyes are hard, staring a hole in the middle of the table. They flicker to me, and I see a multitude of emotions swirling around their depths—jealousy, irritation, surprise.
But worst of all, hurt.
“Ah, fuck. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.” Gabe grimaces.
Sighing, I push to my feet, collect my notebook, and head down to the cabin. Yanking my shirt over my head, I rinse off the day’s haul in the compact shower and go back into the living area with my towel draped over my head, drying my wet hair.
“She likes puzzles.”
My stomach sinks to my knees at Alex’s voice, and I see his expensive shoes in my peripheral vision, backed up against the kitchenette.
When I don’t say anything, he continues.
“I’ve been trying to figure out since we got here why she seems so drawn to you. For all intents and purposes, you’re polar opposites; she’s lighthearted and kind, and you’re…”
“An asshole,” I finish, lifting my head.
One corner of his mouth tugs up. “Exactly. And grossly self-aware about it, too.”
Crossing his ankles, he watches as I move to the minuscule closet in the corner, taking out a plain white T-shirt and pulling it on.
He purses his lips. “Anyway, in all the years I’ve known her, Morgan Sloane’s never been one to back down from a challenge. And you, my friend, are the biggest we’ve ever encountered.”
Morgan. My stomach flip-flops at her first name rolling so easily off his tongue.
Letting out a breath, I plop down on the edge of my mattress, trying not to go searching for her scent buried among the sheets. I know it’s there, caught the floral tones as I laid awake last night, but I don’t think inhaling Sloane is going to do me any favors right now.
“Challenges are good for stimulation,” I say, arching a brow and hoping he doesn’t miss the double meaning.
His eyes narrow, and I know he gets it. That I’m not just talking about brain stimulation.
The distant, sadistic part of me can’t help wondering if he could get her off the way I can.
If he knows the planes and curves of her body and can map them out from memory alone.
Brutal rage boils in my gut at the thought of him touching her, tasting her, and spilling inside her the way I did just nights ago. Bile teases my throat, wondering if he’d hold her afterward, soothe her inflamed skin and tuck her into his side so she could sleep peacefully.
He definitely wouldn’t be gone when she woke up.
“They are,” Alex agrees, nodding. “But when they don’t give? When she can’t solve it? What then?”
I bristle at his insinuation. “Maybe you’re underestimating your partner.”
“I know her better than anyone else. You’re the shiny new car and she’s the little girl excited to test drive it. It all wears off eventually.”
“How long did it take for you to wear off?” I ask, tilting my head.
He swallows, smoothing his thumb in circles around his chest. “It was never—”
The cabin door flies open, and Gabe appears in the frame, his face ashen. Monet barks on the deck, the sound reverberating in the insulated space, and I can hear his nails scraping against the floor.
“You guys,” he says, spinning on his heels and bounding back up, disappearing before either of us have a chance to question him.
Alex and I share a glance, and then he heads in the same direction, pulling his gun from his belt. I slip into a pair of boots, pulling a hoodie on, and jog to catch up to them.
When I get back above sea level, the two of them are huddled over the side of the boat, speaking in hushed voices.
“What the fuck is going on?” I snap, dragging a hand through my wet hair.
“I was trying to make up for letting your indiscretion slip,” Gabe says, pulling back for a moment to look at me. “Thought I’d pull a trap up, get a head start on your morning haul.”
I blink. “And?”
“And there’s a fucking hand in it.” Alex reaches down, pulling the wire pot free from the trap line, shaking the contents for me to see.
Sure enough, a severed, pruney hand sits in the back of the cage where the lobsters swim in. The diamond ring on the fourth finger glints in the boat lighting, feminine and telling even before I’ve seen anything else.
My stomach feels like it caves in on itself, dread gliding down my spine like thick slime, melting into my bones and making me uneasy.
I take a step forward, noting the tag on the trap has been switched out; reaching up, I yank it free, turning the piece of paper over as a sick feeling swarms my chest like a hive of bees.
Signasti fatum tuum.
Chapter 30
The front door slams against the wall, making me shoot upright from where I’m lounging on the leather couch with photos of the crime scenes strewn across my lap. I’ve been looking for evidence I know doesn’t exist for the past few hours. Lincoln storms inside with Gabe and Alex hot on his heels.
“Where’s the fire?” I joke.
Lincoln’s eyes snap to me, and then to the slew of papers and photos covering the coffee table and laid out across the couch.
I tilt my head, the grin slipping off my face as Alex walks over and sits down next to me, lifting up my legs and slipping underneath them, his fingers rubbing up and down my calves.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Did something happen?”
He sighs. “Carina, I—”
“A severed hand,” Lincoln cuts in, walking to stand in front of us, his gaze zoned in to where Alex is touching me. “In my fucking trap. Again.”
His jaw clenches, his stare cutting to Gabe and then back to me. The anger vibrates off his body, and sympathy floods through me as a result, even though I’m not sure if he’s upset because people are dying, or the fact that it’s becoming ever more apparent that somebody is targeting him specifically.
I glare over at Alex. My stomach tightens and I straighten, slinging my legs off his lap and tossing the photos onto the table. “You were supposed to call me.”
He shrugs. “It just happened.”
Rising to stand, my foot gets twisted in the throw blanket and I stumble, my hands reaching out to catch my fall. Lincoln’s arms wrap around my waist, tugging me into him. Heat flares beneath his fingers, and my hands grab onto his arms, the muscles tensing.
“Thank you,” I stutter.
“Are you always this clumsy?” He sets me upright, but he doesn’t move his hands from my hips.
“Just trying to let you live up to your nickname, hero.” I grin.
The corner of his mouth tilts up and my stomach flips.
Alex stands from his spot on the couch and walks over, clearing his throat. “Carina, do you want to go out and sweep before forensics gets here?”
I shake my head. “Let’s wait. I don’t want to mess with anything.” I turn toward Lincoln. “Didn’t you bring in a haul while you were out?”
Gabe laughs, straightening from where he was leaning against the doorframe. “Look at you, detective.
You almost sound like you know what you’re talking about.”
“She probably does,” Lincoln mutters.
I snap my head toward him. “What?”
He shrugs. “I’m just saying. My Morgan knew all about hauls, because I taught her.”
I roll my eyes, irritation winding its way through the middle of my stomach. “Oh my God, here we go.” I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the polka-dotted box I snagged from my parents’ house, before stomping over to him and shoving it into his stomach. His hands wrap around the box as he forcibly exhales from the impact, the veins in his inked-up forearms flexing.
“Here are all my childhood memories, dick,” I sneer. “Violate them at your leisure and then come back to the sane part of the world when you’re done.”
His nostrils flare, something dark and heavy flowing through his eyes and guilt spins its web through my chest.
“I’m sorry, I…”
He shrugs me off, walking down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Sighing, I turn my attention back to Alex and Gabe, then wave my arm at the front door. “I’m gonna change.” I pull at the sweats I have on. “Get into something more ‘severed hand friendly’, and then I’ll meet you guys out there.”
Gabe snorts, and Alex rolls his eyes. “Real nice, carina. One day you’ve gotta learn to respect the dead.”
“I do respect them. But their body was just a vessel and they’re no longer in it.” I spin around and head down the hallway, hearing the front door open and close behind me.
When I reach the bedroom door, I hesitate, leaning my head on the wood, trying to calm my racing heart. I have no clue why I feel so nervous, but it’s there, trembling underneath my skin, percolating like coffee, just waiting to drip into my bloodstream and obliterate any calm I have left.
I rap my fingers on the door, one, two, three times before reaching down to the brass handle and twisting, the hinges creaking as it opens.
My eyes widen as I see the box open, pictures of me tossed across the mattress as if I’m the investigation.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I ask, moving to stand next to Lincoln.
Be Still My Heart: A Romantic Suspense Page 19