***
Mykaela approached her mother in the kitchen. She planned to ask her mother about the things Morrigan found. Taking a deep breath, she tried to summon the courage to talk about such a sensitive subject. “I want to know what’s going on.”
Blanche glanced up from the sink, where she was washing dishes. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s a reporter in town,” Mykaela said. “She showed me some pictures of Dad, at every crime scene when the bodies washed up. And an arrest warrant, signed by Sheriff Baxter the night Dad disappeared.”
Her mother’s face went pale.
“So, it’s true?”
“Your father had nothing to do with those murders.”
“Then why is there a warrant—and how do you explain the pictures? What was he doing at the crime scenes? I don’t want to think Dad was a killer, but…I don’t know what to think. I wouldn’t be so confused if you’d talked to me about this before.” She felt furious and betrayed. “How could you not tell me the police were going to arrest Dad for the murders?”
“Because I didn’t see any point in worrying a little girl with a bunch of false allegations and coincidences.” Blanche planted her hands on her hips. “Like it or not, I’m your mother and I know what’s best.”
“Is it best that I’m left in the dark? That you and Jared are always deciding what I should and shouldn’t do or know?”
“Considering the world we live in—yes.”
Mykaela let out a frustrated groan and turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“Outside for some air. There’s a little too much li-air in here.”
She shut the door behind her and plopped down on the steps. Burying her face in her hands, she heaved a sigh. Was her father a murderer—or was Dylan right, and he was trying to stop them?
Would she ever know?
A set of headlights washed over the porch as Brad’s truck pulled into the driveway. The engine growled through the night, as fierce as Brad himself. The exhaust pipe of his truck rattled, puffing out clouds of smoke that would make an environmentalist cringe.
The passenger door opened, and Jared climbed out. He grabbed his duffel from the bed of the truck, and then leaned in to say something to Brad before shutting the door.
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Jared moved toward the steps.
“Hey,” Mykaela said. “Did you catch anything?”
“Nada.” He dropped his bag onto the patio. He sat down on the step below her and propped his elbows on his knees, looking out at the ocean. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nada.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. “Mind if I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “Jared, can you be serious for one minute?”
He glanced at her, raising a curious eyebrow. “Yeah. What’s up?”
“What happened to Dad?”
His shoulders straightened. “I told you. A wave knocked him overboard.”
“Why did Sheriff Baxter sign an arrest warrant for him?”
His face turned the color of ashes. “Where did you hear that?”
“The newspaper article that covered the story,” she said, too exhausted to go into detail about the reporter and her case file.
“You shouldn’t be reading that crap,” he said. “Why would you do that?”
“Because nobody tells me anything.”
“A huge storm came while we were out in that tiny little sailboat. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Wasn’t the sheriff one of Dad’s closest friends?” she asked. “Why would he sign the warrant if he didn’t think Dad was guilty?”
He stood up, yanking his bag from the ground. “Dad did what he needed to. End of story.”
“Hey, Jared,” she said as he walked past her.
He puffed out an annoyed sigh as he turned around. “Yes?”
“Where’s your gear?”
“What?”
“You went fishing and hunting, right? Where’s your fishing pole? Your rifle?”
He glanced down at his duffel, scraped a hand through his hair in a gesture Mykaela came to know. “I’m picking them up from Brad’s tomorrow.”
With that, he went into the house, leaving her outside alone.
He knew something. He must, but he’d never tell her what, she knew that for sure.
Chapter Eight
Close Encounter
Mykaela sat on the sand, a good mile from the Inn, and stared out at the water. Waves rolled gently to meet the sand.
Above the ocean, the sun was turning pink and sinking down to meet the horizon. She’d have to leave soon, because of the newly enforced curfew the town passed at a swiftly organized emergency meeting. Until the killer was apprehended, everyone under the age of eighteen was required to be indoors by nine o’clock, unless a parent or guardian accompanied them.
She held little faith that the police would catch whoever was killing the girls. They didn’t catch the monster ten years ago. Why would this time turn out any different?
“Penny for your thoughts?”
She smiled at Dylan’s accent, and without sitting up, she said, “Just a penny?”
“I’ll pay the price, no matter how high.” He sat next to her and rested his elbows on his knees. “Seriously, what’s going through that head of yours?”
She lifted her gaze to the ocean again. “Do you ever wonder if mermaids really exist?” she asked. “I mean, how great would it be, to just slip into the ocean and swim forever?”
His eyes searched her face. “Why would you say something like that?”
He sounded disappointed in her, and she couldn’t figure out why. “Everything’s just been so crazy around here. I’m tired of it.” She scooped up a handful of sand, then turned her hand over and watched it fall and scatter in the wind. “Sick of Brad and Jared, of all the mysterious death. Of living right in front of that beauty and not being able to be a part of it. To swim in it and play…” She shook her head and tore her eyes from the heartbreaking beauty. “You must think I’m crazy.”
“Not crazy,” he said simply. “Just a little misinformed.”
“What do you mean?”
He ignored the question. “You’re going to be okay, you know. I won’t let you get hurt.”
She laughed a little. Guys were always so macho, thinking they could control everything. “What makes you think you could stop it?”
He gazed out at the turbulent water, and Mykaela waited so long for an answer that she’d forgotten what she’d asked him. It didn’t matter anymore, though, because she was too absorbed in the way shafts of light bounced off his hair and made his skin gleam.
Her eyes traveled over his face, taking in his high cheekbones and wide forehead, down to his squared chin. Down his slender neck, over his muscular arms, enhanced by the plain white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was almost too gorgeous to be human, she thought.
“You basically admitted the shipwreck was a lie. But, you never told me why you’re here,” she said. She didn’t know why she’d said that, the words just slipped right out of her mouth.
His muscles tightened. “Does it matter?”
“No,” she said slowly. “Why you left your home does.”
Dipping his head, he picked up a broken seashell and used the sharp edge to draw in the sand. “It makes sense that you would wonder. But, it’s a long, complicated, story.”
“Then how about the Cliffs Notes version?” She’d meant to lighten the mood, but he didn’t crack a smile.
He turned his head, catching her gaze, and her cheeks burned. Her instinct was to turn away, but she felt trapped—in a good way.
“Does it scare you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “That I have secrets?”
The way he was looking at her, with that longing in his eyes—and directed at her—made her forget all her fears, and lose a
ll her senses. She’d no idea if she was afraid of his secrets, or what it would mean if she were. All she knew was that she was dying to kiss him.
She moved her head in what she hoped resembled a shake.
The faintest of smiles crossed his lips. He cupped her chin in his hand, tipping her face up to his. Her pulse ran wild, beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. His lips were so close; she could almost feel the softness of them.
Then, he pulled back. Stood up. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
She was too shocked to say anything, too surprised to move. He lingered for a second in front of her, as if he wanted to say something. Then he took off toward the woods at a run, so fast he looked like a wavy blur. He disappeared between the trees before she could even blink.
It was then that she saw what he’d been drawing in the sand. A dove perched on an olive branch.
***
Jared woke to the sound of the alarm on his cell phone. He didn’t want to move, so he grabbed the phone and punched the off button. Rolling on his side, he groped the bed for Morrigan.
All he found was a pillow. He popped one eye open and took in the empty bed, the wrinkled sheets where she slept and the blanket draped halfway off.
With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and shoved his legs through his jeans. He stretched as he walked to the small bathroom. He didn’t know why he’d expected her to be there when he woke up—she was never around in the morning.
Moving into the bathroom, he turned the faucet on. He splashed cold water on his face and grabbed a towel, burying his face in the fabric and letting out a tired groan.
He felt tired and drained all the time and he couldn’t figure out why. It didn’t matter how much he slept or how much coffee he drank; he was always exhausted.
He tossed the towel aside and glanced in the mirror to inspect the dark circles under his eyes. He about jumped out of his skin.
Morrigan stood behind him, her finger poised over his shoulder as if she’d been ready to tap him.
Laughing off the jolt of surprise, he rested his weight on the counter. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
She laughed, a slow, easy sound, scraping her nails across his back. “I’m sneaky like that.”
“You are.” Although her touch sent shivers up his spine and made the confusion slip away, he squeezed past her and went into the main room. “I didn’t hear you leave, either.”
“Aw, are you mad? That’s so cute.” She pranced into the room and grabbed a paper cup from the table. Pouting her lips, she offered it to him. “I just went to get coffee.”
He smiled. “Me? Mad? No way.”
He took the coffee cup and set it on the floor, then grabbed her wrist, pulled her onto his lap and nuzzled her neck. “You’ve got me tripping all over myself, you know.”
She giggled, shying away from his lips.
“Seriously.” He tightened his arms around her, refusing to let her slip away again. “I feel like a twelve-year-old—all crushed out.”
“Well, then, you’re going to love this.” She wiggled out of his lap, swatting his hands away when he reached to pull her back. “I made you something.”
“You did?” He watched her open a drawer in the nightstand and take out a small velvet bag with a drawstring.
“Yes, I did.” She moved to stand in front of him, her knees brushing against his. Sliding two fingers into the bag, she pulled out a necklace—several pieces of tiny, broken seashells strung together. The colors ranged from baby blue to pearl, glittering in the light.
If he’d seen it on a shelf, he’d have passed without a thought, but the idea of Morrigan making it herself, stringing all of the little pieces together for him, made him adore it.
She climbed onto the bed and crawled to sit on her knees behind him. Her lips tickled his neck as she leaned over his shoulder. “Do you like it?”
“It’s great,” he said.
She slipped the necklace around his throat. As the sea shells rubbed against him, his skin tingled and flushed with heat. After she fastened the necklace, he trailed his fingertips along the seashells—they felt warm to the touch.
“There.” She wrapped her arms around him and leaned on his shoulder. “Now, you’re mine.”
Chapter Nine
A Confession
Mykaela walked down Main Street, searching for some sign of Morrigan. The Seaside Inn was the only hotel in Harmony Harbor, but Morrigan wasn’t on the guest registry. Mykaela wondered where Morrigan was staying, and how long she planned to stick around.
Mykaela’dpored over the contents of the folder for days and discovered nothing but more questions. She was sick of wondering. She wanted answers.
As Mykaela walked into the Diner, she spotted Morrigan sitting in a booth.But the darkhaired reporter wasn’t alone. She was sitting across from Brad.
Mykaela was tempted to turn in the other direction and leave. A public confrontation with Brad would only make Mykaela feel worse, and would accomplish nothing. She was never going to tell him what he wanted to know, not as long as he threw his temper tantrums, at least.
Brad turned around and spotted her before she’d decided on her course of action. His hand tightened around his coffee cup. With a loud, throat-clearing cough, he turned back around.
Refusing to be intimidated, Mykaela walked up to the table. Just being near him made her nervous, and when he looked at her it was so much worse, but she still managed to keep her hands from trembling.
She opened her mouth to speak, but jumped back when Brad shoved to his feet. He pushedpast her, brushing against her shoulder and making her balance waver. He stomped out of the restaurant and let the door bang shut behind him.
She felt her cheeks grow hot under the curious stares, and sank down into the seat Brad vacated. “I brought this back to you,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound squeaky and pathetic.
“Thanks, but I have copies.” Morrigan took the folder and nodded toward the door. “Looks like there’s some bad blood between you and the Baxter boy.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Does it have anything to do with Charity’s death?” She leaned forward, her eyes piercing. “He says you were there the night it happened.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That’s what you told the police,” Morrigan said. “Brad thinks differently.”
“Who cares what Brad thinks?”
“You should. That boy is vengeance incarnate.” She leaned back and sighed dramatically. “I don’t know why he’s so busy pointing fingers at you. Especially since the murders started right after Dylan showed up.”
Mykaela stared at her, confused. “He’s only been here a couple of weeks.”
She threw her head back and chuckled. “No, honey, he was spotted on the beach the night Megan Jackson’s body turned up.”
Mykaela shook her head. “That can’t be right.”
“But it is. Brad saw him, so did Rachel Martinez and Brittany Cass.” She picked up her coffee cup and held eye contact with Mykaela over the rim. “I’d be more careful about who you invite into your home.”
Mykaela glared at her and pushed to her feet. She stalked out of the Diner and headed down the street, wringing her hands.
Her mind was filled with questions, and she couldn’t find answers to any of them. She didn’t know why her father disappeared, or why he was implicated in the murders— because her mother either didn’t know or wouldn’t open up. No one knew who was killing girls, and she couldn’t believe she’d really seen the water leap up and grab her and Charity. Now, she wasn’t sure she trusted Dylan.
However, she knew how to find an answer to at least one of her questions.
***
Mykaela cornered Dylan in his bedroom. “I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just going to say it.”
She looked up at him, at his alabaster skin and golden-blond hair, struggling to keep her anger, when all she wanted to do was melt under his gaze. She s
truggled to keep her focus and transfer her thoughts into words, but it grew harder the longer she was in his room. “I heard you were in town the night the first death happened,” she blurted out. “Is it true?”
He winced. “Yes.”
No. That’s what she’d hoped he would say—that Morrigan was just making up lies. What if the person she’d been looking for all along, the person responsible for all of the mysterious deaths, was standing right in front of her? She backed toward the door. “How did you end up on the beach in front of my house?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?” The anger boiled inside her. She was sick of hearing excuses—stupid reasons why the people in her life couldn’t be honest with her. She was so tired of it; she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs.
He stared at her, his eyes peering into hers for so long, she thought he might actually open up and offer her some real answers. “I just can’t.”
“Of course not, because nobody ever tells me anything. I don’t know why I thought you’d be different.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just that you’re safer not knowing.”
“Safer?” she repeated. What was he talking about? Why wouldn’t he just tell her the truth? “Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
Instead of answering her, he just turned his back on her, masking his face from her vision. Not only was he keeping things from her, now he wouldn’t even look at her. A weight dropped onto her chest as the suspicious grew, and in her heart, she knew he was dangerous, and that she should run far away from him. Dylan was hiding something from her—something very bad—that might have something to do with the recent murders. Still, she stayed where she stood, biting her quivering lip, trying to hide her doubt. “Are you the one killing girls?”
Soul of the Sea Page 9