SHADOW’S SACRIFICE

SHADOW ISLAND SERIES: BOOK EIGHTEEN

MARY STONE

LORI RHODES

Copyright © 2025 by Mary Stone Publishing

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DESCRIPTION

Hush little baby, don’t say a word.

On the heels of receiving evidence hinting at the motive behind her father’s murder, Sheriff Rebecca West confronts a horrific crime scene. A pregnant woman has been brutally attacked in her home, her unborn baby ripped from her womb. But this is more than assault. It’s an abduction of the worst kind.

Now, a newborn is in the hands of a monster.

Determined to follow every lead, Rebecca locks down the island, launching an all-out search for the missing infant. But as the mother fights for her life, Rebecca uncovers chilling evidence of a man obsessed with the young mother.

He didn’t want just any baby. He wanted her baby.

As Rebecca races to close in on the baby’s abductor, it seems she’s chasing a ghost. Twenty-four hours later, all she has is more victims and motives she can’t decipher. But the infant’s chance of survival drops with every passing minute. The clock is ticking, and time is running out.

Shadow’s Sacrifice, the eighteenth installment of the Shadow Island Series, is a chilling special delivery from Mary Stone and Lori Rhodes.

1

The rhythmic shush-shush of the new plush glider played in sync with Hannah Blackwood’s shallow breaths as she enjoyed a quiet afternoon. Splayed across her bulging belly was the book she hoped to finish reading today.

Lunch an hour ago had been all the things she’d been craving. Five spicy pickles, Greek yogurt, a handful of dried apricots, and two big slabs of meatloaf slathered in mustard. Setting the unfinished book aside, she smiled contentedly and gently rubbed her swollen belly.

Her pregnancy cravings had mostly died off, but with only a few days left until her due date, they’d come rushing back with a vengeance. So much so that Michael, the best husband she could ever wish for, had run out to get more yogurt and pickles after lunch.

Now the house was quiet, and she was tucked into her new chair with a super fluffy yellow blanket wrapped around her middle. The glider was situated in the corner of the front room, giving her a view out the side windows to the yard and the beach in the distance beyond that. Sunny days in early December were rare on Shadow Island, and she’d been luxuriating in the simple pleasure of doing nothing.

Hannah shifted, the baby within reminding her of its presence, and she contemplated the effort it would take to ascend the staircase to her bedroom, where she could stretch out with her body pillow and take a nap. It would be easier with Michael there to steady her. She craned her neck to look at the driveway, wondering how much longer he’d be gone.

As she sipped her hot tea, the delicate aroma mingled with the musty scent of yellowing pages from the novel she was determined to read. Her doctor’s advice echoed in her mind, urging her to cherish these dwindling moments of solitude. Soon, her world would pivot on a new axis to the cries and coos of her child. Motherhood was a 24-7 job, and in a few days, her life would not be her own.

“Soon, little one. Soon. I’ll be rocking you just like this. Even when you’re fussing in the middle of the night, I promise to never get mad.” Hannah ran her hands over her bulbous belly. During her last checkup, the doctors assured them that the baby was in the proper position for delivery and could come any day now.

“Are you a little girl?” she crooned. “A little boy? No matter what, I already love you more than you’ll ever comprehend.” Hannah and Michael had chosen not to find out, wanting to keep the sex a surprise until the baby’s birth.

Michael had been her rock through the swirling tides of the past nine months. He wanted to be with her every moment of these last few days and had only gone out because he’d seen the empty pickle jar in the recycling bin. She’d had to promise him she wouldn’t do anything stupid before he left.

Just because I got stuck in the recliner one lousy time, he’s now certain I’m helpless without him to protect me.

Hannah didn’t really mind her husband’s protectiveness, though. His full-time job had gone remote, allowing them to move nearer to her family on Shadow Island, where she’d grown up. With him working from home, he was around to give her foot massages any time her ankles swelled. Pregnancy hadn’t been a walk in the park but spending it with him had been magical.

They’d grown closer since learning about the new addition to their family.

“And now we’ll get to spend so much time with you. Once you’re ready to join us.”

She thought she heard a soft click and felt a slight shift in the air pressure in the home. Hannah listened for a moment, then shook her head. Her hypersensitive Mama Bear instincts must be playing tricks on her.

Settling back in the chair, her thoughts turned to Michael’s willingness to uproot their lives and replant them here, on this small speck of land cradled by the sea. He was so committed to her, to their burgeoning family. Confidence swelled within her. Michael would indeed be a remarkable father, just as he was a loving husband.

Friends had told her that fanatically preparing for the baby’s imminent arrival was a real thing. “Nesting,” they’d called it. She’d laughed at them until a few weeks back, when Michael pointed out the numerous preparations she’d been making. Waiting near the front door was the car seat they’d gotten at the baby shower. Michael still needed to secure its base in the back seat of their car. She didn’t want to mess with that once she went into labor.

Resting next to the car seat was their fully stocked—too stocked?—blue denim diaper bag. Neatly folded on top of the bag was a sage-green baby blanket. Michael had joked that he would need to install wheels on the bag if she kept adding things. She had been meticulous in her preparations.

Every few days, Hannah thought of something else to stuff in the bag. Jammed inside were diapers, burp cloths, no fewer than three brand-new outfits that she had washed in hypoallergenic detergent, and sterile bottles with cans of formula in case their addition to the family struggled with breastfeeding.

The stillness of the house was abruptly ruptured by the faint creak of a floorboard. Hannah readjusted in her rocking chair, glancing toward the hallway.

“Michael?” But he wouldn’t be home this quickly unless the stores didn’t have her pickles and yogurt.

No reply came. Only her own shallow breathing filled the emptiness of the house, which now felt uncomfortable.

She listened again, her heart drumming a quicker cadence against her ribs. Another sound brushed against her consciousness—the soft but distinct shuffle of footsteps, deliberate and out of place. Hannah’s maternal instincts kicked into overdrive, anxiety threading ice through her veins.

Gripping the arms of the chair, she leaned forward. A veil of unease had settled over the entirety of Shadow Island lately. Gossip flowed like the tides about break-ins and disturbances. She’d heard that even the new sheriff had a break-in and fought off the intruder on her own.

And the phone calls—those unsettling, “anonymous” murmurs that slithered through the receiver and coiled around her mind, leaving her sanity frayed at the edges. Her ex-husband Jared had been glad enough to be rid of her until he found out she’d moved on. Now he wouldn’t leave her alone. Which was why she and Michael had been so rigorous with the security precautions in their home.

“Who’s there? Jared?” She called louder this time, despite the tremor weakening her voice. If her ex was foolish enough to trespass in her home, maybe calling out his name would scare him off.

The air remained stubbornly mute, heaving with unspoken secrets. She scanned the room for a weapon. She was probably overreacting to phantom noises, but nothing was going to threaten the safety of her unborn child. Unfortunately, nothing nearby could serve as a makeshift weapon if her suspicions were correct.

Her thoughts flickered to her old friend Vivianne Darby, whose laughter could disarm the tightest tension. After moving back to the island, Hannah had run into Vivianne and learned she was a deputy. It had been in the back of her mind to talk with Vivianne about Jared’s recent stalking, but when she and her old friend chatted, they’d focused on catching up, and Hannah hadn’t wanted to ruin the mood of their first encounter in years with painful revelations.

Besides, she’d been certain that the extra locks on the upgraded windows and doors would be enough to make her feel safe again. And they had. Until now.

A firmer step now, a weight that pressed a warning into the old floors.

Michael would have announced himself, called out to let her know what he’d purchased or why he was back so soon. His voice should have been a beacon cutting through this fog of uncertainty. This was someone else. Someone who didn’t belong.

Still, her pregnancy brain was likely just playing tricks on her. As he was leaving, Michael mentioned that the whole house was locked tight as a button. After he gave her a kiss and headed out the door, she’d checked the deadbolt to make sure it was locked.

But the noise a few moments ago, the one that suggested footsteps…maybe she hadn’t imagined it.

Adrenaline surged within her, fueled by the maternal instinct that roared to life. She searched for her phone but couldn’t remember where she’d left it. Dammit! Michael had made her promise to keep her phone nearby in case she needed him or thought of something else to pick up from the store.

Hannah’s pregnant belly was like an anchor fastening her down in the chair’s grasp. She rocked forward, using the momentum to pitch her upward as she pushed off the smooth wooden arms to a standing position.

That noise came again. Not just the creaks and groans of a house. A footstep. She was almost sure of it.

After only a few steps, she reached the bottom of the stairs to the second floor and checked the entryway to her left. The front door came into view, still securely closed, the deadbolt firmly in place. No one could have come in that way without her spotting them.

The back of Hannah’s neck prickled. Someone was here, in her home, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Turning toward the opposite end of the house, she peered down the hallway that split the front of her home from the back half with its more scenic views. At the end of the hallway to the right was the laundry room and the back door. Michael wouldn’t enter through there when he returned from his errands. He’d use the front door, since it was closer to the driveway.

Whatever, or whoever, had made the noise in the laundry room wasn’t Michael.

Warily inching away from the front door, she scanned the dining room to her left and back to the laundry room door. Only a few steps behind her by the front entry were the stairs leading to her bedroom with its solid lock on the door. But fear of turning her back on the source of her panic made her dismiss that safer option.

Her breath caught as he emerged from the laundry room, and she froze.

He wasn’t trying to hide. Wasn’t attempting to sneak around. He had just walked in and now stood there as if he was completely comfortable being in her home without invitation or declaration of arrival. It made her skin crawl.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Hannah’s voice quivered despite her attempt to sound strong and self-assured.

He stepped forward, his face half in shadow. He wore a backpack, and she could tell it was stuffed full, as the zipper wasn’t completely closed. While finding him here had momentarily shocked her, it was his expression that told her she was in serious trouble.

A mixture of longing and resolve played upon his features, turning her trickles of fear into a river of primal terror. The pickles from lunch threatened to hurl up from the depths of her stomach, and she pressed a hand against her belly. His eyes followed her movement, and he licked his lips.

“Hannah.” His voice was low and eerily calm, like this was an ordinary, casual conversation. “Be with me. We can leave this place…just you, me, and the baby.”

Hannah stared at him, her jaw dropping in confusion. “Leave? What are you talking about?”

His proposal hung in the air like a fog refusing to lift, choking the room with its implications. The idea of running away, abandoning the life she had built with Michael, was ludicrous. Repulsive, even.

“Yes. We can leave here. And never look back. I would do that for you. Forget your past and everything else. Forget Michael.” He stepped closer. “I love you more than he ever could. I deserve your love, not him.”

Horrified by his words, Hannah recoiled, her shoulders snapping back at this insult to her husband. And to her and her morals. What kind of man would say such odious things so casually?

“Absolutely not.” The fire of her resolve burned through her fear and evaporated the fog of uncertainty. The love and dedication she and Michael shared was above reproach. “Get out! Get out of my house and never come back. I’m calling Michael.”

Where did I leave my damn phone?

His face twisted, morphing into something darker, more possessive. “I had to try. All I’ve ever wanted was to be with you. But you leave me with little choice.” The bag slid down to the crook of his arm, and he retrieved a loop of cloth she recognized as a bandanna tied at the ends. With his other hand, he pulled out two loops of rope that were somehow joined in the middle. “If I can’t have you, then I’ll take the next best thing. The baby.”

Take my baby? How the hell would he do that?

“Never!” Hannah hugged her arms around her belly, cradling the child within. She spun on her heel, intent on escaping, but her movements were clumsy, hindered by the massive change to her center of gravity. She waddled as fast as she could toward the living room, where she hoped her phone was resting by the glider.

A hand tangled in her hair, yanking her back. The force knocked her off-balance as her weight shifted toward the strong hand holding her. Several hairs ripped loose, but not enough for her to get free. She yelped, her scalp burning with pain from his grip. She tried to regain her footing and pull away from him at the same time. The heat of his arm along her back made her want to vomit.

“I didn’t want to do this. But I can’t let you screw it up either.”

“Michael!” Her husband’s name slipped out, reflexively screamed through gritted teeth. “Help me!”

No hero burst through the door. This was her battle. Just like the new sheriff had done in her own home against an intruder she knew, it was Hannah’s turn to fight, for herself and her unborn child, in a home where she should be safe.

Kicking her feet against the floor, she shoved back, slamming into the man and knocking them both off balance. She was a tempest, a mother bear cornered, fighting with a ferocity that belied her condition. Her life and that of her child depended on her, and she would not stop fighting while she could still move.

He stumbled and twisted, fighting to keep his feet under him as she thrashed back and forth. A picture fell off the wall as they banged into it, the frame breaking into pieces on the floor. The hold on her hair was right at her skin, not leaving her much room to move, and her thickened torso prevented her from twisting far enough to reach him. But she could still swing her arms, desperately trying to land an elbow that would force him to loosen his grip.

Hannah’s breath hitched in her throat as the intruder forced a cloth between her teeth, silencing her cries. Her fingers clawed at the bandanna, nails scraping futilely against the fabric as he pulled the makeshift gag over her head. It wasn’t even all the way on, and it already bit into her cheeks.

Her familiar foe kept himself pressed tight along her back, out of her reach, as she tried to gain enough clearance to swing at him.

Somehow they’d ended up in the space between the living room and dining area. Everything spun into chaos. Her desperate struggle knocked over a chair and sent a vase crashing, water and shattered glass spraying across the floor, soaking into the carpet.

When he grabbed her arm, something slipped over her wrist—the two joined ropes. She didn’t know what they were. Makeshift handcuffs? His preparedness was terrifying.

She tried to scream, but the gag muffled her pleas. If he restricted her movements further, she’d never get away. She was already tiring. Her arms burned, and her neck throbbed with tension as he yanked her head around. He stayed pressed against her back, holding her tight as a lover. She inhaled but couldn’t get a big enough breath.

“Help!” she gurgled into the gag. “Someone! Anyone!” But the only sound that came through was muffled gibberish.

“No one will hear you.” His tone was maddeningly patient, gentle even.

He let go of her hair, and she slipped down. She’d unconsciously been relying on him to hold her steady while she fought. Now she was toppling over.

My baby!

It was a relief when he caught her other arm, stopping her fall. Before she could fight further, he wrapped her wrist and yanked on the binds, cinching her arms tight. The nylon ropes bit into her skin like the cold embrace of death, immobilizing her arms behind her in an unyielding grip.

As she attempted to wrap her mind around what to do next, he yanked both her arms, dragging her backward.

Hannah dug her heels into the carpet. Every muscle tensed in resistance, but she couldn’t stop him. Her screams were relentless, muffled cries that died behind the gag.

No!

Angry tears burning behind her eyes, she whipped her head back, hoping to smash into his nose. Instead, she tumbled down as he dropped her without warning.

She started to scream into her gag again, but she lost her breath as she crashed onto the couch. Her butt barely caught the edge of it, the hard wood frame biting into her hamstrings as she toppled onto her back on the seat cushions. Landing on her hands secured behind her, she feared her shoulders might pop out of their sockets. Were her fingers broken?

Her upper body sunk into the soft seat cushions, but her legs still dangled off the front. She flailed her legs, but her attacker wrapped his hands around her bare feet, crunching her bones against each other.

She watched in horror as he secured another set of those homemade handcuffs around her ankles, binding them together so tight the rope burned into her skin. Then he grabbed her feet and used them to position her body so she was lying across the couch cushions.

Deep within, her little one was kicking just as hard as their mother now.

“Just calm down. If you keep fighting, I might mess this up. And I don’t want to hurt my baby.”

What does he mean, “my baby”? It’s not his baby! It’s Michael’s!

Despite her awkward position stretched across the couch, Hannah tried to use her large body mass to buck him away from her. Make him stop. Knee him in the face. Anything she could do to hurt him. To make this all end. Positioned by her feet, he ignored her, flipping the skirt of her dress up to expose her body halfway up her belly.

She snapped her knees closed, not sure what he would try next. He dug through his bag again.

Rocking her shoulders, she tried to roll over. But he casually shifted so his knees crushed down on the tops of her feet, keeping her pinned and unable to move. The sharp smell of alcohol pierced the air, a clinical scent that had no place amid the battlefield her living room had become. He held up a bottle and poured it over her stomach.

The realization of what he wanted to do struck her with a sudden and horrifying jolt. Her heart beat a frenzied rhythm, each pulse a silent plea for the safety of the life inside her. Hannah’s world narrowed to the raw fear for her child, the instinctive need to protect her baby from the madness that loomed over them.

She tried to scramble backward, but his weight on her legs made that impossible. Barring escape, Hannah froze.

What happens if I move, and he slips?

“Hold still. You might feel a bit of pressure.”

The cold knife bit into her flesh, splitting her belly with a pain so overwhelming it blurred her vision. Her scream choked against the gag, muffled and raw, her body convulsing against her restraints.

She clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms, grounding herself in the sensation, forcing herself not to move so her baby wouldn’t be harmed. The agony was unrelenting, her body a battlefield of fire and ice, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—give in.

Through the haze of agony, she watched this man—this monster—as he focused on his mission. A spray of blood arced into the air, and the coward turned his head away.

Stay awake. Don’t let him win.

Her mind screamed at her body, demanding it obey. Her baby needed her. Even bound, even gagged, she had to fight. She wouldn’t abandon her child to the hands of a monster.

When the first inch of her baby’s body came into view, Hannah sobbed, tears streaking her face. She fought against the pull of unconsciousness with a desperation that burned through the pain. Even covered in blood and vernix, her child was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Boy or girl? She couldn’t tell, and knowing stopped mattering as she waited long seconds to hear a cry.

Nothing.

She strained to lift her head, her body trembling violently, and she could only watch as he held the tiny form aloft. Her heart twisted into knots, panic cutting through her haze of anguish. Why wasn’t her baby crying? Why⁠—

The sharp crack of his palm against her baby’s bare skin penetrated the screams in her head. Once. Twice. The sound reverberated through the room, and with it came a shattering, fragile wail.

Relief surged through her, tangled with despair. She sagged against her binds, her tears nearly drowning her. Every fiber of her being screamed for her child. Her legs twitched, her arms strained, her body inching forward in a pitiful, agonizing crawl.

She couldn’t reach her baby—he was too fast, too methodical—but she had to try. She had to.

A melody drifted through her mind, a lullaby she’d made up to sing to her child in quiet moments when the world seemed kind. Her lips, cracked and bloodied behind the gag, tried to hum the tune as she inched forward. It was barely audible, a ghost of a song meant only for her baby.

“Close your eyes, and dream so free,

You’re my hope, my destiny.”

She fought to roll from the couch, but her body refused to follow her mind’s direction. She did the only thing she could do. She sang, hoping the infant knew its mommy was near.

“No storm can break, no shadow stay.”

Her vision darkened, stealing her view of the crying infant she already loved more than herself. The lullaby grew weaker, each hum fractured and trembling, until it dissolved into the last few words she knew she’d ever say to her baby.

“I’ll love you more each passing day.”

2

Sherriff Rebecca West steered the SUV to a sliding halt in front of the modest two-story island home with two cars parked in the driveway. The door was standing open, and what looked like a couple of shopping bags lay near the entryway with their contents spilled out on the ground. Bloody footprints marked a trail on the concrete front patio and driveway.

“Dear god.” They’d need to wade through that blood to reach the victim.

Deputy Vivianne Darby was out before she could say another word, her face etched with fear. A man with scarlet-slathered hands frantically gestured for them to follow him into the home.

“Darby! Get the first aid kit.” Rebecca popped the trunk and scrambled out. The deputy was already hauling out the kit. Vivianne slammed the trunk closed and looked at Rebecca, her dark eyes wide, reflecting the emergency lights.

“This is Hannah Walker’s house. That’s Michael, her husband.” She indicated the blood-soaked man flailing his arms desperately at them. Vivianne shook her head at herself. “No, it’s Hannah…dammit, I don’t remember her new last name. Her maiden name was Walker. Old friend of mine. She just moved back to town.”

Rebecca started recording with her spy pen, her stopgap measure until they could get body cameras. It wasn’t ideal, but the footage could prove useful later.

But right now she had to focus on keeping the victim alive. If she still was. With that much blood on Michael’s hands, Rebecca worried they would find a corpse once they got inside.

Michael raced over to join them. His sobs sliced through the still air like the sharp edge of a knife. He spun in tight circles, seeming lost. “Please! My wife needs help. Someone took our baby.”

“Sir, what’s your name?” Rebecca tried to remain calm amid the chaos. “How long ago did you find her?” She spoke as she ran for the house, Vivianne racing after her.

“Michael Blackwood.” Tears trailed down his face. “Ten minutes…I was only gone half an hour. She was out of pickles and yogurt, and I needed to get more corner guards for the tables from the hardware store.”

There was no blood on his face, his shirt, or the upper parts of his pants. His knees and lower legs were drenched, showing he’d at least knelt in the blood, but none of it had spattered his upper body.

“EMS is en route. Where is she?”

Crossing the threshold, there was no need for directions. Rebecca immediately noticed the woman on the floor. She lay sprawled in front of the couch—a chilling centerpiece to the disarray around her. A colorful bandanna and a strap were discarded next to her head. Had she been gagged? Her dress was soaked in blood and framed around her stomach.

Her ankles were bound and, strangely, neatly crossed. Her arms were tucked behind her body, and Rebecca assumed they were bound as well.

Michael raced to his wife’s side and collapsed to his knees, his bloody hands pressing down on a knit blanket that had likely been solid yellow but was now a splotchy mess of dark red and sickly orange from the blood soaking into its fibers. “I moved her to the floor so I could put pressure on her wounds. The couch was too soft.”

Behind her, Vivianne let out a stifled cry but quickly composed herself.

“Is she…was she pregnant?” Rebecca had to ask, even though the answer was painfully obvious. She still needed everything on record. She dropped the kit and pulled on gloves.

“Yes.” Michael choked, swallowing hard, and pointed to his wife’s lower abdomen. “He took…he took our baby.”

Rebecca leaned close to the woman’s mouth to make sure she was breathing. She quickly slipped on gloves before checking for a pulse. “He? Do you know who did this?” Using a pair of safety scissors, she cut the ropes from Hannah’s ankles. With her arms pinned behind her back, Rebecca feared rotating the woman onto her side would accelerate the blood loss. The binds would have to remain for now.

Michael was silently shaking his head, staring in horror again. “She won’t stop bleeding.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus.” Vivianne’s whispered prayer drew Rebecca’s attention away from Hannah for a moment. Despite knowing the victim, Vivianne regained her poise and professionalism quickly. Still, Rebecca wanted to minimize the horror of the scene for her friend and newest deputy.

“Darby, we need the bleed kit. Grab all the gauze and the trauma blanket. She’s already lost a lot of blood, and her body temp will drop really fast. Then come help me with her.” Rebecca’s tone brooked no refusal.

She turned to the husband, still kneeling by his wife’s side. “Michael, I need you to go outside. When the paramedics show up, let them know we’re in here and what’s going on.”

As Rebecca swept her gaze over the victim, her mind raced with the grim details that now consumed their reality. This was more than an assault—it was a theft of the most primal kind. And somewhere out there, a newborn was in the hands of a madman.

After sputtering a few attempts at words, Michael gave up and ran out the door.

Vivianne returned with the kit and thrust it at her. “I’m going to check the rest of the house.”

Rebecca’s hand shot out to snag the trauma blanket from the kit. In the process, she banged her hand against the nearby glider chair. Cursing at the dull pain, she noted a clunking noise. A cell phone had been on the chair and hit the floor.

Ignoring that, she threw the blanket over Hannah’s upper body. Keeping her warm would help stave off shock.

This wasn’t a regular wound. She didn’t smell the telltale stink of perforated bowels, but the organs near the uterus had been shifted, perhaps nicked or severely damaged as well. The uterus itself had been sliced open, a medieval Caesarian section to let the butcher retrieve his prize.

Recalling her first aid training, Rebecca knew the placenta would need to be removed. Would the suspect have known the importance of that step? It was hardly common knowledge. Perhaps the monster who’d done this had formal medical training, but the crude incision suggested otherwise.

Using her forearm to lean on the makeshift bandage, Rebecca cued the radio on her shoulder. “Dispatch, this is West. I need Frost at my location now. Get Coffey to lock down the bridge. No one leaves the island without clearance. Keep an eye out for anyone traveling with a newborn baby.”

“Copy that, Sheriff.” Melody Jenkins, the second-shift dispatcher who was covering the phones, replied immediately. “I’m on it.”

“Locke, secure the marinas. If our perp has a boat, I don’t want them slipping through.” The thought of the assailant fleeing over water added a layer of complexity, but Rebecca trusted Trent’s instincts to cover all angles. He was a lifelong resident of the island and had grown up on boats. She was happy to defer to his expertise.

“Will do, Sheriff.” Trent’s response crackled with determination.

“One more thing, Dispatch.” Rebecca’s mind was racing, even as she shifted her hands to keep the pressure where the bleeding was heaviest. “Put out an Amber Alert. Every hospital, clinic, fire station, and Safe Haven needs to be on the lookout for a newborn baby, likely in need of medical attention. Call Coastal Ridge directly first. Time is critical.”

“Understood, Sheriff. Alert going out now.” Melody’s urgency was clear even through the formality of their exchange.

Vivianne hurried back into the room. “House is clear, Boss.” She sounded steadier, which was good, because Rebecca couldn’t spare her any attention.

“Darby, bag these cuffs and the makeshift gag.” Rebecca maintained pressure on the treated gauze, praying it would help clot the blood freely flowing out of Hannah.

As Vivianne gathered the evidence, the wail of sirens reached a crescendo outside.

The steady tromp of boots indicated the arrival of the paramedics as they burst through the door, clutching their kits and defibrillators like shields against death’s advance.

Rebecca spared them a look. “I’ve got a pulse and shallow breathing, but I can’t get the bleeding to stop.”

A woman in a dark-blue uniform crouched beside her, and Rebecca recognized Sandra Baker, who she’d met when working on a case over the summer. “She was pregnant?”

“Yes.” As Sandra leaned closer to take over, Rebecca stepped aside, allowing them access to the victim. “Multiple lacerations, extensive bleeding.” She briefed them quickly, her tone all business. “Location of newborn is unknown and approximate time since delivery is roughly thirty minutes.”

Baker’s partner pulled the trauma blanket away, which was quickly replaced with a swarm of hands before the wound was packed with more sterile hemostatic gauze. Rebecca caught the blanket before it could hit the floor. She’d need to seal it within an evidence bag. The DNA from the blood was a potential link to the missing infant. One they could use without bothering the victim or her family at the hospital.

Rebecca hauled herself to her feet and looked around for Vivianne, who was nowhere in sight. She pressed her lips together, worrying her deputy might not be able to handle remaining on the scene.

Instead, she faced the shocked husband, who had trailed in behind the paramedics. “Michael.” She had to repeat his name before he lifted eyes haunted with a grief so profound it clawed at her heart. “I need your number. I’m going to have more questions for you.”

Numbly, he recited the digits, his gaze never leaving his wife as the paramedics lifted her onto a gurney. Vivianne came back in, holding the camera from the glove compartment and the evidence case from the back of Rebecca’s department SUV.

Rebecca bit back a sigh of relief. Vivianne hadn’t been overcome by the scene. In fact, she’d moved on to the next logical step.

Setting the case down, Vivianne knelt, flipped it open, and held open a large evidence bag for Rebecca to slide the blanket into. Vivianne’s face was grim, but she was on the ball.

That was good enough for Rebecca. They had an infant to find, and time was slipping away with each tick of the clock.

“You might want these too.”

Glancing over, Rebecca saw the tall and wiry paramedic was holding a pair of quick cuffs. “She had them on her wrists, and we were able to remove them when we lifted her. We’re taking her to Coastal Ridge. Sir, are you riding with us?” The paramedic, whose nametag read Hayes, turned to address Michael.

They lifted the gurney, locked the legs into the upright position, and wheeled the wounded woman away while keeping pressure on her abdomen. Michael started to follow, jerked to a stop, and wordlessly beseeched Rebecca for permission. Stay and search for his missing child, or go and be with his wife while she fought to stay alive. It was a hell of a decision.

Rebecca made it for him. “Go. I have your number. One of us will check in with you later. Be with your wife. We’ll find your baby.”

Michael ran after the paramedics, his soul seemingly tethered to his wife’s by more than vows. Rebecca followed them out as well, wanting to drop the filled evidence bags in the back of the SUV.

Deputy Hoyt Frost’s cruiser rolled to a stop near Rebecca just as the ambulance disappeared down the road, its siren wailing a mournful dirge.

3

“Boss!” Hoyt unfolded his lanky frame from the cruiser, staring after the retreating ambulance.

Rebecca drew in a long breath, steeling herself for the debrief. In that suspended moment, the crimson horror of the crime scene replayed behind her eyes. She removed the bloody gloves she used to tend to Hannah, turning them inside out before stuffing them in an evidence bag. If her attacker left any hair or DNA behind and they ended up on the gloves, she didn’t want to throw them away..

“We’ve got a fetal abduction. The child was removed from the mother violently. The mother is still alive but has lost a lot of blood. Her husband found her and called it in but is with her en route to the hospital.”

Hoyt ran a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable.”

Her gaze drifted to the trunk with the evidence bags holding the bloodstained blanket, items used for a gag, and two sets of cut quick cuffs. “No sign of the baby here. We can’t make any assumptions about the purpose of the abduction. Could be to sell, raise as their own, or…”

Rebecca didn’t want to put voice to the horrors that could be wrought upon the innocent newborn.

“Dear God, have mercy.” The shock was evident in Frost’s dark eyes—eyes that had seen their share of island tragedies.

“We don’t know if the baby is alive or dead.” Pulling her phone from her pocket, Rebecca checked the time. It was three in the afternoon. “In child abduction murder cases, seventy-six percent of them are killed within the first three hours. Within twenty-four hours, eighty-nine percent are killed. We have until three tomorrow to get that newborn back. After that, the chances of survival drop quickly.”

Frost ran his hand over his face. “Those stats are for older kids. That doesn’t even take into account the medical needs of a baby delivered…in such a barbaric way.”

“Locke’s covering the marinas. Coffey’s got the bridge on lockdown.” Rebecca ticked off the immediate actions taken as she closed her trunk to protect the evidence from the sunlight. “I’ve put out an Amber Alert, and we need to follow every possible lead. Hospitals, clinics, Safe Havens…they’re all on alert, up and down the coast.”

“Any suspects?” Frost’s expression remained haunted.

“None yet.” Rebecca tilted her head toward Vivianne, who stood a few feet away, just outside the door. Her posture was rigid, her dark eyes reflecting an anguish that went deeper than professional concern. “It’s personal for Darby. It’s her friend. Hannah Blackwood.”

“Fuck.” Frost exhaled.

She looked at the now trampled and smeared bloody footprints decorating the front patio, walk, and driveway. “You can say that again. Let’s get to work.”

Rebecca studied the scarlet trail marring the otherwise immaculate path leading to the front door. The droplets had not fully dried against the concrete. “Frost, I need you to canvass the area. Knock on every door. Someone must’ve seen or heard something. Check for any security cameras too.”

“Got it, Boss.” Frost was already moving away with purpose. His long strides took him toward the neighboring houses, his notepad in hand ready for any scrap of witness testimony.

Turning back to the bloodstained walkway, Rebecca felt Vivianne’s presence beside her.

Vivianne’s recent horrified demeanor had been replaced by a somber focus. “Looks like the trail heads straight out to where a car might’ve been.” Vivianne knelt to inspect the end of the visible blood droplets. “These footprints go under Michael’s car. Then they disappear. So whoever did this had already left before Michael got back.”

Rebecca crouched alongside her. The lack of tire marks was frustrating. “They definitely walked out and got in a car here. Either way, we’ll need samples of everything. It’s clear from the destruction inside that Hannah put up a fight. Some of this might be her assailant’s blood.”

She didn’t want to think about the possibility that the blood could be the baby’s. What was the likelihood that someone could cut open a pregnant woman and not end up hurting the baby in the process? Especially if they had no medical training.

Rebecca shuddered, contemplating the hours of disturbing medical research that lay ahead of her. She examined the trail again, committing every detail to memory. “You already recorded everything?”

“And took pictures.” Vivianne passed the camera over. “After the paramedics cleared out, I walked the scene as carefully as possible. I figured those images, paired with whatever your pen camera caught, will have to be enough. CSI can hopefully make sense of everything and piece together what happened.”

“Good job.” Rebecca flipped through the captured images. “Let’s get the techs to start here. Every drop is part of the story. But the part we need to focus on first is where the baby went.”

“Right.” Vivianne stood and brushed her hands against her uniform pants. Pulling out her phone, she called the CSI team to coordinate their strategy.

After taking more pictures of the area under the parked car, Rebecca followed the bloody trail back inside. As she’d feared, the bloody stains were a jumbled mess. Her and Vivianne’s footprints were smeared in with the original tracks. Atop that were the footprints from the paramedics as they raced in and pushed the gurney out, the wheels cleaving some of the prints into useless blobs.

All she could do was hope their images were clear enough to be useful. She made a mental note to get a print of Michael’s shoes as well. With a soft curse, she realized she could ask Coastal Ridge Police Department to go over to the hospital now and grab them when Michael arrived with Hannah.

Rebecca pulled out her phone and sent a quick message to her counterpart in Coastal Ridge. She and Chief Morrow of the CRPD had worked together on several crimes in Rebecca’s short time on the island, and they had a friendly relationship. She was sure he’d help her.

“CSI estimates they’ll be here in ten minutes.” Vivianne stood just outside the front door beside Rebecca. “I warned them about the smeared blood trails and told them I’d send over copies of the videos and photos from the camera and your spy pen footage. Based on what I saw when we entered the home, only Michael and the suspect left bloody footprints trailing out of the house before we arrived.”

“You noticed that?”

“It was easier to focus on the details of the scene than look at Michael when he was so distraught.” Vivianne pulled two pairs of protective booties from her jacket pocket, offering one set to Rebecca.

Rebecca slipped the booties on before taking a long step over the threshold, dodging the marks on the floor. She was impressed with Vivianne’s ability to remain focused under the circumstances. “We need to find another way in so we’re not making this even worse. It’ll be hell trying to get all the DNA evidence separated as is.”

Before proceeding, Rebecca surveyed the small area by the door. A table held a small empty basket, likely for keys or knickknacks, and a slotted holder for mail. A sheet of Forever stamps rested in the front slot, with return address labels leaning behind. Opposite them was a closet with its door closed.

Together, they tiptoed their way to the blood-soaked living room.

“Look at this place. Hannah joked about nesting like some kind of frantic sparrow.” Vivianne took in the polished surfaces and tidy shelves, which stood in contrast to the blood and destruction, her dark eyes reflecting a sorrow that contrasted her professional detachment.

“Focus on the facts, Darby.” Rebecca’s words were not just a directive but an offer of advice. “One piece at a time so it doesn’t overwhelm you. If it gets to be too much, you don’t have to stay.”

Vivianne shook her head, the motion sharp and decisive. “I can do this. I need to do this. For Hannah. I’ll follow SOP. I swear. I can set everything else aside, at least until her baby is safe again.” She tried to smile, but it was weak and watery before settling into a grim stretching of her lips instead.

Rebecca knew just how she felt. Trying to compartmentalize all the crap they dealt with was never easy. Add in children or infants, and it got worse. But when one of the victims had been a fetus in the womb? The horror of the situation was enough to knock anyone off their stride and have them reconsidering their career choice.

She pointed to two impressions on the carpet just inside the room. “Your knowledge might help us. If she was nesting, what was here? Looks like a heavy, somewhat square object with a lighter rectangular object next to it. Any thoughts on what might have been here or where the items are now?”

Vivianne squatted next to the marks in the carpet. “I can’t be sure, but maybe a child’s car seat was sitting here. What goes with that?”

“A diaper bag? Maybe an overnight bag for Hannah to take to the hospital? Let’s ask her husband when we speak to him.” She pointed to the broken vase and other signs of struggle. “Take a look at those. We need to figure out precisely what happened here and in what order. While you’re at it, look for smaller traces of blood. Forensics can do the rest.”

The signs of a fight were everywhere, the room a maelstrom of overturned and scattered belongings. It painted a picture of desperation, of Hannah fighting against her attacker. And yet, despite the disarray, there’d been signs of cold calculation as well. Hannah’s hands and feet had been bound, a gag secured cruelly in her mouth.

“She didn’t go down easily.” Vivianne’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides.

“There was definitely a struggle.” Rebecca stepped carefully over the debris. This wasn’t just a crime scene. It was the last stand of a fierce mother determined to protect herself and her unborn child.

Vivianne nodded slowly, staring at the broken possessions instead of the blood and other fluids soaked into the carpet and couch cushions. “She might have injured him. I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s a sweetheart, but she’d defend…” Vivianne squeaked to a halt and turned away.

It was up to Rebecca to examine the worst parts of the scene. The outline left on the couch cushions hinted at the savagery that had occurred there.

She crouched low, contemplating the ominous stains that marred the living room. The blood had seeped into the fibers of the couch, a sickening testament to the violence. On the carpet in front of the couch lay a stain larger than the one on the cushion. Michael had stated he’d moved her to the floor so he could apply pressure to the bleeding wound.

Rebecca gingerly lifted the cushions, searching for anything the assailant might have left behind. Nothing. Not even loose change or stray pieces of popcorn. The couple’s dedication to cleanliness in preparation for the baby’s arrival shined through the grisly circumstances.

On the carpet, a few strands of hair caught her eye. They were long and blond, likely ripped from Hannah’s scalp during the struggle. Rebecca knew she should be thinking “the victim” instead of “Hannah.” But with how deeply affected Vivianne was, she was losing her own sense of detachment.

Get it together. Not only does the victim and her family need you at your best, but so does Vivianne. You handled Meg Darby’s case. You can handle this one too.

Rebecca stared at the clear wet spot that had run down the front of the couch and pooled into a small puddle before soaking into the carpet.

Amniotic fluid.

Dammit, this wasn’t a regular case. This was…so much worse. Her brain could say whatever it wanted, but with the primal part of her body screaming that this was wrong on so many levels, she couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

Then don’t. Focus on one thing at a time, like you advised Vivianne. One piece of evidence. One lead. One step at a time. Until you find this newborn and return it to its family. Block out everything else.

Rebecca stood and went to the forensic kit Vivianne had brought in. Right on top was a blue plastic jar. Ripping her gloves off, Rebecca unscrewed the jar and wiped a liberal amount of the mentholated gel under her nose. Just as she’d done in previous cases, she used the cloying smell to distract her from unpleasant odors. She pulled on fresh gloves and returned to her work at the couch.

The tacky, clear fluid on the carpeted floor was marred by swipe marks, as though someone had dragged a cloth through it. Rebecca suspected this came from something like a bath towel. A towel that wasn’t present. Hopefully that meant the baby had been wrapped up warmly before being taken away.

Another sign that this was a planned attack. The knife used to gut Hannah was also glaringly absent. The perpetrator had been thorough, not leaving anything behind that stood out.

“I’m done taking pictures here, Boss.” Vivianne’s voice was stronger now.

“Good. Find the back door so no one else tracks through the blood. Then wait for forensics outside.” Rebecca focused on taking her own pictures of the blood and discarded tissue. Time crawled by as each disturbing image etched itself into her psyche. No amount of therapy would erase this macabre movie reel from her memory banks.

“Sheriff!”

Vivianne’s scream jolted Rebecca upright. Her hand darted for her gun.

“Boss, I found something out here.”

Relaxing slightly, Rebecca walked through the house, following the sound of Vivianne’s voice to just outside the front door. “What is it?”

“The back door is locked. The front door is the only door that’s unlocked. When I was clearing the house earlier, I didn’t see anything out of place. All the windows were secured too. There are no signs of this door or the back door being forced open. The faceplates are still shiny. There’s not a scratch on them. Could the assailant have had a key?” Vivianne tucked her hands behind her back as if resisting the urge to touch anything that could hold the answer.

“Or Hannah let them in.” A chill of unease snaked up Rebecca’s spine. Was this someone Hannah had trusted and invited in?

The sound of the CSI team arriving broke through her contemplation. They parked next to Rebecca’s SUV, and a tall man with pale skin waved at them as he climbed out of the van. Lance Davis had worked with them on the Bryson Gilroy case. “Hey, Sheriff. You find something without us?”

“Hey, Lance. Yeah, we’ve found a lot of things. You know about the blood trails?”

“How they’re all messed up from the medical team arriving to save the victim? Yeah, we know. No worries. We’re used to things like that. But your deputy assured us you have some video of the original scene.”

“That’s right.” Spy pen for another win. “Deputy Darby can show your team where the back door is. It’s best if that becomes the main access point for everyone going forward.” Rebecca gestured, and Vivianne disappeared back into the house so she could unlock that door and lead them in. “Start with the living room. There’s plenty to collect there.”

“Blood, sweat, tears…we’ll bag it all.” Lance motioned for his team to move around the side of the house before approaching Rebecca. “What’s got you so intrigued with the door? I know that look. A cop who just found evidence but doesn’t know what it means yet.”

“This is the only entrance that was unlocked. The husband probably came through it before us, but how did the perp get in?”

Lance pulled out a flashlight, examining the lock mechanism under the bright beam. “There’s no blatant sign of picking, but I’ll have to remove it and examine it in the lab to be sure. We’ll do the same with the back door as well.” He moved his scrutiny to the frame, to the weather stripping, seeking an explanation. “No obvious signs of forced entry. Good catch, Sheriff. We’ll check the other doors and all the windows too, just in case you missed something. No offense.”

Rebecca waved him away. “None taken. It’s just Darby and me so far. We’ve only been able to take pictures of the mess. The rest of it we’re going to leave to you. We have a baby to find.”

The jaded crime scene tech swallowed hard and nodded. “No one should have to go through what this family is dealing with. Go save lives and find the bastard who did this. We’ll comb through every crumb to make sure the perpetrator goes away for a long time.”

4

After ushering the forensics techs to the back door, Vivianne took the long way around to the front yard of her friend’s house. Right now, she wasn’t ready to walk through the heart of the crime scene. Her mind was a jumbled haze of disbelief and duty.

The sight of Hannah slashed open on the floor in front of her couch was going to haunt Vivianne. Possibly forever. Everything had a surreal blur to it. Less than an hour had passed since the call came in, but it already felt like ages.

The crisp sea air did little to clear the fog clouding her thoughts. The surreal sensation gnawed at her, a reminder of bygone days drenched in saltwater and laughter.

As high school classmates, she and Hannah had dreamed about what their adult lives would be like. During their days in the sun hanging out at Atticus Beach, they’d spent many hours dreaming of the future.

Neither of them could ever have guessed that such horror awaited them.

As she stopped in the patches of fescue grass serving as the lawn, she could almost taste the tang of cheap beer. The kind Hannah would sneak from her father’s stash so they could act like they were older than they were. Hannah had read Vivianne’s first attempts at writing, weird mashes of science fiction and fantasy that Vivianne had mostly abandoned when she started college.

She’d never imagined a world without more adventures just around the corner. A world where she wouldn’t keep writing. But she’d let that passion fade as others replaced it.

Her friendship with Hannah had been rock-solid during their high school years, a bond seemingly as bottomless as the ocean they had lounged beside.

But life had a way of ebbing like the tide, and their connection thinned over time. Vivianne was excited to learn of her friend’s recent return but hadn’t found the time to visit her new home. An unexpected encounter at the grocery store had reminded Vivianne how much time had slipped away while she wasn’t paying attention.

They’d met once for coffee, but half an hour had not been long enough for them to fully catch up.

Seeing the forensic vehicles parked in the road in front of her friend’s house, that brief coffee date was like a cruel tease. It had taken a tragedy to bring Vivianne to Hannah’s home. And now, based on her personal relationship with the victim, Vivianne worried she’d be pulled off the case.

Rebecca finished talking with Lance from the forensic team and began moving toward her. Rebecca’s actions seemed slow, dreamlike, as though she were moving underwater.

Vivianne closed her eyes for a moment. All she could see behind her closed eyelids was Hannah on the floor, clinging to life.

Frost’s gravelly voice cut through her reverie, startling her. She hadn’t registered him walking up from the other direction. And somehow Rebecca was now standing there as well.

“I talked with the neighbors who were home.” He addressed their boss with an unreadable expression. His uniform hung loosely on his frame, a testament to too many meals skipped amid the chaos of crime scenes and paperwork. “No one heard anything unusual. No screams, no baby crying, no cars peeling out. Nothing. Not until you ladies showed up.”

“They didn’t hear anything?” Vivianne scowled as the trio moved to the driveway. The limited supply of island real estate meant homes were spaced closer together than in similar communities on the mainland. Hannah and Michael’s home was only about ten yards from their closest neighbor. Vivianne scanned the homes on the street, noting the large trees and hedges that offered a veneer of privacy between houses.

“One neighbor had three little ones running around. He wouldn’t have heard a stampede. Another was wearing a hearing aid, though she seemed to hear fine with it. Another just woke up. But the fourth,” he turned and gestured to the house two down and across the street, “said she was having lunch and still didn’t hear anything.”

Rebecca frowned but didn’t seem surprised. “Well, it’s winter. Everyone has their windows closed. Did you think to check for doorbell cameras?”

“Sure did. Total of four on this street, but they were all pointed to the porch and driveway and didn’t pick up road traffic. We’ll keep searching.” Tucking his pen and notepad into his shirt pocket, Hoyt tilted his head to Vivianne. “You know Hannah, right?”

“Yeah, from back in high school. We lost touch and were just starting to reconnect.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Please don’t let them pull me off this case. Why did Hoyt have to bring up our connection?

Frost rubbed his chin, his expression grave as he studied her. His next words surprised her. “I know her too. I’ve known the Walker family for years. That’s Hannah’s maiden name. She’s a Blackwood now, though.”

He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair before securing the hat again. “Her parents are friends of mine. Ronna and Robert Walker are good people. Angie and I used to have dinners with them.” He trailed off.

Vivianne swallowed hard, thinking about Hannah’s parents. They’d been so sweet, letting Hannah and Vivianne get away with just enough without letting them run wild. Thinking back, there was no way Robert hadn’t noticed those beers missing from the cooler in his garage. Yet he’d only remarked on it once, when Hannah had taken four beers instead of the usual two before meeting up with Vivianne at the beach.

“In a small town,” Frost continued, avoiding Vivianne’s eyes, “our personal lives often collide with our professional ones. We’ve all experienced it countless times. I knew Clare Munroe, the mermaid victim. Maria Alton, the mom to Mike from the lighthouse hostage situation. Vi’s own mother nearly died when her car was sabotaged. And we’ve all known folks impacted by the Yacht Club.”

And Rebecca…Rebecca knew Ryker. She had to investigate her own backstabbing ex-boyfriend. It doesn’t get more personal than that.

Rebecca bobbed her head slightly, glancing between Vivianne and Frost. “It’s bound to happen, especially here. It can’t be helped.” Her lips twitched like she was chewing over her words. “Even when I was in D.C., I encountered it. I told you about my parents’ case. And Locke grew up with half the Yacht Club members. We just need to keep things aboveboard and follow protocol. Then there shouldn’t be any problems.”

Vivianne exhaled slowly, her fears of being dismissed from the case dissipating like fog against the setting sun. She had envisioned herself sidelined, her personal connection deemed a liability.

“Your heads need to stay in the game.” Rebecca locked eyes briefly with both deputies. “I trust you to stay professional, but if you feel like it’s getting too much, tell me. Understood?”

“Understood,” they echoed in unison.

Vivianne fought the urge to seize Rebecca into a hug. The sheriff’s trust in her was an anchor in the emotional storm swirling inside her. Instead, she gave Rebecca a quick, determined nod. She would not let her mentor down.

5

Rebecca strode through the automatic doors of the Coastal Ridge hospital, her keen eyes immediately locating the solitary figure slumped in a chair in the corner of the large ER waiting room. The fluorescent overhead lights cast a pallid glow over the sparsely occupied chairs, where the scent of antiseptic couldn’t mask the undercurrent of human weariness.

Michael looked like a man whose world had fissured beneath him in the last two hours. With his head hanging low, he was the picture of dejection. At least he’d managed to get cleaned up, so blood no longer caked his hands. His bloodstained pants had been replaced with a set of scrub bottoms.

Rebecca turned down the volume of her radio as she moved closer, not wanting him to overhear any updates that might come in while they talked. By her side, Vivianne followed suit.

“Michael?” Vivianne’s voice was a soft lilt as she took a cautious step toward him. “I’m Deputy Vivianne Darby.” There was no hint of the teasing glint that often danced in her dark eyes. They matched Michael’s, filled with pain and regret. “And this is Sheriff Rebecca West.”

His head snapped up, questions flickering in his bloodshot eyes. “Hannah’s old friend, right? She showed me some high school photos after you two met for coffee. I didn’t know you…” The sentence was left unfinished, like a thought lost in the chaos of his mind. A heartbeat later, his head swiveled to the side, and his eyes slowly found Rebecca.

Rebecca reached down to where he was seated to offer him a firm hand, her grip conveying strength and solidarity when he reflexively took it. “We’re here to find out what happened to your wife and child, Michael.” She released his hand and sank into the chair next to him.

“They took my shoes. The cops did, I mean. And my pants. I had to borrow these. They asked for prints because of the…” His hand trembled slightly. “I just handed them my shoes. Why did I do that?”

Vivianne knelt beside him. “Because you’re in shock. Have you called your family yet? Or Hannah’s?”

“Called? No.” Michael took a deep breath. “Shit. I’ve just been sitting here. Waiting. I need to do that. Her mom’s…” He trailed off, slowly pulling his phone from his pocket.

“If you give us the numbers, we can call for you,” Vivianne offered, and Michael simply handed her his phone.

“They’re the top five numbers. I think you’ll need more than just the numbers on my phone, though. You need to hear what the madman who did this has been saying. Those are in there too. I made copies of the messages he left on Hannah’s phone. They’re in the music folder under Jared.”

Rebecca shot a look at Vivianne. “You stated earlier that you know who did this. Tell me everything you know.”

Vivianne took the phone from him and moved away to start making calls, but not so far that she couldn’t overhear the conversation.

“I might.” Michael’s whisper was like a shiver.

“Take your time.” Rebecca’s tone was patient.

“His name is Jared Venkman.” Michael’s lip curled into a half snarl. Each syllable was heavy with loathing. “Hannah’s ex-husband. He wanted kids, kept pushing for them, but Hannah…never got pregnant. And he blamed her for it.”

Rebecca maintained eye contact, silently encouraging him to continue.

He swallowed hard. “Not just saying that she had something wrong with her, but accusing her of sabotaging their family plans by taking birth control. A couple of times he claimed she was aborting their babies before he could find out about their existence. Finally, she was able to talk him into undergoing fertility testing.”

Rebecca could guess where this was going, since Hannah had gotten pregnant after leaving her ex. But she needed to hear Michael’s depiction of the events without tainting his story with her own assumptions. As she waited, Vivianne rejoined them.

“The tests indicated he was sterile. That made him even more vicious, blaming Hannah, saying she caused it somehow. Like he really thought she was doing something to him that was making him shoot blanks. He was so focused on having a baby, a namesake.” Michael choked on the words, his hands clenching into fists.

Rebecca touched his arm. “I know how difficult this is, but please tell us what you can.”

He rolled his shoulders, loosening muscles that were likely as tight as a drum. “That was when Hannah knew she had to leave him. He’d never be able to face reality. About a year later, their divorce was final, and we met shortly after. That was three years ago. We got married last year.”

“Did he ever threaten her physically?” Rebecca did not mince words, wanting to get the information as quickly as possible.

“Not a real threat, like saying he would hurt her. Nothing we could ever report. But after we announced that Hannah was pregnant…” A shadow passed over Michael’s face. “It must’ve unhinged him completely. He started calling, emailing, sending messages. Telling her she could come back to him now that she was ‘fixed.’”

Rebecca watched Vivianne’s face contort in horror as the details spilled from Michael’s lips. “Michael, I need you to confirm how you entered your house today.”

“Through the front door. It was partly open, and when I got closer…I-I saw…I think I just dropped my bags and ran inside.” His voice frayed at the edges but didn’t break.

“What time was that?”

“Around two thirty. A few minutes after, maybe. I’d only been gone half an hour.”

“Did you see any blood on the porch before you went in?”

“I…I don’t know. I didn’t notice.” He ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling to piece together his memory. “I was freaked out because the door was open. Since Jared started harassing her, Hannah and I have been really cautious, so I knew she wouldn’t leave the door standing open like that. Once I was inside…there was just so much blood.” His eyes, glassy and distant, seemed to replay the horror scene.

“Where were you before you came home?” Rebecca pressed on methodically, not giving him time to wallow in the misery his words were detailing.

“Running errands around town. Hannah ran out of pickles. She craves the spicy ones. Can’t get enough of them. And Greek yogurt. We needed a few other things too, and I thought it would be smart to get them while I was there. But I should have come home. I could have saved her…”

Rebecca’s heart squeezed for this poor man. “You couldn’t have known. Was the grocery store the only place you stopped?”

He shook his head slowly before answering. “No. I also stopped at the hardware store. We’ve been reading books on preparing for the…well, I thought we needed more of the guards that you stick on the corners of furniture so the baby can’t hurt themselves if they fall. The receipts are in the bags. I don’t know where those ended up, though…”

She didn’t know a lot about raising kids, but she knew the protective devices for the furniture wouldn’t be needed until the baby was walking. It twisted her heart to hear how devoted this couple was to making their home perfect for their baby. And now…

Rebecca would check the receipts to verify the time. She’d seen the bags by the trail of blood at his front door. As she scribbled notes on her pad, the click of her pen punctuated the silence.

Michael eyed her warily, a new fear dawning in his eyes. “Am I a suspect?”

“No. In light of the evidence, we aren’t considering you a suspect at this time. I’m just collecting as much information as I can, Michael. It’s standard procedure to understand the situation fully. We’re trying to set the timeline of events.” Intimate partners were normally suspect number one, and though she truthfully didn’t think he’d done this horrible thing, she’d watch for any incongruence in his story. She checked her notepad. “Were you keeping any items near the front door?”

“Huh? What do you mean? Like on the table?”

“We found impressions on the carpet near the entryway. We’re trying to determine if that was something you had there or something the perpetrator may have brought with them.”

Michael shook his head a few times, and his eyes darted around as if he was imagining his living room. “The baby’s car seat. I hadn’t found time to install it in the car yet. The base of it, that is. And the diaper bag. Hannah had stuffed it with everything the baby could—” He choked on his words, and Rebecca knew he was gripped by memories of their preparations for a baby that was now missing.

“The good news is that if those items are missing, the person who took your child must want to take care of them. Keep them safe. Or why bother with taking all of that?” Rebecca decided to change the subject as she watched Michael stoop over even more. “Do you usually keep the doors locked?”

“Always.” His expression hardened. “Doors and windows. Hannah was meticulous about it after…everything with Jared. And I wiggled the knob after locking the front door when I left. It was locked. Then I used my key to set the deadbolt. I heard it clunk into place.”

“We didn’t find any sign of forced entry.” Rebecca watched his reaction.

His face scrunched up with confusion. “That doesn’t make any sense. I know it was locked. Did you check the back door? The windows?”

“We’ve checked everything. The techs took both door lock sets to the lab, and they’ll be able to determine if they’ve been tampered with.”

“So anyone can just come into the house now?” Michael seemed ready to go barricade the house himself.

“The forensics team also secured the house with temporary locks. We don’t want anyone tampering with anything, believe me.” She needed him to refocus on the matter at hand. “But who else has a key?”

“Nobody. We’d just gotten them ourselves. Like I said, Jared was freaking us out. So we had every lock changed right after we bought the place and haven’t made any copies.” Michael shook his head adamantly.

“Any doorbell cameras or security systems?”

“Nothing like that. Not yet.” Regret laced his tone.

“Could Hannah have let someone in? Someone she knew?” Rebecca pressed on, trying to cover every angle.

“Maybe.” He gave a heavy sigh. “The front door has a peephole. She wouldn’t have opened it without looking. And she’d never have opened the door for Jared. Not in a million years.”

Rebecca tapped her pen against her notepad. If Venkman was the culprit, he was cunning enough to enter without leaving a trace or forcing his way in. “Has anyone else been to your house recently? Anyone who might have had access to a key or could have made a copy?”

“Only my parents and brother.” Once again, Michael ran a hand through his hair. “They visited from Norfolk a few months ago. My parents couldn’t have done this, and my brother is on vacation. I can’t even call him to ask.”

“No one else has visited? You haven’t had plumbers, movers, anyone else in your home? Maybe someone to…” She trailed off, not wanting to mention the nursery, and fumbled for another suggestion. “Someone delivering groceries?”

“No. No one. We moved ourselves in. With help from Hannah’s sister- and brother-in-law. I even installed the new locks myself.” His eyes flickered with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. “I don’t know how Venkman could have made a copy of one of our keys. Do you think it’s possible he was stalking Hannah and managed to get a copy key somehow? It’s got to be him. No one else would want to do something like this. Everyone loves Hannah.”

“Tell me more about Jared Venkman.” She leaned slightly forward, an unspoken signal that every detail mattered.

“He’s about my height, brown hair, cut short. I guess you could say he’s got sharp features. Um, pale eyes, not sure what color. He’s a douchebag who thinks he’s always right and that money and a snotty attitude will get him everything he wants in life. He’s a high-level exec at the nonprofit Hannah used to work at. Schmoozing with rich people to get handed a check is literally what he does for his job.”

While that was descriptive, it wasn’t really what Rebecca needed to know. “How about where he lives? Or the last time that he contacted you or Hannah?”

“I don’t know where he’s holed up these days. Probably still Norfolk, but that’s just a guess.” Michael’s hands shook as he offered what little he knew. “Hannah and I…we met in the city. The calls didn’t start until after we were married, and Hannah announced our pregnancy. She blocked his calls, but he keeps calling from different numbers. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s using Voice over IP, considering he uses that at his job.”

Rebecca pocketed her notepad, just as Vivianne rejoined them.

“I found the recordings and emailed them to the station.” Vivianne passed Michael’s phone back to him. “Hannah’s family is on their way here. We’re still trying to reach your family.”

Michael took the phone and just stared at it. “I just wish I could tell them something…anything.” He ran a hand through his hair yet again, frustration etched into the lines of his face, then glanced toward a set of doors at the far end of the waiting room. “She’s in surgery. I don’t know when we’ll know more. I haven’t heard anything since they took her back.”

“I know it’s hard. But just stay here and try to rest.” Vivianne touched his shoulder and exchanged a heavy look with Rebecca, who sighed. Only a few months on the job, and already the young deputy knew that her reassurances couldn’t help this man whose whole life had turned upside down in the span of thirty minutes.

He offered a wilted smile, a silent gesture of gratitude mixed with resignation as he leaned back in the plastic chair. “It’s all I can do.”

With a jerk of the head to Vivianne indicating they should leave, Rebecca headed for the door. Michael might feel helpless, but Rebecca and her deputies were anything but.

6

I sat there, transfixed. There she was, my little girl, wrapped up in the fluffiest towel I could find. Tucked all nice and secure in my bed. I’d expected the baby bag I’d grabbed from its spot by the door would be filled with everything I needed. But I was only partially right.

In fact, I was starting to realize I knew more about parenting than those two. None of the blankets in the bag were fluffy. Didn’t they want the best for my precious one? Leaving those inferior blankets in the bag, I’d pulled out a little outfit and set that aside for her. Once we’d gotten to safety, I’d scrubbed us both down to get the blood off and even scoured the damn knife I’d taken with me.

Her cord was something else. I honestly didn’t know what to do with it. My internet search informed me it would fall off, which honestly sounded disgusting. What the hell was I supposed to do with a dried, rotten piece of flesh? Maybe I should just yank it off now so I wouldn’t have to deal with it later.

But my baby was so damn beautiful and peaceful that I didn’t want to risk hurting her. I could barely breathe thinking about how close I came to screwing it all up. I’d almost chickened out. Almost let someone else raise her.

When Hannah said no to running away with me, I’d been tempted to bolt from her house. When I saw the way she cradled her stomach, the love in that simple touch, I knew the baby must be mine.

In the months leading up to this day, I had considered what I might do if Hannah refused my offer. There was no way to predict what her answer would be. So I had settled on the idea of raising the baby as my own if Hannah turned me down. And although this had been my backup plan, I never really believed I’d be able to go through with it. Without medical training, I wasn’t sure I’d successfully remove the baby without hurting it.

And there was so much blood. I’d gagged several times as my slick hands tried to find their target. I still couldn’t believe I’d found the courage to go through with it. But Hannah had sealed her own fate.

I did what I had to do. Hannah said no. But my heart said yes. And I had to listen to my heart, didn’t I? Now I no longer had to worry about Hannah at all.

It was what came after, the keeping, the caring, the feeding and soothing, that had me sweating bullets.

Seeing that tiny chest rise and fall, it was like every nerve in my body unwound. I’d done good, hadn’t I? She was clean, dry, and wrapped snug in the soft, fuzzy blanket I’d found at the place I was staying. I had to use my finger to push the folds of the blanket down so I could see her little nose again. After her hot bath, I wanted to make sure she stayed warm. The blanket seemed to be soothing her.

Initially, she hadn’t made a sound. Then I remembered seeing on old TV shows that you have to smack the baby’s bare bottom a few times while holding it upside down to get it to start breathing. Once I did that, she cried something fierce. I couldn’t blame the kid. It was a cruel world she’d been born into.

But now? Now she was silent, peacefully asleep, and damn if it didn’t feel like the world’s greatest gift.

My hands were steady as I watched her, steadier than they’d ever been, because this, this right here, was what it was all about.

I’d crossed a line, sure, but for my daughter? I’d cross a thousand more.

She was perfect, flawless, despite how she came into this world. My hands…they were bloodied. Sure I’d cleaned them, even scrubbing under my nails. But the stain was part of me now, part of my baby’s and my story.

Hannah should’ve known better. Should’ve seen what was good for her. For us. I made her an offer, gave her a way forward, but she chose wrong. The consequences were hers to bear, not mine.

It had been clear we’d never have a child together by the usual way. But this was the next best thing.

I hadn’t expected it to be so gruesome. The blood. The cutting. Hannah’s muffled screams still echoed in my head. Her eyes. God, those eyes wide with terror and pain, tearing up and looking straight through me, pleading for mercy.

When she’d finally passed out, it was like a switch flipped off. Silence, but not the peaceful kind. The kind that terrorized you in the dead of night.

She would never love me. I accepted that when she said no. But now she hated me. If she was even still alive.

Her survival hadn’t been my priority. Once I had my daughter, I’d left Hannah there to bleed to death. She’d merely been a vessel, and now she was someone else’s problem. I had what I wanted. Besides, it wasn’t the worst way to die. She was already out cold by the time I finished. If she lost enough blood, she’d just never wake up. Pretty peaceful, unlike the torment she’d caused me ever since we met.

I pushed the thoughts away, burying them deep. I never had to think about Hannah again. There was someone much more important in my life now.

Looking down at the tiny life I’d brought into the world, my daughter, I started to plan our future.

Dreaming of the days to come, of teaching her to ride a bike, of holding her hand on the first day of school. I could already tell she was going to be beautiful, just like her mother. Maybe she’d even have that same fire in her eyes, that stubborn tilt to her chin.

This baby was my second chance.

Babies loved unconditionally, didn’t they? That meant she would love me, really love me. Not like Hannah, who never showed me the love I deserved. But my little girl would. She had to. I was all she had now. And she was all I had.

For several months I’d planned what my future would look like with Hannah and our child by my side. Maybe I should have been studying how to be a father, but moms and dads didn’t need to read books to be good parents. Every parent screwed up at least a few times, but babies were resilient. I thought I heard that somewhere. My daughter would be fine.

So far my instincts had been dead on. Grabbing the bag Hannah had packed was a stroke of genius, even if it weighed a ton. The bottles and formula would tide me over until I could get more. I wasn’t sure if I could reuse the disposable diapers in the bag, but I hoped I’d be able to buy more of those soon too.

Plan B was in full swing. I could raise my daughter without Hannah.

I let myself smile, just a bit. Because despite everything, despite the horror that brought her here, I knew I could do right by my daughter. I could raise her and be the dad she needed. The word dad felt foreign, a stolen title. Yet I clung to it, to the idea of it. She was mine, and I was hers. Completely, irrevocably. It was us against the world now, and I wasn’t about to let anyone—or anything—keep us apart.

Once we were past this mess, once the heat died down, I could take her someplace where news of how I’d acquired my daughter wouldn’t register on a suspicious doctor’s radar. After all, good parents got their children checked out by doctors. All in good time. First I needed to get across the damn bridge they’d shut down.

Suddenly, she stirred. Her tiny angel face scrunched up as small whimpers escaped her lips. The sound was soft, not the wails I braced myself for.

“Shh, baby girl. Daddy’s got you.” I lifted her into my arms. I rocked her gently, back and forth, back and forth, a human cradle.

But her fussing turned into crying that refused to stop. Just like her mother. Soft and nearly muffled behind the fluffy blanket that covered her mouth and nose. Fearing she might not be getting enough air in her tiny lungs, I removed the blanket.

Her voice grew stronger, and I immediately regretted removing the blanket that had muted her cries. They sliced through the silence like a warning siren. This wasn’t part of the fantasy—her cries, her discomfort. She was supposed to be happy and content, dammit. Holding her, I hurried to where I’d set up the bottles, ready for her when she woke up.

“Come on. Drink up.” I coaxed her with a bottle of formula I’d made earlier. It was room temperature, but if it got too cold, I could always reheat it in the microwave.

She rejected it, turning her head away and swinging her little fists wildly.

Why was she fighting me? She didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were clenched tight as she drew in another breath, gearing up to cry even louder.

Desperation crept in. I bounced her as I held her to my chest and tried singing a lullaby. My voice was rough and tuneless and seemed to annoy her even more.

Her diaper? I quickly checked. Nothing. It was dry. Or was it just the super absorbency of the disposable diaper and she needed to be changed? How was anyone supposed to know that? What did she need?

A surge of panic hit me, sharp and unexpected. I’m doing everything right, aren’t I? Apparently not.

My daughter’s cries grew louder, filling the space with discordance. Maybe she was cold. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I wrapped her up in the soft, thick blanket once more.

“Please, honey, please.” My prayer hung in the air, unanswered. I gritted my teeth. Got to keep it together. Can’t let this break me. I’m her father. I have to make this work.

I paced the room. Her little cries were getting sharper, each one a knife twist in my gut. Nothing I did seemed to matter. I did all this for her, but she was ungrateful. She whined like the stupid sperm donor who created her. The internet didn’t cover how to calm a stolen baby, how to erase the terror of a violent beginning.

Had I screwed up? Was that what upset her? Did she remember her brutal entrance into the world?

Did she blame me for what I did to her mother?

“No. That’s ridiculous. There’s no way babies can remember being born.” I definitely didn’t remember my own birth. But I had been the first face my daughter saw. I bounced her even harder, trying to get through to her. “She’s just a baby, not a bomb. You can handle this.”

But as her distress escalated, doubt clawed at me. What if I’m not cut out for this? The question was a cold slap, a betrayal by my own mind. I shoved it aside, grinding my teeth. No. Being a single dad wouldn’t be easy. I realized that. But she couldn’t cry forever. My hands were steady, but inside, I was an earthquake.

I tried to remember the videos and the tutorials I’d found online. The ones with the soft-spoken women and their perfect nurseries. But there was no soft-spoken woman here to guide me through this, no tutorial to fix what I’d done. There was just me and her and the consequences of my actions.

“Easy, easy,” I cooed, patting her back rhythmically. “Daddy’s got you.” Her cries were a test, one I couldn’t afford to fail.

“Please,” I whispered to her, to myself, to any higher power who might be listening as I cuddled her tighter and tighter against my chest. Her blond hair was the same color as her mother’s. The hair I’d wrenched from Hannah’s head to subdue her so I could cut a path for this little one to join me.

She might physically resemble her mother, but the crying and complaining were so much like Michael. Here I was trying to create a new life for my daughter and me, but traces of her biological parents kept invading our sanctuary.

“Please, just stop crying.”

It was a command, a plea, and a prayer all rolled into one. And for a moment, everything hung in the balance, my entire future suspended on the sound of her next breath.

7

Vivianne and Rebecca rushed into the station, not even pausing to acknowledge Melody at the dispatch desk. They’d uploaded the messages that Michael had shared with them to the case file. As they swung through the half door that separated the lobby from the bullpen, Frost jerked up from where he was seated at his desk.

He had headphones on, and Vivianne smiled at the sight of her friend utilizing technology.

Hannah and Michael’s little one had been brutally kidnapped two and a half hours earlier, so Rebecca wasted no time. “Darby, check into Venkman’s background. See what you can find. Frost, you learn anything useful from the messages he left?”

Frost’s jaw was set in a hard line as he shook his head, and when he spoke, his voice was a low rumble. “He’s off the rails. And they never reported this?”

He pulled the headphone cord from his computer and let the messages echo through the bullpen. On the recording, each word from Jared Venkman was laced with vitriol. “You conniving bitch. I’m not falling for your tricks anymore. I’ll make you pay for what you’ve done. You’re gonna regret messing with my life!”

Vivianne flinched from her position at her desk where she was booting up her computer, ready to dig into their suspect’s past. In high school, Hannah had been sweet, if a bit naive, and to think she ended up with someone capable of such rage…

“Unhinged doesn’t even start to cover it.” Vivianne rubbed at the tension coiling in her shoulders as she continued to tap at her keyboard.

Frost scratched his neck. “Let’s play devil’s advocate. He never mentions the baby or taking the baby. What if someone else did this? What if it isn’t personal?”

“Like a kidnapping for profit?” Vivianne recalled a case from a few months back that had started with a kidnapping, but they’d learned the woman behind it had sold her own baby shortly after birth. That was when Vivianne had learned that everything could be sold, if the right buyer could be found. “There’s always a market for babies, disgustingly enough.”

“Or it could be a case of desperation.” Rebecca’s gaze was distant, as if she were piecing together a puzzle only she could see. “Remember that story from upstate last month? A woman faked her own pregnancy and abducted a newborn when she was close to her alleged due date. And it was all to keep her partner from leaving.”

“People are so twisted.” Frost grunted, his expression grim. “I used to joke with my boys that I’d sell them to the circus, but that was because they acted like clowns. Not because I’d ever actually do that.”

Vivianne shivered, picturing the tiny, helpless baby caught in such madness.

“As we all know, the most likely suspect is someone who knew the victim personally. And with Venkman’s outbursts and harassment, he’s our prime suspect.” Rebecca drummed her fingers on her travel mug. “We start with Venkman. Darby, did you find anything on him? Other than he lived and worked in Norfolk for a time?”

Vivianne spun around in her desk chair. “Yeah, I think so.”

Rebecca held up a finger and glanced at Hoyt. “Frost, what have you found on this guy?” Turning back to Vivianne, she dropped her hand and nodded at her deputy.

“An assault charge from eight months ago. Venkman got into a bar fight in Norfolk. He started a verbal altercation with another man that turned into a shoving match and ended when Venkman hit the twenty-one-year-old with a broken bottle.”

“Frost, address and phone number?” Rebecca prompted, her eyes sharp and focused.

“His current address is in Norfolk. Let’s give him a call.” Hoyt picked up the receiver and dialed the number listed, the beeps echoing in the tense silence of the bullpen.

They waited, counting the rings, until the call eventually surrendered to voicemail. Hoyt hung up without leaving a message.

“Dead end for now.” Vivianne felt a shadow of frustration.

Rebecca pressed her lips into a thin line. She reached for her own phone. “I’ll call Rhonda. She’s based out there. Maybe she can do a welfare check.”

Rhonda Lettinger was the Special Agent for the Virginia State Police Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and she’d helped them out several times. Rebecca dialed, putting the call on speaker, but it jumped straight to voicemail. She left a brief message explaining the situation.

She’d barely hung up before the phone pinged, indicating she’d received a text message.

“Well, dammit,” Rebecca muttered. “I may have just interrupted an important meeting. She’s dealing with our cemetery mess. Her text says she’ll get back to me in two hours.”

Vivianne noticed the frustration that had crept into Rebecca’s tone but didn’t react as her boss glanced between her and Frost. “Which one of you wants to go to Norfolk?”

“I’ll go. And I’ll call Norfolk PD on my way. If they can drop by his place to confirm whether he’s home, that’ll save me some time.” Hoyt pushed up from his chair with a groan. “Plus, I can drop by Coastal Ridge Hospital to check in on Hannah’s folks on the way back.”

Vivianne’s eyes met his, gratitude flickering across her face. “Thanks, Frost. It’ll mean a lot to them, having you there. But keep your eyes peeled and stay safe. Venkman sounded unhinged in those messages.”

“Of course.” He slipped his gun into his holster with a practiced motion. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.” With a brief, reassuring pat on Vivianne’s shoulder, he made his way to the door.

Vivianne’s gaze lingered on his retreating figure. She trusted Frost’s instincts implicitly. The man had a knack for reading people, a skill honed from years of wading through the murky waters of criminal intent. As he disappeared out the door, Vivianne said a silent prayer, not just for the baby but for the two families affected by the attack.

8

Just after Hoyt left the station, Rebecca’s phone rang. The CSI team’s number flashed on the screen before she answered. “Sheriff West here.”

“Hey, Sheriff. It’s Lance Davis with CSI.”

“Lance.” Rebecca switched the phone to speaker so Vivianne could hear as well. “Tell me you’ve got good news.”

“Well, I’ve got something. Not a smoking gun, per se, but a great starting point for tracking down the missing child.”

Vivianne leaned forward on her elbows, her focus on the phone call. Tension practically vibrated off her.

“We’ve got our first batch of fingerprints ready to go. We’ve found seven different sets. Now obviously some of these are going to be from our victim and her husband. The rest, I don’t know. Do you have a list of names or prints from people we know were in the home?”

“We’ve got a list of family members who have visited or helped them move in. We’ll send you their names now.” Rebecca nodded at Vivianne, who sat back and started typing. “We also have a possible suspect. His name is Jared Venkman, and he has a record.”

“Send them over, and we’ll get working on it. And the door locks you were worried about…”

“You found something?”

“Not a thing. They’re both pristine, except for some smudged prints we couldn’t use. Neither of them was picked. Someone had a key, or one of the doors was left unlocked. Just like you thought.”

“This one time, I’d have liked to be wrong. The husband swears the whole house was locked up tight when he left. We’re worried the wife might have been assaulted by someone she trusted enough to let in.” Rebecca sighed. “The silver lining is that group should consist of only a few people.”

“Would she let this Venkman guy in?” Lance’s voice conveyed the urgency they all felt.

“Not according to her husband. And there were no signs of a fight by either of the doors, so I doubt someone followed her in or forced their way past her if she was going through the door.”

Vivianne spoke up. “But she does know other people on the island.” She hunched her shoulders when Rebecca looked at her. “She went to school here. I’m not the only one she knew.”

“Well, as always, we’ll check everything and let you guys figure it out. One of us will call back once we’re done comparing prints.”

“Thanks, Lance.” Rebecca hung up and called Michael’s number.

“Sheriff? Do you have news for me?” His voice was filled with desperation.

“Deputy Hoyt Frost will speak with you at the hospital tonight. But first…how’s Hannah?”

“Still in surgery. Doctors said it could take hours before…” He sniffed, unable to say more.

Rebecca needed to get him to focus on something else. “Has your family arrived yet? We need to get fingerprints to compare them to the ones we found in your house.”

“Okay. My parents should be here any minute now.” Michael cleared his throat harshly.

“We need to clear everyone who was in your home since you moved in. Hannah’s parents, and your siblings.”

He grunted. “Like I said before, my brother’s not around. Charlie is out of state. I don’t remember when he left, but I know he’s been gone on a fishing trip for a couple of days at least.”

Rebecca grabbed a pen, ready to write. “Do you remember where? I can send an officer to meet him to get his prints. Or he can present himself to any police station and let them know why he’s there.”

“If he told me, I don’t remember. I know he said it was a remote spot and it would be hard to reach him because it gets no cell reception. He doesn’t even know what happened.” Michael’s voice thickened. “He’s going to be devastated. I’m sure once we get ahold of him, he’ll race to get here.”

A place with such poor reception was unusual with the new phones and towers going up everywhere, unless he was deep sea fishing, which would make him even harder to reach. They’d try to call him anyway. “Okay. We appreciate your cooperation. Please keep an eye out for Deputy Frost later tonight.”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

Rebecca was about to end the call when Michael blurted out, “Sheriff, have you found my baby? It’s been three hours since…since Hannah…” His words choked off, no doubt stifled by the agony of the image etched into his mind. “Please, just tell me you’ve found something.”

She scribbled a quick note to Vivianne and held it up, asking her to look up Charlie or Charles Blackwood to see if his prints were already in a database. Then at the bottom of the note, she instructed Vivianne to contact Hannah’s sister. Vivianne bobbed her head in acknowledgment and started typing again.

“Not yet, Mr. Blackwood. But I promise you we’re looking everywhere. We’ve got alerts out, and we’re doing traffic stops. Every police station in Virginia and Maryland has been notified and is keeping an eye out for your child.” Rebecca wished she felt as confident as her words portrayed. She looked to Vivianne, who shook her head, indicating the brother didn’t have prints on file. “We’re following every lead. We won’t give up, and neither should you. Okay?”

“Okay. Everyone loves Hannah.” Michael sniffled, regaining some composure. “My family was overjoyed when we got married, ecstatic about the pregnancy. No bad blood ever.”

He spoke as though being a good person who everyone loved should have been a shield against the type of pain they were experiencing. Sadly, it wasn’t. “That’s good to know. Knowing more about your wife helps our investigation.”

“Hannah’s parents and mine get along well too,” he added quickly. “But Venkman…they said they never liked him. They only put up with him because their daughter loved him. But in the end, they told Hannah to leave him. That was before I came into the picture. It wasn’t like I broke them up or anything.”

Rebecca closed her eyes. She knew why Venkman was angry. It had nothing to do with Michael as a person, or even Hannah. It was jealousy over the baby Hannah had conceived with her new husband. That bit of information wouldn’t help Michael right now, though, so she kept it to herself.

“I promise you we’ll follow every lead. We’ll figure this out. Just hang in there.”

9

After looking for Charles Blackwood’s prints and finding nothing in the system, Vivianne’s next step was to contact Hannah’s older sister, Ivy. She rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension knotting between them.

Vivianne dialed Ivy’s number, which she’d gotten from Michael’s phone earlier. The line clicked, and a ring cut through the air before being replaced by a sniffle and a weary voice that carried a tremor of suppressed grief.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ivy. It’s Vivianne Darby. From Shadow Island. Do you have a minute to talk?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of labored breathing before Ivy responded. “Yeah, hey, Vi. Hannah told me you’re a deputy now. I’m at the hospital with the family. There’s not much we can do right now except worry and wait.” Her voice broke slightly, betraying the strain she was under. “Talking would be good. A nice distraction.”

“Of course I understand.” Vivianne hated bothering people at painful times like this, but it had to be done. “If this isn’t a good time…”

“No, no, it’s fine. At least if we’re talking, I’ll feel like I’m doing something.” Ivy cleared her throat, her voice steadying to a semblance of normalcy. “It’s good to hear from you, Vi. I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

“Same here. I’m so sorry for what you’re all going through.”

“Thanks.” A moment of silence passed, a shared understanding of the weight of the grief pulling them both down.

“Listen.” Vivianne paused, choosing her words carefully. Every piece of information Ivy shared could be crucial, but a careless word from Vivianne could do lasting damage if she said the wrong thing during such a traumatic time. “We’re doing everything we can to figure out what happened. Anything you might know could help us.”

Ivy took a deep breath, audibly trying to compose herself. “I’ll tell you whatever I can. Just find whoever did this to my sister, and bring back that baby.”

“I promise,” Vivianne assured her, mentally kicking herself. A moment ago, she had cautioned herself to speak with care, but now here she was making guarantees she might not be able to honor. “Can you tell me anything about Hannah’s history with her ex-husband? We’re looking into everyone in Hannah’s circle, past and present.” Vivianne knew this was treading on delicate ground, but it was necessary terrain to cover.

There was a brief pause on the other end. “I don’t think Hannah ever really opened up to Michael about her first marriage or the divorce. She told him the basics, but not the really bad stuff.”

Vivianne leaned against her desk, bracing herself for more horrible news about her old friend.

“It was…it was a nightmare, to be honest. Jared Venkman wanted a child so bad. It became his obsession. Hannah wanted kids, too, but she said he stopped seeing her as a wife, or even as a person. He…” Ivy took a deep, shuddering breath.

“He what?” Vivianne prompted.

“He called Hannah a monster because she could never show him a positive pregnancy test. He tracked her cycle, and while he didn’t exactly force her to have sex when she was ovulating, he was very…mechanical and dehumanizing about it. It was like that for years. It became the only time they even interacted.” Her words came out in a rush, trying to dump it all out at once.

Vivianne pressed her fingers against her lips, losing her professionalism for a moment. “How horrible.”

“That wasn’t even the worst of it. He accused Hannah of taking birth control or Plan B without telling him. He claimed she was sneaking off to have abortions while she was pretending to be at work. She’d call me crying at least once a month, trying to figure out how she could convince him she wanted a baby as much as he did.”

“Did Hannah ever confront him about it?” Vivianne jotted down everything Ivy was telling her. It was all hearsay but could be useful in the investigation at least. Maybe they could even use it against Venkman during his interrogation.

“She did. More than once.” Ivy’s calm demeanor belied the gravity of the revelations. “She suggested maybe he was the one with the issue. That he should get tested. He threw a full-blown tantrum, claiming Hannah was the problem, not him. Then he’d drag her into the nursery and scream at her that it was empty and useless, just like her womb.”

Ivy’s words brought back the image of Hannah sprawled on the floor of her living room, sliced open and emptied. Vivianne deeply wanted to punch something…or someone.

“Did he finally get tested?”

“Eventually, yes. But he only did it so he could prove her wrong.” A hint of bitter glee seeped into her words. “You’d think that when the results showed that the fertility issues were on his side, he’d change his attitude. But that didn’t stop him. In fact, he got worse. He accused Hannah of…of tampering with his health somehow. Can you believe that? He looked up what might lower sperm count so he could accuse her of doing those things to him.”

Vivianne dropped her head into her palm. How had her friend’s life taken such a horrible turn? “Why did she stay married to him?”

“I honestly don’t know. Probably because she always tries to see the best in everyone.” Ivy’s voice grew firmer, the sound of someone accustomed to navigating rough emotional waters. “Eventually they divorced. And he actually tried to fight her at first. He said she couldn’t find another man like him. As if that was a threat. Who would want to be with a man like him? Then Michael came into her life, and it was like she could finally breathe again.”

“Thank you, Ivy.” Vivianne wished she could reach through the line and hug the woman. “This helps more than you know.”

“Anything to help.” Ivy’s tone was firm and resolved, full of worry and love for her sister.

Vivianne shifted in her seat, the worn springs of the chair creaking under her. She remembered Hannah’s hushed confessions from their teenage years, when she’d described Ivy as cold and robotic—a stark contrast to the warm, vibrant person Vivianne was speaking to now.

Vivianne ventured cautiously, not wanting to insult the woman. “You’re the rock Hannah and Michael need right now.”

There was a momentary pause on the line before Ivy let out a small laugh, laced with sadness. “Hannah’s always seen the world through a kaleidoscope of emotions. Me? I prefer clear lenses. Makes it easier to focus on what’s required.”

“Which is exactly what your family needs right now.” Vivianne could see now that a child or teen might mistake Ivy for being cold but then grow to appreciate her stability. Hannah clearly had, since she’d leaned on her sister for support during her tumultuous first marriage. “A calming force amid this chaos.”

“Someone has to maintain order.” Vivianne could picture her composed demeanor, the set lines of a face accustomed to weathering storms for others.

“Speaking of calm presences,” Vivianne tapped her pen against the notepad filled with scribbled notes, “tell me about Michael. How’s he holding up?”

“Michael’s on the phone right now, but he seems to be doing okay.” The warmth returned to Ivy’s voice. “And honestly, Vi, everyone adores him. Even without the specter of Jared haunting Hannah’s past, Michael stands out on his own merits.”

“Good to hear.” Vivianne jotted down another note as she glanced at Rebecca, who was still talking soothingly into the phone to Michael. “You believe he’s innocent?”

“Without a doubt.” There was no hesitation in Ivy’s reply. “I trust him implicitly. But please, you have to find who did this. We need to bring back Hannah’s—” There was the telltale catch of breath that preceded tears. “I don’t even know if I have a niece or nephew.” Ivy’s steady facade was crumbling.

“Hey.” Vivianne’s hand instinctively reached out, and she wished she could offer more than words. “We’re going to do everything we can. You have my word.”

“Thank you,” Ivy managed between sobs.

“Stay strong, Ivy. We’re on it.” Vivianne ended the call with a quiet click. She stared at her notes, each one a breadcrumb on the trail to solving the case.

Time was slipping away from them, and she had no idea what condition Hannah’s baby might be in. The sun had already set on their first day of investigating, but she’d push through the exhaustion. She’d follow every lead, turn over every stone, and challenge every alibi until the perpetrator was caught and justice served.

She desperately hoped their efforts would allow them to reunite Hannah and Michael with their baby as soon as possible.

Because she’d made a promise. And heaven help her, she intended to keep it.

10

Hoyt took another deep breath, once again reminding himself to pay attention to the multiple lanes of shifting traffic as he approached Norfolk. Unbidden, an image floated into his mind. A young Hannah, pigtails and all, chasing dragonflies in the dimming light of a summer evening with her older sister.

He and Robert Walker had been good friends when the girls were young. Although Robert was only a few years older, he and Ronna had their daughters nearly a decade before Angie and Hoyt started their family. Together, he and Angie had watched the Walker girls grow up.

Once Hoyt became a father, Hannah and Ivy had played with his baby sons, dressing them up and helping them learn to walk and read. Later, Ivy babysat the boys when he and Angie enjoyed a rare night out.

God, he’d have to tell his sons about this. They’d all drifted apart as his sons had moved out to start their own lives. Zach was already twenty-three and enjoying his independence living in the Finger Lakes region of New York. And Adam was only twenty but thriving in his undergrad studies at Boston College.

“Dammit.” Hannah had been such a bright child, full of laughter and untainted joy. Hoyt thought of her now, struggling to survive, while her newborn child was…where? The infant may have been sold or could be several states away by now. About had already passed since someone sliced open Hannah’s belly and stole her infant.

How would Hannah react when she woke up? If she woke up. Hoyt’s insides twisted as he reflexively put himself in her position.

He had no idea what he would do if it had happened to him and Angie. Other than go out of his mind with grief and pain. And a rage that would most likely destroy him. Especially if he couldn’t do anything to find his child.

At each of his sons’ births, he’d been a bundle of anxiety. During those hospital trips, he’d rushed between Angie in her bed and the nursery. They’d had their sons before it became standard practice to keep healthy babies in the room with the moms.

Every vital sign of both mother and son was checked and monitored by a host of medical professionals. Even after knowing every test indicated the newest addition to his family was safe and healthy, he’d still worried.

But Hannah and Michael had no assurance that their child was safe or healthy or even alive. They didn’t know if they’d ever even see their little one. And Michael had the added worry of whether his wife would survive.

The urge to visit them at the hospital gnawed at Frost, but the weight of responsibility anchored him. He knew where he needed to be. Duty over desire. It was the unspoken oath that came with the badge.

There would be time for hospital visits after he followed the only real lead they had right now. Michael and Hannah couldn’t do anything to save their newborn, but he could. And he’d do his damnedest to bring their baby back.

With a deep inhale, he exited the highway. The image of the missing baby flickered in his mind, a beacon of urgency pushing him forward. Five hours and counting. Was the baby being fed? Cared for and held? Or were they crying instinctively for a mother who couldn’t comfort them?

“Chase the lead. Find the infant. Then head to the hospital to check on everyone.” He wanted desperately to restore a piece of normalcy to a family torn apart.

Hoyt turned his SUV smoothly onto the quiet, tree-lined street of the residential Norfolk neighborhood. The streetlights cast an amber hue, illuminating well-kept lawns and facades that suggested ordinary people with ordinary lives.

His GPS announced his arrival, and he pulled up to the curb in front of a modest ranch-style house, owned by Venkman.

He checked the address again. At his request, the Norfolk police had already visited the residence, but no one had answered the door. This might be a waste of time, but he had to try.

Stomach knotting with anticipation beneath his bulletproof vest, Hoyt stepped out of the vehicle, his ears straining to detect the cries of a baby. Only the intermittent hum of traffic on surrounding streets reached him.

When he pressed the doorbell, the house echoed with a jaunty tune, too cheerful for the gravity of his visit. A moment passed before the door creaked open, revealing an older woman with silver hair and cautious eyes peering through wire-rimmed glasses behind the storm door.

“Can I help you?” Her voice held the wariness of someone used to strangers with unwelcome news. A tiny, age-thinned hand crept up, resting on the handle of the slender door separating them.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Deputy Hoyt Frost from Shadow Island. I’m looking for Jared Venkman. Does he live here?” Keeping his tone professional but not unkind, Hoyt used his height advantage to look over the woman’s head into the well-lit house behind her. There was a living room, illuminated by the glow of a television, but no one else was in view.

“Oh, no, dear.” The woman gave a gentle shake of her head, bouncing her snow-white curls around her head like a cloud. “You must have the wrong address. It’s just me and my daughter here, and she’s working right now. I’m Priscilla Stanton. No one named Jared lives here. What did that fella do?”

“I just need to speak with him about a matter on my island. Are you the homeowner?” Hoyt scanned the entrance for any hidden clues. No baby’s cries came from inside. Did exigent circumstances cover baby cries as well? In this case, he was certain they would. He could argue that it was a life-or-death situation. This was the listed home of their primary suspect, after all.

The older woman peered up at him, her eyes narrowing to focus despite her thick prescription lenses. “No, we rent this place. Been here about six months now.” Priscilla crossed her arms as if to fortify herself against the chill of the evening and twisted to the side so he could have a better look.

Hoyt noted the shoes lined up beside the entrance. They were all women’s. So were the coats peeking out from behind the open door. Even the heavy, navy blue peacoat looked too small for a typical adult male. The table and arms of the furniture were covered in white circles of lace to keep them clean and neat. Absolutely nothing suggested a man lived here at all.

“May I ask who your landlord is?” He took his hat off, bobbing his head slightly.

A faint line formed between her brows as she searched her memory. “Actually, I believe his name is the one you mentioned…Venkman. But I’ve only dealt with the rental company. The lease is in my youngest daughter’s name, but I take care of things when she’s out on her deployments.”

“I see. So the man I’m looking for may be your landlord. Do you happen to have the lease agreement for the property?” Hoyt smiled hopefully while maintaining eye contact. Venkman was hardly a common name, so maybe this lead wouldn’t be a dead end.

“Um, yes, I believe so. Just give me a moment, please.” She turned back into the depths of the house, leaving the door ajar.

While he waited, Hoyt shifted side to side, trying to see more of the house. Each of the woman’s steps echoed, and he realized the television must have been muted, as there were no other noises coming from within, save the sounds of her slippers shuffling across the floor, followed by the whisper of papers being shifted around.

Pictures hung on the walls, and he strained to make out the figures in them. A slightly younger version of Priscilla stood next to a young woman wearing dress blues, her chest adorned with rows of ribbons. The others all featured the same woman, sometimes with Priscilla at her side, other times posing solo before different backgrounds. A Sailor traveling the world and returning to her mother’s side.

Priscilla finally returned, lease in hand. She opened the glass door and handed it to him without a word. Hoyt scanned the document, noting it had been signed about six months ago. At the bottom was Jared Venkman’s name in stark, printed letters. He made a mental note of the leasing company, Chesapeake Property Management, and filed it away for later.

“Have you ever met Mr. Venkman personally?” He passed the lease back.

“No, can’t say as I have. Only spoke to a woman from the rental agency.” Priscilla shivered, folding her arms across her body again.

“Where do you send your rent checks?” He wanted to finish quickly before the thin woman froze.

“To a PO box here in Norfolk.”

“Thank you for your time, ma’am. You’ve been very helpful.” His gratitude was genuine. Each small tidbit could be the linchpin in the investigation. He tipped his hat before securing it on his head.

“Of course, Officer. Hope you find who you’re looking for.” Priscilla offered a tentative smile, closing the door with a soft click as Hoyt stepped back onto the path.

A mix of frustration and determination swirled in him as he turned away from the house and climbed back into the driver’s seat of his cruiser. He spun his laptop around, typing with one hand to add notes to the case file. The other hand reached for the radio.

“Dispatch, it’s Frost. I’ve checked Venkman’s last known address. It’s a rental property right now. Venkman’s name is on the lease as the owner. He’s using a PO box for payments through Chesapeake Property Management.”

“Got it.” Rebecca’s voice came back instead of Melody’s. Hoyt wasn’t surprised. She was most likely watching every angle to make sure this case was resolved as quickly as possible. “I’m pulling up their records now. Anything else?”

“Nothing solid. The tenant never met him. She only dealt with a woman from the agency. And that was six months ago.”

“Leave it with me, Frost. I’ll dig into it and see what comes up.” She sounded slightly distracted, and Hoyt could picture her at her desk, already moving on to the next step in the investigation.

“Thanks, Boss. I’m heading to the hospital in Coastal Ridge now. Keep me posted.” He ended the call, slapping the mic back onto the dash with practiced movements.

He turned the ignition. The dashboard lights bathed the interior in a soft glow. With a flick of the wrist, Hoyt steered the vehicle back the way he’d come.

Coastal Ridge Hospital was his next stop. Concern for Hannah gnawed at the edges of his professional demeanor. The image of her as a child, full of innocence and laughter, clashed with the violent reality of her current predicament. He pushed the thought aside. Sentiment wouldn’t serve her now.

11

Rebecca’s fingers stabbed the keyboard as she hunched over her desk, the glow from the computer casting a pale light on her determined features. The Wayback Machine, an internet archival tool, loaded with methodical slowness, its progress bar ticking forward like the seconds on a time bomb.

“Come on.” She tapped her foot impatiently.

Finally, the screen blinked to life with snapshots of web pages past. Rebecca typed in Venkman’s last known address, cross-referencing it with Chesapeake Property Management and the lease’s issue date. A list of cached pages spilled down her screen, and she clicked on one that looked promising. Bingo—a listing from six months ago.

“Gotcha.” She scanned the page until she spotted the agent’s name. “Barbara Radke.”

Rebecca leaned back, rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension. She glanced at the clock. It was quarter to nine already. Hannah and Michael Blackwood had experienced unspeakable horror more than six hours earlier. They should be cradling their newborn and letting their hopes and dreams run away with them.

But while most people were home and winding down for the night, Michael was keeping vigil by his wife’s bedside. And their baby was…somewhere. Hopefully being cared for. She tried to hang on to the hope that anyone who would take the baby would also care for it.

Rebecca navigated to Chesapeake Property Management’s website. Under the Contact Us tab, Barbara Radke’s number was clearly listed.

Even though it was inching toward nine, this would be an all-night case. She hoped rental agents kept similar hours.

“Let’s hope you’re like me, Barbara.” Rebecca grabbed the phone, dialed, and held her breath. The ringtone buzzed in her ear like an approaching wasp, each tone heightening the anticipation. One ring. Two rings. Finally, a click.

“Hello?”

Thank goodness.

“Ms. Radke? I’m Sheriff Rebecca West from Shadow Island. I apologize for calling so late, but I need some information about one of your rentals.”

“Sheriff?” Barbara’s voice carried a mix of surprise and wariness. “Is everything all right?”

“I need to ask about a client of yours. Jared Venkman. You manage one of his properties in Norfolk.” Rebecca flipped back to her notes and read off the address. “We believe he might have information crucial to an ongoing investigation, and we’re trying to reach him.”

There was a pause, filled only by ambient noise through the line.

“Venkman, yes…I remember him.” Barbara seemed cautious but cooperative. “What do you need, Sheriff?”

“Any current contact details you have for him would be invaluable.”

“I have a phone number for him, if that would help.” Rattling off the digits, Barbara seemed eager to assist, and Rebecca had to wonder how often she worked with law enforcement.

“That phone number is useful, but I was hoping more for an address of where he’s staying now.”

“I’m sorry. I only have a post office box for him. And that’s in Norfolk, not on Shadow Island. I can tell you that Mr. Venkman was quite keen on renting quickly. At the time he said something about buying property on an island and wanting a place to handle his affairs on the mainland.”

“An island?” Rebecca’s pulse quickened. “Did he mention which one?”

“Nearby. So he could manage the rental easily. That’s all I recall.”

“Could it be Shadow Island?”

“He never mentioned a name to me.” Barbara’s tone was sympathetic. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Radke. If anything else comes to mind, please don’t hesitate to reach out.”

Rebecca gave the woman her phone number before hanging up, her mind racing with possibilities. Venkman had been harassing Hannah and Michael Blackwood via phone calls. It was telling that he’d rented out his house and moved around the same time they had. Considering how recent those calls were, Rebecca didn’t think he’d given up and moved away. If he’d bought a place like he told his agent, the transactions would be reflected in property records.

She turned back to her computer, fingers flying over the keys as she pulled up real estate transactions for Shadow Island. Nothing was linked to Venkman.

He could have used another name, or possibly the property was on a different island. Every sale on Shadow Island went through the same agency, Shadow Homes Real Estate, owned and operated by Deborah Niece.

The door creaked open, and Vivianne stepped into the room, the overhead light casting shadows across her worried face.

“Any luck?” Vivianne dropped down onto one of the two chairs facing Rebecca’s desk.

“Venkman moved and bought an island property, but if it was on Shadow, it’s not showing up under his name. In fact, the only property under his name is the one he’s renting out in Norfolk.” Rebecca leaned back in frustration. “It’s like chasing a ghost.”

“Deborah Niece might know something.” Vivianne’s deep, dark eyes were serious. “She knows everything about the real estate business around here. And she has colleagues up and down the coast. If Venkman’s been lurking in the area, she might know where.”

“Good idea. Let’s talk to her. Deborah has always been willing to help us in the past.” She grabbed her phone, and the call was answered on the second ring. “Deborah, it’s Sheriff West. I need a bit of your expertise on a case. Can you spare a few minutes?”

“Of course, Sheriff.” The sound of heels clicking on wood was followed by, “Is this about the missing baby? Nasty business, isn’t it? What are you looking for?”

Rebecca wasn’t surprised Deborah already knew about the case. In a town as small as theirs, news traveled fast. “A man named Jared Venkman. Do you have any property transactions for him?”

“Nothing off the top of my head.” The unmistakable tone of a computer waking up rang through the line. “But if you can wait a few moments while I pull my records, I might be able to help.”

“Thanks. Our suspect may have acquired property under a pseudonym to avoid detection.”

“That makes sense. Anonymity is not uncommon in high-profile deals, especially in a place like this where privacy is coveted.”

This was Deborah’s area of expertise, and Rebecca was grateful for the agent’s willingness to help, despite the late hour.

“I’ll look for living trusts, shell companies, anything that obscures the paper trail. I have access to all of those because I was the agent on all those sales.”

Rebecca emailed a photo of Venkman to Deborah’s secure work account. “I just emailed you our person of interest’s photo. We need to know if you know him.”

There was a pause on the line before Deborah answered. “No, I haven’t met him. Do you know when he would have made his purchase?”

“Can you pull the transactions from the last six months?”

“Sure thing. I’ll start going through them now, and I’ll call you as soon as I’ve combed through all my records.”

“You’re amazing, Deborah. Thank you so much.”

“We’re all in this together. What Meg Darby said at the town hall meeting wasn’t just lip service. The island is safer if we all do our part. I’ll be in touch.”

Without waiting for a response, the real estate agent ended the call. A warmth spread in Rebecca’s chest that Meg’s words had resonated with some of the residents.

Offering an encouraging smile, Vivianne stood and stretched. “I sure hope she has the missing piece we’re looking for.” With a little salute, Vivianne exited her office. Moments later, Rebecca heard her deputy typing at her desk. There was no way Vivianne would rest until her friend’s baby was returned.

As the digital clock on Rebecca’s desk flickered to 9:03 p.m., her cell phone buzzed. Her hand shot out, plucking the device from its resting place beside the scattered piles of papers. The caller ID flashed Forensics Lab. Disappointment ate at her that it wasn’t one of the area hospitals she’d asked to alert her if a newborn was brought in.

“Sheriff West here.” She crossed her fingers, hoping for good news.

“Sheriff, it’s Lance Davis from CSI. We’ve got a hit on those prints from the Blackwood house.”

“Tell me you have good news, Lance.” Rebecca steeled herself for his response.

“Better than good. It’s a match. Jared Venkman’s prints are all over the exterior of Hannah and Michael’s home, especially around the windows, sills, and both doors.”

“But not on the interior?”

“No, sorry. But he’s definitely been to that house.”

Rebecca exhaled, a mix of triumph and trepidation swirling within her. This could be the break they needed, the thread linking Venkman to the scene. Although they couldn’t place him inside the home, that might be because he wore gloves. “Thanks, Lance. You just made my night.”

“Happy to serve justice, Sheriff. We’ll forward the complete report first thing in the morning.”

“Thanks. I appreciate you moving so fast with this.”

Disconnecting the call, Rebecca’s mind raced, plotting her next move. Her finger hovered momentarily over the keys of her laptop before diving into action, ready to draft the request for a warrant for Venkman’s phone records and tracking. She paused and tapped the intercom button to connect her desk phone to the dispatch desk.

“Hey, Sheriff. You need something?” Melody Jenkins responded immediately.

“Can you put out a statewide BOLO for Jared Venkman? His driver’s license lists him at five-ten, one hundred seventy-five pounds, thirty-five years old, with brown hair and brown eyes. Caucasian. Suspect should be considered dangerous.”

They’d closed down the bridge as soon as they’d learned of the attack, but Rebecca wasn’t willing to bet anyone’s life on it being soon enough. Venkman could be anywhere by now with Hannah’s baby.

“Copy that, Sheriff. I’ll update everyone. What about the Amber alert?”

Rebecca had already pulled up that screen. “I’ll update it with the new information. I’ll also rebroadcast the alert and update NCIC.”

“Perfect. I just talked with Deputy Locke. He’s still working the bridge and says he hasn’t seen anyone suspicious. CRPD says the same. Everyone’s still looking for the baby.”

“Thanks, Melody. I want updates every fifteen minutes. Venkman won’t slip through our fingers.”

“Understood, Sheriff. Updates will be relayed as requested.” There was a brief pause. “Does that mean you’re working through the night again?”

Rebecca’s fingers paused in their typing. “We’re all working until this baby is returned to their family.”

12

The Coastal Ridge Hospital loomed ahead, its clean white lines a stark contrast to the tumultuous sea of emotions churning within Hoyt. His hands were clammy on the steering wheel as he pulled into the parking lot. This was the epicenter of hope and despair for Hannah’s family. A place he wanted to be yet dreaded entering.

Hoyt pushed open the driver’s door, his movements mechanical. The cool coastal breeze was weak compared to the one he was used to on the island and did little to alleviate the weight pressing down on him.

He couldn’t shake the unease that came with empty hands and a dead lead. He strode through the sliding doors leading directly to the emergency waiting area. The antiseptic smell of the hospital clawed at his senses, a reminder of the sterility that could not cleanse the chaos of the case at hand.

Trying to remain hopeful about the BOLO that had gone out over the radio, he scanned the sparsely occupied chairs.

“Deputy Frost,” a woman’s voice called as he rounded the corner.

Ivy Walker Sinclair, Hannah’s older sister, managed a weak smile in his direction and waved him over. Next to Ivy was her mother, Ronna, her blond hair now mostly white, her face etched with lines of worry. Hoyt’s old friend Robert sat stoically, though his usually strong shoulders sagged, and his head hung low.

Yanking his hat off, Hoyt walked over to join the family.

“I’m Wallace, and this is my wife, Wendy.” A man with glasses and eyes the same color as Michael’s stood and reached out, giving Hoyt a firm handshake. “We’re the Blackwoods. Michael’s parents.”

“Thank you for coming, Hoyt.” Ronna enveloped him in a hug that spoke volumes of her fear and hope.

Robert’s hand clutched Hoyt’s shoulder before his wife let him go. “We know you’re doing everything you can. Please tell me you have some good news.”

“Not much to report yet.” The words stuck in Hoyt’s throat. He hated that he couldn’t offer more. They all deserved the return of their newest family member and justice for Hannah.

“Please, sit with us.” Ivy motioned to the row of chairs. “Is there anything you can tell us?”

As Hoyt settled into an uncomfortable plastic chair, Wallace Blackwood took a seat and leaned in. The families’ expectations weighed heavily on Hoyt, mingling with his own guilt at the lack of progress. He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words that would offer solace without false hope. “We’re pursuing leads. In addition to an updated Amber alert, there’s a BOLO out, and a warrant for cell phone tracking has been requested.”

“Is it Venkman?” Michael’s voice was sharp and loud enough to attract attention from other people in the waiting room.

Hoyt met his eyes, imbued with a mix of despair and a father’s desperate need for answers. “I can’t confirm any names at this point.” He had to adhere to protocol, even if it felt like a betrayal in this room of raw emotions.

Ronna’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes brimming with tears. Her sobs were soft but heart-wrenching. “Jared? That bastard? I knew…I always knew he was bad news.”

Hoyt’s mind drifted back to a time when the ocean’s edge was just a place for family outings, not crime scenes. He remembered standing with Ronna and Robert on the beach as they watched Hannah and Jared, who’d been newlyweds then, on their first visit to her family’s house on the island.

The sand had clung to their feet while doubt shadowed their smiles. “He makes her happy,” they’d said. But it had sounded like they were trying to convince themselves. Something in their tone was hesitant, and he’d questioned them about it.

Ronna said she was afraid there was more to Jared than they could see. And their daughter was blinded by love. But how could anyone ever convince a young woman in love that her man was a wolf in sheep’s clothing?

“I want you to know that Sheriff West and the whole department are following every thread.” It was a small comfort, but it was all he could offer. “The sheriff is like a bloodhound. She’ll figure this out. I have faith in her, and so should you. She’s never let this island down. She won’t do so now.”

Before they could say another word, a doctor approached. His movements were brisk but carried the weight of someone used to pushing through exhaustion. The surgeon’s cap barely contained the dark hair that stuck out in unruly tufts, and the shadow of stubble on his jawline confirmed he hadn’t been near a razor—or a bed—in some time.

As he stopped in front of the family, his expression was steady, the kind of calm that came with experience, though the faint sag beneath his pale eyes hinted at how much he’d given of himself today.

Hoyt stood up, stepping to the side to give them space.

“I’m looking for Michael Blackwood.”

“That’s me.” Michael shot to his feet.

“I’m Dr. Nick Bryant, one of Hannah’s surgeons. Are you okay with talking here?” The surgeon’s sharp gaze encompassed the group. “I want to update you on Hannah’s condition.”

Michael waved everyone in closer, and they formed a tight circle around the bearer of news. “Yes, please, Doctor.”

Ronna wiped away tears as she stepped up next to Michael. She nodded at Hoyt. “The deputy is a friend of the family. We’re all family here.”

Michael shot a quick glance at Hoyt, seeming to accept inclusion, taking his mother-in-law’s word as good enough.

Hoyt’s heart squeezed. He’d known the Walkers for ages, but he’d just met Michael. And already the young man was willing to trust him so completely.

“She’s stable, but it’s too early to offer a prognosis. We were able to stop the bleeding. She’s through one surgery, but she’ll need at least one more to repair more of the damage. She wasn’t strong enough to endure a lengthier surgery at this point.” Dr. Bryant paused, allowing them to absorb his words. “Hannah lost a significant amount of blood.”

No one seemed surprised at that bit of news.

“W-will she make it?” Michael’s bottom lip trembled.

“It’s too early to know if there’s any infection, but we’ll continue to monitor her. The procedure was…amateur. She was found just in time.” The surgeon gave a brief nod to Michael. “Applying pressure to the wound was exactly the right thing to do.”

“That was the sheriff. I wasn’t…I…” Michael was pale, and Hoyt stepped forward to catch him if his knees gave out.

“The sheriff said you used a blanket to pack the wound.”

“But it wasn’t enough.” Michael pressed the heels of his hands against his temples.

“It was enough.” Dr. Bryant looked hard into Michael’s eyes. “It was enough. Your wife is alive now because of what you did. Never doubt that. From what I was told when she was brought in, you and the sheriff saved her life.”

Hoyt liked the doctor immediately for taking the time to sear the confirmation into the other man. Tears poured down Michael’s face, and his mother stood to hug him while his father placed a comforting hand on his other shoulder.

“You saved our baby, Michael. I’m sorry I haven’t thanked you yet. But thank you.” There was no way for Ronna to reach Michael, wrapped up in his parents the way he was, but she found his hand and grasped it firmly between both of her own.

“Speaking of babies…” The surgeon’s voice was reluctant as he broke up the emotional scene. “Do we have any news on that front?”

All eyes snapped to Hoyt, and he stepped forward, hat in hand. “We’re following leads, but we don’t…we haven’t found the baby yet.” His words hung like the sword of Damocles.

The doctor nodded toward the hallway. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

Hoyt didn’t hesitate to follow him until they were away from prying ears. “What do you need?”

“I’m sure you already know this, but I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that the baby see a doctor as soon as possible. If it had been delivered in a hospital, it would have been given a thorough checkup, and all the necessary preventive measures would have been taken to set the baby on a healthy path.”

Hoyt was tempted to say “duh,” but the doctor appeared to be so worried that he simply nodded. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Dr. Bryant pressed his lips together. “My fear is the baby will fail to thrive if it’s not tended to soon. I’m not trying to alarm you, but if the baby goes much longer without proper medical care, the situation will be dire.”

“It’s been eight hours now.” Hoyt didn’t need to look at the clock. He’d been watching it all day. By now he could almost feel each tick of the minute hand as it continued to move.

As a father himself, he knew the fragility of those first few days. The constant attention, the tests…all things this newborn was cruelly deprived of. Hoyt’s mind drifted, once again, to the births of his own sons in this same hospital. The soft beeping of monitors, the professional bustle of nurses. The image was a stark contrast to the cold reality facing Hannah’s baby.

Their every need was monitored. Every potential issue preemptively addressed. At the time it had felt like torture, constantly having his child whisked away for one thing or another.

That was a luxury Michael’s child was not afforded. And there was no nurse to assure him they’d be right back with his little bundle of joy.

“Whoever took the baby, let’s hope they understand the critical importance of getting the baby to a doctor.” The surgeon’s face was painted with concern, but he gave Hoyt a small, hopeful nod.

Hoyt twisted his hands together. The law enforcement officer in him was already strategizing the necessary steps, but the father in him was frozen in terror. Somewhere out there, Michael and Hannah’s baby was missing the essential care that they should have received from their first breath.

“I know. And so does the sheriff. We’re doing everything we can. So are the Virginia State Police.” He made a mental note to brief Vivianne, Jake, and Trent to ensure they understood the urgency of the baby’s medical needs.

“I’m sure you are. I’ve heard that you and your sheriff have gone through a great deal recently. From what I understand, you have a solid team. If anyone can find this infant, it’s you all.”

Hoyt officially liked Dr. Nick Bryant even more. “Thank you. We won’t sleep until this child is found or…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Dr. Bryant understood and stuck his hand out. “Good luck.”

The surgeon strode back into the waiting room for a final few words with the family, promising to keep them updated.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Robert Walker’s voice was a hoarse whisper of gratitude that followed the surgeon out of the room. Even after he had left, his words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a stark reminder of what was at stake.

And also what was out of their hands.

Ronna’s face was streaked with tears, and when she spoke, her voice wobbled with the weight of a mother’s worry. “I just hope our little grandbaby is okay.”

Hoyt met her eyes squarely. “Mrs. Walker,” he somehow managed to keep his tone even, betraying none of the doubt gnawing at his insides, “we believe whoever did this took the diaper bag and car seat when they took the baby. That means they are concerned for the baby’s needs. They must have cared about the baby’s survival.”

She blew her nose. “That’s good, right?”

In truth, he struggled to reconcile the image of a caring father with the monster capable of such cruelty to Hannah. But Ronna needed reassurance, and he needed to believe they were not too late. “Taking those supplies…that’s a good sign. And Michael told me Hannah packed the bag full for any contingency. So the person who has the baby has all those things.”

“Of course.” Ronna blinked her red-rimmed eyes. “You’re right, Hoyt. Jared always said he wanted a family. He was obsessed with it. I know he read all kinds of books about it while they…they were trying for one of their own.”

The room lapsed into silence, everyone lost in their own thoughts.

“Hoyt,” Robert Walker’s voice broke through the stillness, “what’s the next step?”

“Right now, we’re investigating any leads that come up.” Hoyt shifted gears back to the procedural aspects of the case. “As soon as we’re able to locate our suspect, we plan to bring them in for questioning. The sheriff’s following up on a lead this very moment.”

He shoved his hat back on his head. “And now I’ve got to get back to it. We’re all searching. And we won’t stop until we find your baby.”

13

The sun had barely crested the horizon, spilling molten gold across the water, when I finally got her to take the bottle. For a moment there, as I held her in my arms and contemplated the ocean, everything was perfect. My sweet prize was dressed in a tan onesie. Not what I’d have chosen for my daughter, but it was all I had.

If Hannah had agreed to run away with me, we’d have been able to pick out a whole wardrobe for our little one. But her refusal had sealed her fate. And left me with only the supplies she’d packed. My daughter had spit up several times, and I was quickly running out of clean outfits for her. But it wasn’t like anyone would be seeing her. She’d be fine in soiled clothes for the time being.

The diapers, on the other hand, were a real concern. There weren’t many in the bag, and I couldn’t buy any for fear of being arrested at the store. That was when my natural resourcefulness kicked in, and I began to be more frugal with the diapers. Her first poopy diaper had been a smear of an almost tar-like substance. The internet said it was meconium. Who knew?

That diaper hadn’t been salvageable. But the next ones would all be saved. With a few squares of toilet paper to wipe that shit into the toilet, we would be good to go for the next rounds. As for the pee-pee diapers, I was sure it was fine to let her sit in those, since there wasn’t any nasty poop. Besides, all the ads touted how dry the diapers kept the baby’s skin. She’d be fine.

Watching my angel suck down her breakfast, I forgot about our sleepless night. The light of day glinted off the tips of her tiny little eyelashes. Her eyes were closed, and she made the most adorable little sucking noise. Each one pulled at my heart. I’d never felt a love like this. Not even for Hannah. This was so much better.

I should’ve been trying to find a way to leave the island, packing up, getting ready to disappear. I’d have to hide my precious girl to do that, and I wasn’t ready yet. Neither was she, with her frequent crying. I’d need to figure out how to stop her from making noises first.

With cops guarding the bridge, hunkering down was my only option. Besides, there was something magical about this island. Something in my gut screamed at me to stay, to soak in my daughter’s birthplace.

Maybe it was madness, clinging to such sentimental thoughts while the walls closed in. Shadow Island could never be my baby’s home.

But dammit, I wasn’t having much luck finding a way out of here.

A gasping cry interrupted my thoughts. She spit the formula out as she twisted her head to the side. I tried to force the nipple back in her mouth, but she kept thrashing. Clenching her tiny fists, her face turned red and she coughed before letting out a long wail.

It pierced my brain like a serrated knife, clawing at my already frayed nerves. My little one squirmed and fussed in my arms, inconsolable. Rocking, feeding, even the lullaby that worked its magic earlier—all useless. Each wail was a criticism of my ineptitude. I couldn’t decipher the cryptic cries of a tiny human being who depended on me for everything.

She was becoming as annoying as Michael, with her constant reminders that I was “less than.” I had assumed her crying was a natural thing that babies did. But she wouldn’t stop, and now she was crying, deliberately, to insult my competence. Nothing was good enough for this ungrateful little bitch.

“Shut up, please.” I bounced her to quiet her, just as I’d seen TV fathers do countless times. Desperation threaded my voice as I paced the room. My mind raced. Was it colic? Hunger? Gas?

I checked the diaper. It was clean. Maybe she was uncomfortable. I moved her to my other arm and offered her the bottle again. She rejected that. I pulled her close to my chest and sang into her ear. The vibrations of my voice were meant to soothe her, I’d read that online.

But she was having none of it.

“Come on, work with me here. You need to stay quiet.” Even as I pleaded, I knew she had no clue of the dangerous edge we were balanced on. Every minute spent pacifying her cries was a minute closer to being found, to having this fragile dream ripped away.

“Dammit.” My frustration was lost amid her relentless screams. “What do you want? Do you want daddy to buy you a looking glass?”

My little joke fell flat as she twisted her head away from me. It seemed like she was searching the room I was pacing. Of course, she couldn’t be. The online articles all said that newborns couldn’t see much beyond their short little arms. But it was like she was looking for someone who wasn’t there. Someone who would never come.

Hannah.

Her mommy.

She never met her mother. I made sure of that. Once I pulled her free, I never let her touch Hannah. I even positioned her so she couldn’t see what I’d done.

A barbed hook yanked through my heart. Would my daughter know? Could she somehow sense her mother’s absence? She must. “It’s okay, though. You’re enough for me. And I’ll be enough for you. I can be your mother and your father. You’ll see.”

But my little one only gurgled. Her tight fists scraped against her face as she writhed about. I glanced at the window, half expecting prying eyes. Waiting for the knock on the door. For someone to complain about a noisy child where one hadn’t been before.

Bouncing as best I could, I scampered for the windows and peered out through the curtains. The coast was clear.

She screamed louder, as if challenging me, and something inside me snapped. She had to be quiet. Did she want us caught? Was she setting me up?

“Damn you, kid. You think I want this?” I spat out the bitter words, tasting fear and frustration. Didn’t she know every scream could be our undoing? That I was only here to keep her safe, to give her the life I’d envisioned for her? My hand hovered over her mouth, a reckless thought surging within.

Just for a second, to muffle the sound. Just a moment of quiet so I can think.

I shook myself, trying to dispel the anger boiling inside.

“Shit.” My anger ebbed, leaving a sour taste in my throat and a twist in my gut. If nothing I did was working, could something more serious be wrong with her? My parenting skills were up to snuff—I was sure of it—so that couldn’t be the problem. Could her distress be from not receiving any medical care? Before hospitals were invented, children were born all the time, and they did just fine. What the hell was going on?

I looked down at her, this tiny, fragile thing that was mine.

All mine. Hannah’s gone, but she left me this. A piece of her.

“Shut up already.” I watched my daughter, the reality of her being mine—my daughter—still not fully registering. But that was pretty common for first-time parents, according to a comment I saw on a Reddit forum. The wonder of a new life often caught new parents like me by surprise.

Perhaps once it sank in, once I fully accepted the reality of fatherhood, my daughter would find solace. Until she did, her outbursts were grating on my already frayed nerves. Weren’t children supposed to obey their parents? I was all she had, so she’d better start listening to me and do as I said.

She’s probably sensing every bit of my desperation. Gotta keep it together for her. That’s what it is. I’m anxious, and that’s making her anxious. Of course, she can’t eat when she’s anxious.

With a deep breath, I pressed my cheek against hers, feeling her warmth. I’d bathed her with the same soap I’d used to clean myself up. We both smelled like Old Spice, and it bonded us. This was what mattered. This little life belonged to me now. She’d love me unconditionally.

But her cries…

I need to get out of here. She’s going to draw unwanted attention.

My thoughts swirled as I tried to figure out if there was a place better suited for us. But my knowledge of the island was limited.

Then it hit me. The perfect place to take her.

Her wails had stopped, and it seemed like she’d drifted off to sleep again. At least I assumed that was what it was. In that silence, I seized the moment. Carefully, so I wouldn’t wake her again, I laid her on the bed.

As quietly as I could, I grabbed everything I needed and slipped out the door. Once outside, I ran to the car. I tossed the gear into the back seat, knowing the padded sides of the diaper bag would keep everything safe.

The car seat sat large and glaringly white in its newness as it lay on its side, not yet secured. I don’t know who designed them, but I considered myself well above average intelligence, and I’d given up trying to secure it. Shoddy engineering. That was what it was. Disgraceful.

Like a lighthouse standing out in the gray interior, the seat was a beacon. Anyone looking for a baby would target a vehicle with a car seat. It would give us away when we eventually left the island. Right now it was more harmful to us than it was beneficial.

Besides, car seats were only necessary in the unlikely event of an emergency. I would drive carefully and avoid accidents.

Reaching in, I yanked it out. My little girl could nestle on the floorboard in the back seat. Covered with a blanket, she would blend right in. Hopefully, the blanket might also work to smother her cries, which were wearing me down.

Slamming the door shut, I flinched. Had anyone heard that?

Turning in a circle, I scanned for any sign of police or anyone else who might ask questions I didn’t have answers for. Like my baby’s name.

I hadn’t named her yet.

How could I have forgotten something so basic? I certainly hoped there weren’t other tasks I should be doing but didn’t know about. Forgetting to name my own daughter was an uncharacteristically stupid oversight, and I mentally slapped myself.

Probably the sleepless night. I’m just tired and not thinking straight.

Scanning the area again, I made sure nobody was watching. Not yet, at least as far as I could tell. But this island wasn’t big, and secrets didn’t last long in small towns. I had to get out of here.

Panic latched onto my throat as I sprinted back inside, carrying the car seat awkwardly in my arms. Every second away was a gamble. Not only did I need to be careful about nosey people spotting me with this stuff, but babies should never be left alone for long. I knew that. Being a single dad was already so hard. There were too many things I had to get done. I cursed Hannah again for selfishly making me do this all by myself. Fair division of labor, my ass.

My lungs heaving, I burst through the door and pitched the car seat into the corner. She didn’t even look up, but she did give a soft little cry. I scooped her up, pressing her close as I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s okay. I think I figured out why you’re so upset. I didn’t name you yet. How about something to honor your mom who gave up so much to make sure you were born? Hannah…what’s a name like Hannah? Holly?”

Her eyes were still closed, but I could swear she looked happier.

“Holly, then. My little Holly.” It fit. Close enough to honor her mother but distant enough to be hers alone. Holly. My daughter. “Come on, Holly. Let’s go start our new life together.”

14

The first rays of sunlight trickled in through the office window, casting a golden glow across the sheriff’s desk where Rebecca had spent the night poring over case files and reports and footage from every security camera on the island. She hadn’t stopped until exhaustion kicked in. She lifted her head from where it rested on her desk and immediately knew there was probably an impression from the papers on her cheek.

Her eyes were dry and achy, a testament to the strain of staring at the computer screen and ever-shrinking words on a page. The clear morning weather outside stood in stark contrast to the storm of worry and unease brewing inside her.

Morning. The baby was taken yesterday sometime before two thirty. So it’s been…uh…twelve plus…what time is it…

She was too tired to do the math in her head, so she tapped the numbers into the calculator on her computer. Seventeen and a half hours.

At the twenty-four-hour mark, the chances of finding the baby healthy and unhurt dropped more than she wanted to think about.

Rebecca bit back a yawn. She’d been through every protocol, every emergency system designed to recover the missing and vulnerable. Trent had locked down the bridge, hopefully fast enough. The Amber Alert had been broadcast, state police alerted, and hospitals within an increasing radius contacted. Even the Coast Guard was on the lookout for any signs of the perpetrator or the innocent newborn he had taken.

Rhonda had gotten back to her and had sent a large contingent from her team to help with canvassing for the baby. She’d even sent a PR person to deal with the press, which had swarmed the island. Fortunately, their number hadn’t quite reached the chaos of a few weeks ago when the media had camped out along the perimeter of the cemetery while numerous bodies had been unearthed.

Every hour, her deputies contacted more places as the estimated distance the kidnapper could have traveled grew. Three states were already involved. If they uncovered any leads out of state, the FBI would mobilize, but for right now, their best guess was that the baby and whoever had attacked Hannah were still on the island.

After alerting the Coast Guard to be watchful too, Jake had combed the docks to interview potential witnesses and put everyone on high alert. Everyone he’d spoken to had indicated that no one with a baby, or even with a bag that could carry a concealed baby, had taken a boat out since the attack.

That they’d seen.

She hated being negative, but there were so many ways an infant could have been concealed so no one noticed.

“Please be all right.” Her whispered plea carried a silent hope that wherever the baby was, they were being cared for, fed, kept clean, maybe even gently cradled.

But doubt crept in, chilling her more effectively than any cold dawn could. Jared Venkman had vowed to always love and honor Hannah, and it had only taken him a few years to turn on her, even though she was trying to make him happy. For even a day, could a man that fickle handle a tiny human whose cries were impossible to understand?

The question twisted in her gut like a knife. Brand-new parents figured out what the cries meant, and she hoped the person who had the baby was a quick learner.

She had to find the baby and return the little thing to the safety and love of their parents. Hannah had survived the night, according to an update from Frost. Hopefully her child had too.

Shaking off the helplessness threatening to engulf her, Rebecca focused on action. There was one more group of people she needed to follow up with. Community mobilization had worked very well when Sylvie Harper had gone missing. The constant attention and people out looking for her had kept the kidnappers in place, waiting for the scrutiny to die down before transporting her and the other two girls who had been abducted from nearby towns.

Maybe that could work again.

Attention all city officials and leaders of faith, as you know, we are faced with an urgent situation involving the kidnapping of a newborn child. Your cooperation and vigilance could make all the difference. Please be on the lookout for and report any suspicious activity related to…

As she typed, her pulse quickened at the memory of how Sylvie’s case had ended. Rebecca had been ambushed and forced to kill two men. Three little girls had been held at gunpoint while Rebecca tried to talk the last man down. She couldn’t bear the thought of this case spiraling into similar violence. So far in Rebecca’s career, she’d managed to avoid seeing a grown man point a gun at an infant. And she wanted to keep it that way.

Let’s work together to bring this baby home unharmed. I know that, together, we can!

She finished the email, hit Send, and leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to steady her breathing. The calm Sunday morning belied the urgency of their search, with the island community waking up and going about their weekend routines, oblivious to the shadow that had once again fallen over their town.

With a mobilization effort in place, Rebecca reached for the radio on her desk. She normally kept it turned off, but she’d left it on all night, listening to updates as they were called in.

“Locke, Coffey, status report.”

“Clear so far,” Coffey responded. “Been that way all night. I have kept my eyes peeled, checking every dock, pier, boat, and everything that floats. No one has seen a baby they didn’t already know. And there are no other newborns on the island. The youngest known resident is Hudson’s daughter.”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the fact she’d come so close to losing eight innocent children to fentanyl poisoning on her last case, but Rebecca’s thoughts shifted to Mallory Hudson, daughter of the deputy who’d died in the line of duty. He’d been the first deputy lost under her watch, but sadly not the last. Damn, she could really use Darian’s and Greg’s help about now.

Greg had been semi-retired when she started but had come back to work to help out on numerous occasions. His death was a shock to everyone, professionally and personally.

Rebecca blew out a hot breath.

“Good work. Coffey, I want you on the bridge today. Swap with Locke until I can get one of Rhonda’s team out to relieve you guys. Locke, take over for Coffey until your relief comes. Go over everything again. Fresh eyes on the same scenes won’t hurt. Anything you even think is off, you let me know immediately.” She hoped a change of scenery would rejuvenate them.

“Understood, Boss.”

“It’s dead out here now.” Trent’s voice finally came through. “The church rush has already started thinning out. I was dealing with the last of them when you called. There’s been no sign of Venkman or an infant. Like Coffey said, there aren’t a lot of babies on the island, and no one was traveling with one this morning. I’ll get started on the search as soon as Coffey shows. My feet could use a bit of a walk after standing all night.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, everyone.” Rebecca pulled the hair tie from her hair and smoothed the loose strands before resecuring her low ponytail.

Her phone rang and Elliot Ping announced that Deborah Niece was on the line. Before Rebecca could answer, Vivianne appeared in her doorway. Her eagerness was evident, even as her posture conveyed her exhaustion.

“Thanks, Elliot.” Rebecca shook the cobwebs from her mind, wondering if she’d been napping when Elliot had taken over for Melody. Both dispatchers had volunteered to work the weekend, each for their own personal reasons, until the person responsible had been caught and the baby had been returned to their parents.

Nodding for Vivianne to take a seat, Rebecca took the call. “Sheriff West here. You’re on speaker, Deborah.”

Vivianne shook off the offer to sit, instead standing ramrod straight in the doorway. One look at her eyes, and Rebecca could guess why the exhausted deputy had stayed standing. Vivianne had spent the whole night working and would fall asleep if she sat or even leaned on something for too long.

“Good morning, Rebecca. I knew you’d be at your desk already. Knowing you, you probably never went home. Anyway, I think I found something, a transaction back in June. I had a buyer I never met in person. I only worked with his attorney. The client’s name wasn’t Jared Venkman. It was Peter Scruffy.”

“Peter Scruffy?” Vivianne stiffened at the mention, her dark eyes clouding with concentration. “That’s what Hannah called the stuffed dog she had when we were kids.”

“Are you sure?” Please be true.

“Positive.” Vivianne had never looked as certain as she did in that moment. “She loved that dog despite all the teasing I gave her about it.”

“Could be a pseudonym he used knowing the personal connection.” Rebecca scribbled down the address linked to Peter Scruffy, which Deborah provided. “Thanks, Deborah.”

Rebecca stood, her chair scraping against the office floor. The urgency that thrummed between them charged the air with an electric current of intent.

“Let’s roll, Darby.” She’d never wanted to find anything more than she did this tiny newborn.

Sliding behind the wheel of her sheriff’s SUV, Rebecca scrutinized Vivianne, who was tapping away at her phone. One glance at the screen confirmed she was pulling up the satellite view of the property they were about to canvass.

“Cross your fingers this isn’t another dead end.” Rebecca shifted into drive.

“Way ahead of you.” Vivianne’s attention was still on the screen as they pulled onto the main road.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. Flicking on the cruiser’s Bluetooth connection, she answered briskly. “This is West.”

“Sheriff, it’s Lance Davis again from CSI. We’ve completed the tests on the bodily fluids found at the initial crime scene.”

“Go ahead.” Rebecca’s pulse quickened.

“Everything’s come back positive as belonging to Hannah Blackman. We also have samples of the amniotic fluid, so we can determine the sex and DNA match, or use the mother’s blood, of course. Those tests will take a couple of days, though.”

This confirmation, though expected, cemented the grim reality of their situation. Whoever had done this hadn’t so much as nicked themselves while carving the baby out of Hannah Blackwood. “Understood. Keep processing anything else you find. We might be onto something here.”

“Will do, Sheriff. Be careful out there,” Lance advised before the line went dead.

“Looks like we’re on the right track.” Rebecca glanced at Vivianne.

“Let’s just hope we find Venkman and the baby when we get to his home.” Vivianne stared straight out the windshield, her voice edged with steely resolve.

15

Rebecca and Vivianne approached the beachfront property. Its picturesque charm was lost on them, considering the nature of their mission. It had been almost twenty grueling hours since the baby’s disappearance, and every second chipped away at the hope that remained.

“If this is Venkman’s place, it looks deserted.” Vivianne ground her teeth in frustration.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Rebecca searched the drawn shades of the windows, hunting for any signs of life. Parking in the deserted driveway, devoid of any vehicle that could belong to Jared Venkman, she climbed out of the SUV, followed closely by Vivianne.

Together, they ascended the steps to the front door, their shoes sounding a hollow echo on the wooden planks of the porch.

Rebecca rapped sharply on the door, repeating the action several times with increased urgency. Silence greeted them. No movement from within, no soft murmur of a television, no telltale sound of an infant. Only the distant dull throb of ocean waves against the shore.

While Rebecca stayed at the door, Vivianne walked along the front, trying to peer into windows. She returned, shaking her head.

The backyard was fenced in, and Virginia law prohibited going through a closed fence, since that area was considered private property.

“Damn. We don’t have a search warrant, and we can’t even prove in a court of law that this is Venkman’s address.” She pressed her ear to the door, willing any sound to filter through that might grant them legal grounds to enter. But there was only a heavy, oppressive silence mixed with the ambient noises of nature that seemed to mock their efforts.

“Anything?”

Rebecca shook her head, her frustration mounting like a storm surge. While they could claim exigent circumstances to enter the dwelling, they weren’t even certain it belonged to Venkman. “We need something concrete. Let’s try the neighbors.”

They retreated from the unyielding door and made their way to the adjacent houses. The first neighbor’s home offered no response, the silence continuing its cruel reign. At the second house, however, the sound of a deadbolt sliding back signaled the forthcoming interaction.

“Good morning, sir. I’m Sheriff Rebecca West. This is Deputy Vivianne Darby.” Rebecca flashed her badge, and so did Vivianne. “We’re looking for information about the resident next door. Have you had any interactions with him?”

The man, a middle-aged local with weathered skin that spoke of long days spent in the sun, eyed them with a cautious curiosity. “Seen him a few times. We don’t talk, though. He always seems in a hurry. Doesn’t seem very friendly. Doesn’t even return a wave or a nod.”

“Would you recognize a photo of him?” Rebecca pulled the picture of Jared Venkman from her pocket.

The man took the photograph, studying it while he scratched at his chin. “It’s hard to say for sure.” He chewed over the words and squinted. “Hmm, maybe. The guy who lives there is always covered up with a hat and sunglasses. But it could be him. I can tell you he drives a black car. A big sedan, if that helps. But I can’t remember the make.”

Rebecca frowned. What might have been a solid lead was slipping through her fingers like sand. “You think it’s possible it’s the same person?”

“It’s possible.” He shook his head with a noncommittal shrug. “But I couldn’t swear to it. Same build and all, but the face…”

“I understand.” She stepped back, hoping to spot a camera somewhere on the little porch. “You don’t happen to have a security camera on your property, do you?”

Please say yes.

“Nope. Not sure if any of the neighbors do either. This is a safe place to live, so never felt a need.”

Shit.

“Thank you for your time.” Rebecca did her best to hide her dismay behind a veneer of professionalism as she passed him a business card. “By any chance, have you seen him with a baby recently? In the last twenty-four hours?”

“A baby?” The man straightened, his chin coming up slightly. “Is this about that pregnant lady who was attacked?”

Rebecca didn’t respond, and he sighed.

“Again, I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much use. I haven’t seen the guy at all in the last day or so, since I’ve been working overtime. But his car was there when I left for Mass this morning.” He passed the photo back. “I’ll keep an eye out for him, though, and give you a call if I see him.”

Rebecca exchanged a glance with Vivianne, who understood the gravity of the situation without a word being spoken. “Just call. Don’t approach him.”

The man snorted. “Honey…sorry. Officer…if he’s got a kidnapped baby with him, I’m not going to do anything to endanger that little one. I’ll call you guys right away and leave it to the professionals.”

“We’d appreciate it, sir.” Rebecca gratefully tipped her head to him.

“Just like we appreciate the work you’ve done for us, Sheriff. Stay safe out there. You too, Deputy.”

A small smile crossed Rebecca’s face as they walked back to their cruiser. Perhaps the number of people in this island community who trusted her outweighed those who didn’t, after all.

Looking skyward, she noted the way the pale sun was slowly climbing to its peak, which was still hours away. Vivianne’s voice cut through the silence, a keen edge to her words that drew Rebecca back to the task at hand.

“Look there.” Vivianne pointed to a large green trash can standing by the curb. “It’s garbage day. All the cans are in the street. That makes them public and searchable, right?”

“Good eye, and good thinking. You’re right.” Rebecca jogged toward the container.

“Anything linking Venkman to the property could help us update the request for a warrant.” Vivianne’s rookie eagerness shined through despite the gravity of their investigation.

Rebecca slipped on a pair of nitrile gloves and tipped the can onto its side with a clatter. The lid popped open, and they were met with the scent of discarded junk: a mixture of coffee grounds and wilted lettuce, the mundane masking the potential for malice. She rummaged through the contents, her hands deliberate in their search.

“Why are there so many picture frame boxes?” She pulled them out to examine them. The sheer number was odd. There were more than a dozen. What need did a man like Venkman have for so many frames? Memories he wanted encased? Or perhaps trophies of a more sinister nature? He could also be preparing for family photos of him with his newly acquired baby.

“Could be nothing. If he just moved, maybe his old ones broke and had to be replaced.” Vivianne pulled on her own pair of gloves, but Rebecca only shook her head, her instincts whispering otherwise.

“Keep looking,” she instructed.

The bags came next, tied tight to contain whatever secrets they held. Rebecca tore into them. Food scraps, paper towels, and the broken spine of Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. It all tumbled out onto the pavement in a chaotic cascade.

Beneath the detritus, her fingers grazed something different. A large envelope had been squashed down into one of the bags. She plucked it from the heap, wiping off a smear of something unidentifiable before holding it up to the morning light. The name, in neat print, was Venkman, but the address was to a post office box. Rebecca checked the return address and saw it was his rental property in Norfolk.

“This was his rent payment.” Yes! It was the connection they needed.

“Is that enough? This address isn’t the one on the envelope.” Vivianne looked at her with a mix of hope and tension.

“It’s more than enough.” For the first time all day, Rebecca experienced a trill of hope. “With this, we can prove he’s in our jurisdiction. With the messages he sent to Michael and Hannah, we can charge him with stalking and communicating threats, and with the fingerprints outside their house, we can charge him with trespassing. We can go after this guy with everything we have now, without needing to prove he was the one who attacked Hannah.”

Vivianne smiled back, with the same dark glee Rebecca felt.

Rebecca wasted no time. “Dispatch, I need you to update the Venkman warrant. We’ve got evidence he’s living at a local address. Can you send the change in for me? And write a search warrant request for the address as well? I’ll fill out the arrest warrant request myself.”

“Can do, Sheriff. What’s the address?”

Rebecca read off the new address and allowed herself a brief exhale, the adrenaline slowly seeping from her veins.

They were a few steps closer to finding the missing infant.

16

The steering wheel was oddly grounding in Ivy’s hands as she navigated the winding coastal roads, the gray fabric of the driver’s seat hugging her tired frame. Cold, bracing air whispered through a small gap in the window, carrying with it the stinging scent of the ocean, which helped keep her awake.

Ivy’s mind drifted, torn between the desire to be nestled in the muddled embrace of her family and the relief of being out of the hospital for a bit. As the clock had ticked closer to noon, she’d realized they’d only eaten food from the hospital’s vending machines. No one had slept or been able to freshen up either. The previous night’s vigil had yielded nothing but the sour taste of dread, desperation, and morning breath.

Who knew sitting around doing nothing but waiting could be so tiring? Especially as the waiting room of the hospital never quieted. There was a constant murmur of voices, from the staff and patients and from other families hoping for news. And the unrelenting glare from the overhead fluorescent lights penetrated closed eyelids.

Her parents were lost in their own despair, faces drawn tight, eyes haunted by ghosts of uncertainty. Realizing she could no longer watch her family suffer minor inconveniences on top of their soul-crushing despair, Ivy had volunteered to make a trip to their family home near the beach. There she could gather lap blankets, mugs of coffee, lotion to counteract the dry air of the hospital…and perhaps even make a fresh meal to take to them.

Everyone had insisted they didn’t need anything. But Ivy knew they didn’t want to bother anyone. Her parents had only relented when she’d pointed out that Hannah would also need toiletries and clothes when she woke up.

The thought of her childhood home pulled at her as well. A siren song beckoning her toward the rolling dunes and the rhythmic crash of the waves. A place that always bustled energy yet never overwhelmed.

While her parents still lived on the island, Ivy didn’t get home as often as she’d like. That didn’t mean she wasn’t fond of the place. She and Hannah had loved growing up here, and she understood why Hannah had urged Michael to move back to the island to raise their baby.

She longed to let the sands sift between her toes. To let the chill of the sea-foam wash over her like a cleansing tide. But peace was a luxury that evaded her grasp, slipping through like the fine grains of sand she imagined.

Still, the anticipation of her new role as an aunt, a glimmer of joy in the tempest, managed to warm her from within. The prospect of meeting the tiny being that had already woven itself into the fabric of their lives brought a reluctant smile to her face.

Ivy and Alan wanted children but had so far been unsuccessful in their attempts. But her own setbacks hadn’t diminished her joy for Hannah and Michael. Their child was going to uplift all their lives, and she longed for the day she could hold her niece or nephew and cover their tiny face in kisses.

Her thoughts whiplashed from hopeful back to darkness. Would her sister’s child be traumatized by the way they came into the world? How early did humans start being aware of their surroundings? Would there be an invisible scar, a shadow lingering from these first traumatic days?

Ivy pressed her fingers tight against her lips, trying to hold back a sob as the thought brought a flood of emotions that nearly overwhelmed her.

She’d managed to stay strong in front of her family. To be the rock for everyone else. That was what she was good at. But even rocks could crack and break. Or be worn away. Ivy needed this time alone to fortify herself. To let out the tears and pain she’d been hiding. Once she was at the house, she’d take a hot shower while the meal cooked and allow herself a nice, long cry.

As Ivy pulled into the driveway, the sight of the familiar house calmed her frazzled nerves. The home stood quiet and still, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance a soothing reminder of her childhood.

Sliding the car into park, she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped out, her shoes crunching on the gravel path. She glanced toward the garage, noticing the door was shut. Everything looked as it should.

Ivy fished her key from her pocket as she climbed the front steps, her fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the exhaustion hanging like heavy weights pressing her down. She slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, shutting it softly behind her.

She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of home wrapped around her—clean linen, faint traces of lavender, and the earthy undertones of salt carried by the sea breeze. Frowning, she looked around. The house was the same as it always had, yet something intangible felt off, like a single note in a song played slightly out of tune.

Maybe it’s sad too?

After slipping off her shoes, she took a few steps into the hallway, heading toward the living area to drop her bag, when a sound stopped her dead in her tracks.

A baby’s cry.

The sound was faint but unmistakable, fragile and distressed.

Ivy froze, her pulse hammering in her ears. Was exhaustion finally getting to her? Hallucinations born from a sleepless night and worry?

Her instincts warred within her. The cries pulled at her with an almost primal force, an aunt’s fierce protectiveness rising to the surface. But a chilling logic followed close behind. Whoever had the baby had nearly killed her sister. They might still be here. She needed to call the police—now.

Ivy reached into her bag, fumbling for her phone. Her fingers barely brushed the device when a man’s voice carried softly from the living room.

“Shhh, little one. Please…quiet now.”

The harsh whispers were hoarse, each syllable a dagger in her chest. The sound was alien inside walls that had once echoed with laughter and love. She strained to hear more, but the man’s voice was too hushed to know if it was familiar to her or not. If it was that creep Jared Venkman with the baby, she needed the police to show up as soon as possible to arrest him.

“Shh…”

Clutching her phone, she pressed nine as she stepped closer to the doorway leading into the living room, her movements as silent as she could manage. She had to see. She had to know.

Before she could press one, he stepped around the corner, the baby wailing in his arms.

17

“Shh, shh,” I implored, more to myself than to my daughter. “Why won’t you just stop? I brought you here so you could see pictures of your mom. Isn’t that what you wanted? Why are you still crying?”

Inside, the walls seemed to close in around me. Her mother’s childhood home should have offered comfort, with its numerous photos of her mom in happier times. But where memories of laughter and warmth should have soothed, there was only the unyielding echo of the baby’s cries, a reminder of the emptiness gnawing at my insides. This place was supposed to be our shelter, a nest for the fantasy of family life I’d spun around us.

But fantasies didn’t scream in your ears. They didn’t twist your guts with every shriek.

“Geez, will you please shut the hell up!” I rocked the angry bundle frantically. Maybe she knew. Even without words or understanding, she could feel that the hands cradling her were the ones that brought her into this world while her mother glared her hatred and horror at me.

Still, Holly should have been more grateful. Every single thing I’d done had been for her. But all she seemed capable of was crying and shitting. And she wasn’t even doing much of that. Probably because she wasn’t really eating much. But she’d eat if she was hungry, right? I wasn’t going to force her. That might only make things worse.

I paced, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of my desperation. “Rock-a-Bye Baby” sprang from my lips, the lullaby coming slowly at first until I grew confident in my memory of the lyrics. But each cry from the baby felt like an accusation, a call to any prying ears that something was amiss. I wanted to tell her I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, that it was all supposed to be different. It was supposed to be me, Hannah, and her. A perfect little family.

“‘When the wind blows…’ Quiet, Holly. Be quiet for your dad,” I ordered through gritted teeth as she interrupted my singing.

The cries had to be phantoms, figments of my overwhelmed mind, because no real baby could cry this incessantly. Right?

But as I looked down at the flushed face of my daughter, her eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in an endless, soundless wail, reality cut deeper than any blade. She sensed it. She knew. And her knowledge was a siren, heralding the approach of a reckoning I couldn’t escape.

“Stop crying!” The command tore from my throat.

As if in answer, her cries quieted and her mouth opened in a sleepy yawn. I cradled her in one arm and raised the other to tear at my hair. I was running on empty. I hadn’t planned on having to do this alone, being her only caregiver. How did single parents ever get any rest?

The house thickened with silence in the absence of Holly’s cries. I could almost hear the judgment in the walls, the furniture, the very air. It accused me, exposing the farce of my domestic dream. The twisted irony of it all was that I, who had taken so much, had nothing left but ghosts and echoes.

A creak from the entryway jerked my head up, rustling little Holly. She erupted into fresh wails. “Shh!” I hissed at her, straining to listen.

No one was supposed to be here. Hannah’s family…they should all be huddled together at the hospital or the morgue, clinging to each other because that was what perfect families did. They wouldn’t need this place, this sanctuary for my daughter and me.

I’d parked in the garage so a strange vehicle in the driveway wouldn’t be noticed. I’d thought of everything.

This was where I planned to fix my mistake of not letting Holly see her mother before I took her away to start our new life. Now she’d seen pictures of her mom, and I’d walked her through the same rooms her mom had played in as a child.

Clutching her tighter, I crept toward the sound, every step a silent plea for the universe to cut me some slack.

18

He stood there, the baby cradled awkwardly in his arms. Ivy’s heart slammed against her ribs as their eyes met. His were wide with panic, darting from her face to her hands and back again.

She just needed to press one again. She’d call for help, letting the dispatcher hear the confrontation about to happen.

Her thumb pressed the button, but she didn’t dare look away from this monster for an instant.

“What are you…” She needed to let the dispatcher know what was happening. “Is that Hannah Blackwood’s baby?”

“Don’t.” He stepped closer, his arms shaking. She could only focus on the pale sage-green blanket. “I just wanted her to see where her mom grew up. We’re leaving now.”

“Her?” The baby was a girl. Ivy shook her head at herself, but her exhausted mind wasn’t putting the puzzle pieces together. “Leave? What?” She stared at him, confusion muddling her thoughts. “No. You hurt Hannah. And that baby needs medical attention. You’re not going anywhere.”

Ivy glanced down at her phone, and her heart twisted to find the screen was black. It had locked. She’d waited too long. Help wasn’t coming. Her fingers trembled as she tried to unlock it.

Panic laced his voice. “Don’t call anyone, Ivy. Please.”

“Fuck you.” Ivy couldn’t speak above a croaking whisper. The lump in her throat was too large. She got the screen unlocked. But her stupid fingers wouldn’t cooperate. For a moment, her whole world became a blur of square app icons.

Ivy knew he was moving toward her. She backed up as his movement registered. He crouched, setting the baby down on the floor just behind him, the sage-green blanket pooling around the tiny form. The baby’s weak cries clawed at her chest.

“Step away from her.” Ivy’s voice wavered, but she stayed firm. She shuffled backward, inching toward the door, her thumb brushing against the keypad.

Both of us. Get away from us both.

“Put the phone down, Ivy. Don’t make this worse.”

She took a step back, closer to the door. Desperation seeped into her bones.

Finally, the keypad came up. She pressed nine.

She glanced at the baby and back to him. That hesitation cost her.

“I’m sorry.” It was a whisper. A threat. A prayer.

She pressed one.

Before she could press it a second time, he lunged forward, the dim light glinting off the blade in his hand. Her heart dropped as she realized she’d never heard him draw the weapon.

The knife slashed toward her wrist. She tried to pull back, but the blade caught her, slicing deep. Pain burst through her arm, a searing fire that shot to her shoulder. Her phone clattered to the floor, the “9” and “1” mocking her as they glowed on the screen.

A scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, as she staggered back. Blood poured down her arm in warm, sticky ribbons.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered again as though the words could somehow erase what he’d done. What he was about to do.

She clutched her injured arm, her breath ragged, and stumbled toward the door. Get out. Scream for help.

But he closed the distance too quickly. His arm jerked forward, the knife driving into her chest with brutal force.

The impact stole her breath, the world narrowing to the unbearable pain radiating through her body. He yanked the blade free and struck again.

“Sorry.”

As the knife sank into her again, the apology transformed into soft and broken crooning of a twisted lullaby.

“‘And when the bough breaks…’”

Once. Twice.

“‘The cradle will fall…’”

Yet another thrust kept rhythm with the haunting melody. The song curdled in her ears, its sweetness soured.

She crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut. Her vision blurred as her focus shifted to where her niece kicked weakly on the blanket.

“And down will come Ivy, cradle and all.”

The walls swallowed the bastardized lullaby.

“You weren’t supposed to be here. I couldn’t let you take my family from me.”

Everything seemed so far away. The world shrank to a single point—the fragile life she’d failed to save.

I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you.

She hoped her niece would forgive her. Ivy watched the baby as the shadowy tunnel dragged her farther and farther away, until she disappeared completely.

19

Rebecca’s desk phone rang, and she answered it without looking at the number. “This is West.”

“Sheriff West?”

Not recognizing the man’s voice, Rebecca stopped going through the latest check-ins to focus on the call. “Yes, this is Sheriff Rebecca West. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Sheriff, my name is Alan Sinclair. I’m Ivy’s husband. Hannah Blackwood is my sister-in-law.”

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair. How can I help you?” Rebecca stretched her back, expecting him to ask for an update on the case. The families had been great about not calling incessantly, so she didn’t mind taking a bit of time to answer their questions now.

“I got to the hospital this morning to be with my wife and her family, but Ivy…she’s not here. She made a run to her parents’ house two hours ago, and now no one can reach her. My mother-in-law is getting ready to drive over there to see what’s going on.”

Rebecca’s grip on the phone tightened slightly, and she glanced at the clock on her computer. “Did you say her parents’ house?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right. The Walkers have a house on the beach. It’s where the girls grew up. Her parents still live there when they aren’t going on RV trips around the country now that they’re empty nesters. Everyone still has rooms there because we visit so often. The Walkers are a very close family. That’s why Ivy thought it was a good idea to head over and pick up some odds and ends for everyone, maybe even grab some healthier food options.”

Why did the most horrible things happen to the best people?

Rebecca pushed to her feet. “Is it possible she took a nap?”

“Yes, it’s possible, but…” Sinclair’s voice teetered between worry and outright fear, his words running into each other. “The thing is, Ivy was worn out. She’d been up all night before she left. And it’s not a long drive from the hospital to the house. She should be there already, but she’s not answering the house phone or her cell phone. Could you check on her? I’m worried she fell asleep or something. If she’s at the house, that’s fine. She needs to get some sleep. I’m just worried she didn’t make it there.”

“Of course. You all stay at the hospital.” Rebecca knew how difficult it was to drive while exhausted. But she was experienced at it and relied heavily on coffee to help her through such times. “Send me the address. I’ll go over and check on her. What type of car does she drive?”

“Thank you so much, Sheriff. I know this is probably a silly thing, but…I just want to make sure. You know?”

“Of course.” After jotting down the details about Ivy’s car, Rebecca hung up with one last assurance. Then she stood, slid her gun into her holster, and walked out of the office.

“Darby, you’re with me.”

Vivianne popped out of her seat, ready to roll. “Where are we off to? Did you get a new lead?”

Rebecca shook her head, making her way to the door. “We’re heading out to the Walker residence.” She handed the paper with the address to Elliot as they passed him. As they climbed into the SUV, Rebecca summarized her conversation with Alan Sinclair.

“Something doesn’t sit right.” Vivianne’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as she looked out the passenger window.

Rebecca glanced at her as she drove down the streets heading for the beach house. “You don’t think Ivy just fell asleep after the stress of it all?”

“It’s possible. But that’s not like Ivy.” Vivianne chewed her lip. “If Hannah’s condition changed, Ivy would want to be reachable. She wouldn’t ignore calls. She definitely wouldn’t silence her phone just to get a bit of sleep. Not at a time like this. Ivy is all about family. She’d want to get back to them as quickly as possible if there was news.” Vivianne gripped the door handle. “Hell, Ivy called home from senior prom because Hannah had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend the night before. Nothing is more important to her than family.”

Rebecca understood that. Vivianne had grown up with Hannah and Ivy. She’d know Ivy better than anyone else on the island right now.

As they approached the house, a sense of foreboding washed over Rebecca like an icy wave. There was a car matching Ivy’s parked in the driveway. That was reassuring until she realized the front door was hanging open, swaying in the wind.

They’d seen that before.

“Dammit.” Rebecca jumped out of the SUV, her hand instinctively resting on the butt of her gun as they hurried toward the front door.

“Blood.” Vivianne pointed to a dark smear marring the brass of the door handle.

The ominous stain confirmed Rebecca’s worst suspicions, and she pulled her gun and cued her radio at the same time. “All units, we’ve got a possible assault at the Walker house. Dispatch, get an ambulance here ASAP. Coffey, leave the staties to maintain the bridge. I want all of you here now.” Tuning out the chatter as Elliot gave the deputies the address, Rebecca proceeded into the house.

Rebecca used the back of her left hand to push the door open wider, the creak of its hinges slicing through the silence like a verdict. The scent of salt and copper hit her nostrils as she stepped over the threshold. Weapon drawn, her eyes scanned the dim interior. “Clear left.”

“Clear right,” Vivianne responded, equally hushed, her rookie bravado replaced by professional calm.

They moved in tandem, clearing each corner of the foyer before Rebecca led them deeper into the house. With every step, her heart hammered against her ribs, a drumbeat of dread that grew louder as they approached the living room.

“I’ve got a body. It’s Ivy.” Vivianne’s voice cracked, but her gun remained upright and ready.

Just on the carpeted area of the living room lay Ivy Sinclair, her blond hair fanned out like a tragic halo on the floor. Vivianne lingered just inside the front room, her dark eyes wide, her face ashen. It was clear this was more than a scene to process. It was a personal blow. Still, she covered Rebecca as Rebecca kneeled to check for Ivy’s pulse.

“She’s dead.” Rebecca noted how Vivianne remained vigilant and watchful even as she flinched. Calling it in to dispatch and changing the ambulance to the M.E.’s wagon, Rebecca stood again. “Let’s clear the rest of the house.”

They swept through the remaining rooms with methodical precision, Rebecca leading the way, her mind racing with possibilities. Where was Venkman? And the baby? Each empty room was both a relief and a mounting frustration. There were no obvious signs of forced entry, no disturbed belongings. Just silence and emptiness.

“Nothing,” Vivianne finally said, her voice hollow as they completed their search of the home’s interior.

“Let’s check the perimeter.” Rebecca holstered her weapon only when they stepped back outside into the light. Now that the immediate threat had passed, there was no reason to alarm any neighbors who might be snooping.

The surrounding area offered no clues, no hidden dangers lurking among the dunes or the tall beach grasses that swayed gently in the coastal breeze. Rebecca examined every inch yet found nothing to ease the weight of uncertainty. “Darby, I need you to canvass the neighbors, see if anyone saw anything unusual.”

Vivianne jerked her chin up and turned away quickly. “Yeah, of course, Boss. I’m on it.”

As Vivianne moved off with purpose, Rebecca watched her go, a mix of pride and compassion threading through her concern for the case.

The blare of sirens ceased as two more squad cars slammed to a halt in front of the house. Deputy Frost’s tall frame emerged first, urgency etched into every line of his face. Trent was right on his heels, his normally stoic expression giving way to concern as they approached the open doorway.

“Boss,” Hoyt choked out, his gaze landing on the open door of the house and blood-marred handle. “Is it Ivy? Did Vivianne ID her? You only met her once. You could be wrong.” The raw shock in his voice was a rare crack in his composed exterior.

“Frost, take a moment.” Trent’s hand found Hoyt’s shoulder, grounding him with a firm, unspoken solidarity. Rebecca noted the exchange but kept her focus sharp.

Her heart ached for him. “It’s Ivy. Vivianne confirmed it.” Hoyt turned away, his head hanging low as he took a moment to pull himself together with Trent at his side.

A third cruiser slid to a halt, and Deputy Coffey spilled out at a run. His imposing stature was offset by a gaze that assessed the situation with cold precision.

“Coffey, you’re with me. We’ll need to process the house for evidence. Locke, you two do a walk around the area for any signs of where our assailant went. And keep an eye on Darby. She’s canvassing the neighbors, but I’m worried about how she’s coping with all this.”

“Got it.” Jake clapped a hand on Hoyt’s shoulder as he passed.

“We got it, Boss,” Trent responded, though he stayed next to Hoyt as he took several deep breaths.

Rebecca and Coffey moved methodically from room to room, but Rebecca’s trained eyes could only find one sign of disarray in the entire house.

In the living room was a smashed wedding photo of Michael and Hannah. It lay among the shards of glass on the floor next to a bookcase. On the shelf Rebecca spotted a void in the light layer of dust the same size and shape as the bottom of the frame.

The image of the couple was torn, a violent interruption in their captured moment of happiness.

“Venkman?” Rebecca wondered if the destruction was a sign of his presence. Had the sight of his ex-wife, so evidently in love with another man, ignited a murderous rage?

Coffey’s nostrils flared. “Looks personal.”

“Could be.” She filed away the observation as potential evidence. “Can you call CSI? Get them down here. I want to know how the hell this guy keeps getting into houses without leaving a trace. And I want to know who touched this picture.”

“I’ll let them know.” Jake gestured to the window through which Rebecca could see Hoyt and Trent walking back toward the house. “Looks like they’re done.”

Stepping outside, Rebecca squinted against the glare of the sun reflecting off the ocean. Hoyt was coming back as well, his search along the beach concluded. “Anything?”

“Nothing.” Hoyt shook his head. “Whoever did this, they’re gone. They didn’t leave any footprints on the beach.”

“Frost…” Rebecca hesitated, knowing what she had to ask next. “Do you want me to inform the family?”

He swallowed hard yet didn’t look away. “No, I’ll do it. It’ll be easier coming from me. They’ve gotten enough bad news already.” His stance was resolute, but the strain behind his eyes was brutal to witness.

“Okay. If you’re sure. Let them know we’re doing everything we can.”

“Will do.” Hoyt turned to head toward his car, pausing for a brief second as if bracing himself for the task ahead.

Rebecca noted that Trent was observing Hoyt as well. Then he glanced over her shoulder and jerked his head. Rebecca turned to see what he was gesturing at and saw Vivianne stomping toward them.

“The neighbors are clueless.” Frustration laced Vivianne’s expression and words. “No one saw or heard anything.”

“All right.” Rebecca’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she silently begged for it to provide good news. She glanced at the screen. The awaited confirmation stared back at her. “The warrant for Venkman’s property came through.”

With a low growl, Vivianne turned and ran for the SUV.

“Locke, you’re in charge of this scene. Bailey and the CSI team should be here soon. Keep me updated.” Rebecca snapped her holster, securing her weapon.

“You too. If Venkman’s our guy, he might be hiding in his house right now, trying to clean up after what went down here.”

As Rebecca ran to her SUV where Vivianne was waiting impatiently, she hoped Trent was right. She wanted to nail this bastard to the wall.

20

Venkman’s house looked unchanged since the last time they’d been there. Rebecca glanced at the clock as she slowed down. It was a quarter past noon, just shy of three hours since she’d parked here last time. And twenty-two hours since Hannah’s attack.

The structure loomed, shades drawn like closed eyelids, as if the house itself wished to shut out the invasive glare of investigation. In the driver’s seat, her hands still on the wheel, Rebecca turned to her deputy.

“SWAT is on their way. CSI too. They should be here within the hour.” Vivianne pushed her phone into her pocket and opened her door.

Damn. An hour? They didn’t have that long.

Stepping out onto the street, Rebecca scanned the perimeter. No cars, no signs of life. She moved to the trunk of the car and flung it open. Vivianne stepped up next to her, confused, until she saw what Rebecca was pointing to.

“Now we’re talking.” Vivianne picked up the ram bar. A necessary tool for stubborn doors or quick entries.

“We can’t wait for SWAT. Not if he’s got the baby in there.” Rebecca took the printed copy of the warrant. With Vivianne jogging behind her, she ran up to the closed door of Venkman’s house.

“Venkman! Open up! This is Sheriff West.” Rebecca’s vocal cords strained under her command voice. “We have a warrant!”

Silence answered them, the kind of silence that felt like a taunt, a challenge to their lawful entry.

“Mr. Venkman, we will enter if you don’t comply!” Vivianne squared off her stance, ram bar at the ready.

Rebecca counted the seconds, each tick stretching out before her like the calm before a storm. When the quiet remained unbroken, she exchanged a glance with Vivianne and pulled her side arm. “All right.” She stepped back, giving Vivianne space. “Do it.”

Vivianne swung the ram bar against the door. The sturdy wood groaned under the assault, protesting but ultimately yielding as the lock gave way and the door swung open with a jarring thud. Vivianne dropped the ram with a clatter and pulled her gun.

Predator mode clicking on in her head, Rebecca’s gaze sharpened. “Shadow Island Sheriff’s Office. We’re coming in.” She crossed into the dim interior of Venkman’s house.

The dust motes, broken loose from the door as it shattered, danced lazily in the shafts of sunlight penetrating Venkman’s living room, each particle a silent witness to the sterility of the space. Rebecca’s eyes scanned the sparse decor, as she moved through the desolate rooms.

If the man was living here, he didn’t seem to care about making the space feel homey. The décor was utilitarian, functional but uninviting.

Vivianne was a step behind, her dark eyes missing nothing, her training keeping her alert to any signs of life or struggle. After making such a loud entry, Rebecca had been expecting to hear a baby crying. Or at least a man shouting. But everything was silent.

“It looks like a model home, not someone’s house.” Vivianne stepped over an old rug.

“You’re right. It’s too bland. That layer of dust covering everything tells me he doesn’t care about keeping the place clean or he hasn’t been here in a while.” Rebecca nodded to the left. “I’ll take this way. You go right.”

They split up, Rebecca taking the lead down a narrow hallway lined with open doors. Each small room revealed nothing but more emptiness. There were no pictures, no personal effects, nothing to suggest Venkman, or anyone else, lived here at all.

What caused the most anxiety in Rebecca was the absence of baby supplies. No bag of diapers, no changing table, no crib. What was Venkman doing with the baby?

Or had they gotten this all wrong and Venkman didn’t take the newborn?

“Rebecca! Get over here!” Vivianne sounded shocked.

Rebecca turned on her heel, crossing the distance to Vivianne. She found her standing in the doorway of a room at the far end of the hall, her posture tense.

“Look at this.” Vivianne pointed as Rebecca stepped beside her.

It took a moment for Rebecca to process the scene—a stark contrast to the barrenness of the rest of the house. It was the master bedroom, complete with a giant four-poster king-size bed.

That wasn’t what had caught Vivianne’s attention.

The walls were plastered with photographs, a chilling mosaic of fixation and fantasy. Images of Hannah were everywhere, covering every surface in the room, illuminated by lit candles. Some photos showed moments of genuine affection between her and Venkman, while others were corrupted by his obsession. Rebecca had to step closer to figure out why one of the photos stood out to her.

Vivianne flipped on the overhead light, and it all became clear as Rebecca recognized it. It was the same wedding picture she’d seen at the Walkers’ house. But in this one, Michael’s face had been photoshopped out and replaced with Venkman’s.

“Now we know why he wanted all those picture frames.”

Rebecca spun in a slow circle, noting the varying ages of the photos, the burning candles, and an upholstered ottoman bench at the foot of the bed with a tub of Vaseline next to it. A cold shiver ran down her spine as she realized the extent of Venkman’s delusion. “He’s made a full-on shrine.”

“There are more recent ones here.” Vivianne pointed to a series of candid shots that must have been taken within the last few months. They showed Hannah, the gradual swell of her pregnancy marking the passage of time.

All of them had been taken at a distance while Hannah seemed unaware she was even being photographed. In them, she was doing ordinary things. Enjoying a stroll on the beach. Packing groceries in her car trunk. Dining on the patio of the Seabreeze Café. And a few showed her walking through the parking lot of the island’s medical clinic.

“He’s been following her. For months.” Vivianne’s face screwed up in disgust.

“Obsession’s a hell of a drug.” A surge of protectiveness shot through Rebecca, and she wished she’d been able to protect the young family ensnared in Venkman’s twisted world. “Let’s see if CSI can pull prints or anything else that might give us a lead. We need to find him before this escalates further.”

“Copy that.” Vivianne snapped photos of the disturbing scene with her department-issued camera.

“As horrible as this is, the one tiny blessing is that we now know for sure that he’s still on the island. It’s more than we knew five minutes ago.”

“That’s true.” Vivianne sniffed and lifted her chin. “Ivy just might have saved her niece or nephew after all.”

Rebecca sure hoped so. That the young woman’s life wasn’t taken in total vain.

Her stomach churned as she took in the macabre display, each candle flickering like a silent sentinel to Venkman’s madness. At least the lit candles were proof that Venkman had been here within the last few hours, since the candles were still nearly to the top of their jars. “I don’t even want to think about what he does there.”

The younger deputy nodded, her eyes reflecting determination, fear, and disgust. “I’ll be more than happy to ask him that when we finally find him. Where do you think he could be?”

“He was at Hannah’s family’s property recently. Probably thought it was safe with the entire family at the hospital. It’s clear that even though he has Hannah’s baby, he’s still obsessed with her. He might have gone there to try to feel closer to her.”

“Until Ivy showed up and ruined his fantasy.” Vivianne sounded as disgusted as Rebecca felt.

“Exactly.” Rebecca stepped back from the wall, distancing herself from the shrine. “When reality intrudes, people like Venkman can become unpredictable and dangerous.”

Rebecca studied the grotesque testament to fixation adorning the walls. The air was thick with the scent of candle wax and something else. Desperation, perhaps. She avoided thinking too much about the petroleum jelly.

Vivianne looked up from studying a map of the island on her phone, chewing at her lip. “If that’s true and he wanted to hide out, really immerse himself in his fantasy, wouldn’t he go back to where Hannah lived? And if he can’t be in the house she grew up in, maybe he’d settle for the house she and Michael lived in.”

“The house Hannah almost died in?” Rebecca’s eyebrows shot up. “Where he attacked her?”

“We’ve taped it off. No one is there. And if he needs baby supplies…”

Rebecca considered Vivianne’s suggestion, turning it over in her mind. It had a twisted sort of logic. “You think he could be right under our noses, back at Hannah’s? CSI has been done with it since last night.”

“Exactly.” Vivianne’s posture nearly shook with eagerness for action. “It’s the perfect hideout for someone who doesn’t want to let go. A shrine is one thing, but the real deal? That’s a whole other level of delusion.”

Rebecca gave her deputy a firm nod. “Then that’s where we head next.”

21

The first section of the steel and concrete bridge jolted Hoyt’s cruiser as he pulled onto it. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his jaw. He pulled up to where the Coastal Ridge officer was checking cars and got waved through immediately. The memory of Ivy’s lifeless form swirled in his mind, an image he couldn’t shake as he crossed the water separating the island from the mainland.

His chest tightened, an unbearable weight constricting his breathing. This wasn’t just another victim. This was Ivy—sweet, competent, too mature for her age. Someone he’d watched grow up, someone who meant something to him.

He pulled over at the end of the bridge, hazard lights blinking in time with his pounding heart. With trembling hands, he fumbled for his phone and dialed Angie’s number. It rang twice before her voice, a life preserver in the storm of his emotions, filled the car.

“Angie.” He had to swallow hard before he could continue. This was against standard operating procedures, but he needed to reach out before putting on his stone-faced deputy mask again. Before he could offer support or comfort to an already distraught family. “It’s Ivy…she’s dead.”

“Ivy Sinclair? The Walkers’ oldest?” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “And you found her? Oh, god, honey. I’m so sorry.” He knew she’d fill in the blanks, saving him from having to provide those details himself.

“Vivianne and Rebecca found her, but I saw her. I know she’s a grown woman now, but…it was like seeing her as a child.” Hoyt knocked the hat off his head and dragged his free hand through his hair. “I keep remembering her running around the beach on the Fourth of July, pigtails flying, laughing, showing the other kids how to use sparklers…and now…” He choked on the memories, on the stark contrast between past and present.

Angie didn’t say anything, but he still felt her calming presence through the phone. He might be the senior deputy, but his wife was far stronger than he could ever hope to be. Sucking in a shallow breath, he struggled to continue.

“Someone took her life. And that same someone probably has her sister’s baby now. Another innocent child.” His anger flared, a fire in his belly that fought against the despair. “If it were one of our boys, taken right after birth…” His voice broke, unable to complete the thought.

“Now, you listen to me, Hoyt Lloyd Frost.” Angie’s firm voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, a commanding presence despite the distance between them. “It’s not either of our boys out there needing help. We’re not the ones stuck at the hospital waiting to hear updates while we pace, pray, and cry.”

His wife’s no-nonsense tone was already calming Hoyt.

“You’re in pain, and that’s okay. That’s the shitty part of your job. You have to give those grieving families the news that will break their hearts.” She paused and took a deep breath that he mirrored subconsciously. “You’re also the one who, once the bad news is broken, needs to get your butt back out there and catch the monster who did this before anyone else gets hurt.”

Her words acted as a salve. She was right. He had a duty to the whole community who trusted him to keep them safe. And especially the island’s newest resident, who was still waiting to be found.

“Thanks, Angie. I needed to hear that.”

“You needed a moment to take off your hat and your badge, to be a feeling, vulnerable, loving human.”

He looked ruefully at the hat sitting upside down on the seat next to him. “As always, you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” He could nearly hear her preening in the phone. “Stay strong out there, honey. We all believe in you. And I love you.”

“I love you too.” Hanging up, Hoyt sat for a moment longer, allowing Angie’s support to fortify him. As he flipped off his hazards and merged back onto the road, his scattered emotions hardened into determination. By the time he made it to the hospital and parked, he was entirely focused on what mattered most right now.

Justice for Ivy and Hannah. Safety for the newborn. He’d accept nothing less.

Jamming his hat back onto his head, Hoyt stepped out of his cruiser. The brief reprieve provided by Angie’s words lingered in his mind. It was like a thin shield against what was waiting for him inside the hospital’s sterile walls. He straightened his deputy’s uniform, hoping to appear more composed than he felt, and pushed through the double doors into the lobby with the waiting area off to one side.

Michael seemed to be a shell of a man, his shoulders slumped under the weight of the situation. Ivy and Hannah’s parents sat beside him, hands clasped tightly as if holding on to their last shred of hope. The air felt heavy with anticipation and unspoken dread.

Beside them stood a man Frost didn’t recognize but whose face dropped as soon as Hoyt walked in. This had to be Ivy’s husband, Alan Sinclair. His expression grew haunted as Hoyt walked directly to him.

“Mr. Sinclair.” Hoyt swept off his hat. “I’m Deputy Hoyt Frost.”

“Oh, right. Alan, this is your first time meeting him. Deputy Frost here is an old friend of ours.” Robert Walker made a quick introduction, clearly too tired to rise from his chair.

Hoyt nodded. “You asked Sheriff West to do a wellness check on your wife, Ivy. I wish I had better news.”

Their collective gaze turned to him, heavy with the gravity of expectation.

He pulled a chair up so he could sit close to Ivy’s parents. He gestured for Alan to take a seat too. As soon as the man sank into the chair, he pulled the bandage off. “There’s been an incident at your home.” He reached out and took Ronna’s hand. “Ivy…she was found dead there.”

Ronna and Robert just stared at him in shock. Neither seemed capable of more than blinking.

“Dead?” Michael’s voice cracked, slicing through the quiet. “You mean Ivy’s…”

“How?” Alan sat stiff as a pillar, his eyes latched hard on Hoyt.

“She was murdered.” Hoyt blinked away the image of Ivy lying in a pool of her own blood. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

How many times had he and Angie gone to that house? Had dinner there? Hung out with their dear friends as Ivy and Hannah played, giggling and squealing? They’d watched them grow up over the years. In some ways, they were like an extension of his own family, although his own boys were more than a decade younger than Hannah and Ivy.

Michael Blackwood let out a stifled sob, moving to his brother-in-law to envelop him in a hug as he turned his focus to Ronna and Robert. Hoyt hoped they could tell how much it hurt for him to have to say those words. They stared back at him, mute with shock.

Alan hadn’t moved since Hoyt spoke. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond the present moment, seemingly oblivious to his brother-in-law’s embrace. “How? How did he do it?”

Hoyt debated hedging his answer but decided it was better to give the family the truth than letting their imaginations run wild. “We’ll need the medical examiner to determine the exact cause of death, but it looks like the murderer stabbed her with a knife.”

Alan’s voice came out a whisper. “Was it the same man who attacked Hannah?”

“We’re still processing the scene and gathering information. Right now, we’re doing everything we can to figure that out and to find Hannah and Michael’s missing baby.” Hoyt glanced between him and Ivy’s parents, though he knew no amount of police work could rewind time or undo the horror that had taken over their lives.

Although Venkman was their only suspect, Hoyt left out details about Venkman owning a house on the island. He didn’t want to cloud their minds with more fear or raise expectations that they were close to catching him.

The family needed to mourn, free from the complications of the manhunt that lay ahead. That was the only comfort or peace he could give them. As tiny as it was, he’d make damn sure it remained for as long as possible.

“Thank you, Deputy,” Alan managed, his voice hollow. “I knew something was wrong when she didn’t answer her phone. I just…I didn’t think it would be…”

Her face contorted with grief, Ronna reached over and wrapped her arms around her son-in-law. With that touch, Alan crumbled. Though his body stayed upright, Hoyt saw it in his face as the full realization finally hit him and his soul shattered. Tears flowed freely from Alan’s eyes as he sat ramrod straight, sandwiched between two grieving family members.

“We…we should’ve done something about those phone calls.” Michael clenched his fists. “If only we had reported them. If we’d started documenting sooner and turned in our evidence. Maybe none of this would’ve happened. Ivy and Hannah would…” His voice cracked, and for a moment, the silence was broken only by Alan’s soft, gasping breaths as tears poured down his face. “Hannah wanted to give him a chance to stop on his own.”

“Michael, you can’t predict what people are going to do. We all know that Hannah…always sees the best in people, doesn’t she?” Hoyt remembered how Hannah’s optimism often clashed with the darker side of reality, a spark of goodness in a world that could be brutally unkind.

“Stubborn as the day is long.” A sad smile flickered on Michael’s lips before it wilted away.

Hoyt shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Robert had joined his wife and the two of them were holding onto each other as they sobbed, with Alan between them.

A pang of empathy surged through him, and for a brief, harrowing moment, he placed himself in Alan’s shoes. The thought of Angie, his strong, vivacious Angie, lying cold and lifeless was unbearable. Being told she’d been murdered and knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. The horror of what she’d have endured as she was attacked and fought for her life, wondering why Hoyt wasn’t there to help her.

His breath caught in his throat. Then there were his boys…the mere notion of their bright futures snuffed out left an icy void in his chest that only got worse when he thought about how he’d feel if they just went missing one day. How could a parent move forward with life when so much uncertainty hung over their child’s well-being?

He knew the answers to all the questions hammering him. He’d go insane.

Yet here they all were, crying, mournful, in shock, but not broken. They were displaying a strength he marveled at.

Hoyt cleared his throat, pushing the morbid thoughts aside. “I wish I could stay.” He managed to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil behind his badge. “I’ve got to get back to the island. We’re throwing every resource we have to bring this bastard to justice.”

The group nodded numbly in unison. Questions burned in their eyes, the desperation for answers to attempt to make sense of their nightmare, and their need for justice, but he had nothing left to give.

He turned on his heel, enveloped by an overwhelming urgency to find the person responsible for everything that had happened to them. One of the things he appreciated about being a deputy on an island was that there was nowhere for the bad guys to go when they shut down the bridge and monitored the waterways.

It was only a matter of time before they found the monster responsible for this family’s grief.

He just wasn’t sure what he’d do once he had his hands on the bastard.

22

Jared Venkman slowed his pickup truck to a crawl as he eased up to the familiar drive. The once cheerful beach house loomed ahead. He’d walked the property several times, usually when no one was home, or at night when no one could see him. He’d been waiting for years to see Hannah pregnant. He wasn’t going to give that up just because she thought she could be with another man now.

But the home’s cheer was disfigured, swathed in the stark yellow of crime scene tape, the fluttering strips mocking him. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, the grip a poor anchor for the swell of anger that rose in his chest each time he passed. Yesterday, when he’d driven by to check on things, the road in front had been filled with law enforcement vehicles.

At first, he’d been thrilled, thinking the baby had been born. Then he saw what the vehicles actually were. Crime scene investigators. Before he could begin to absorb what that meant, his phone blared an alarm.

Using that as an excuse to not drive off, Jared had pulled his phone out. Right away, he understood what had happened. The Amber Alert was for a newborn baby, and there was blood on the driveway. Plus, he overheard some of the emergency personnel wearing odd coverings over their shoes saying it was a miracle the woman survived and made it to the hospital.

Someone had attacked Hannah and taken her baby. It was insane to think about. How dare someone shatter what should rightfully be his and Hannah’s family? They’d tried so long and hard together. It was only right they should finally get the family they’d always wanted.

He wanted to go and see her, demand to know what had happened. That was a terrible idea, though.

They’d just chase him off. Because of the mistakes from his past.

But Hannah leaving him had made him see the light, made him different. Once she got pregnant, Jared knew it was just a matter of time before he won her over again.

Which was why he was monitoring her house, waiting for her to come home. Hannah’s car hadn’t moved in all that time. The cops had moved Michael’s car to the street, and they’d spent a long time examining the area of the driveway where his car had been parked.

But now there was another car there. One he didn’t know.

It wasn’t Ivy’s or even Alan’s. He’d seen those often enough at the family home to be able to recognize them. The car didn’t belong to her parents either. And since it didn’t have state or county plates, he knew it didn’t belong to the cops or the ones who worked on the scene afterward.

The unfamiliar car, a nondescript sedan, sat like an intruder in the driveway, its presence gnawing at his resolve.

Had some criminal heard about what happened to Hannah and her baby? Now that the law enforcement people had left, it was the perfect time for someone to rob them.

With a swallow of trepidation, Jared parked and stepped toward the house. If the cops caught him here before Hannah agreed to stop fighting him, he might end up making things worse between them.

He eyed the crime scene tape, a barrier that screamed danger but clearly hadn’t kept out the riffraff. Even from the sidewalk, he could see the front door standing ajar. No way had the cops had left it hanging open like that.

Right?

As Jared ducked under the tape, his heart hammered against his chest, a frenetic drumbeat matching the cadence of his thoughts. Protecting Hannah’s home was paramount. If he could shield her home from further violation, perhaps it would be the first brick laid on the path back into her world. His life had been a series of missteps and wrong turns, but protecting what was hers might pave the way to redemption.

That was something even her darling Michael couldn’t do, despite his virility.

A baby’s cry reached his ears, faint but unmistakable, a sound that pierced the stillness of the evening. It tugged at something primal within him, the instinct to safeguard, to comfort, to protect the child of the woman he loved.

Shivers traveled down his spine at the very notion that Hannah’s child, snatched away by some unseen menace, could be inside. If Hannah was home, now would be a good time to offer her support. If she wasn’t back…

Then he could save her baby. Siring a child meant nothing compared to keeping it safe. If Jared could do that, Hannah would finally understand that he deserved to be the father, not Michael. And Michael would be exposed as a coward and a weakling.

Jared approached the front door with caution, scanning for any sign of violence. The cheap doorknob that had obviously been installed to replace the old knob was smashed through. Someone had sliced through the sticker covering the door and the jamb.

Resting his fingertips against the edge of the door, he was pleased to find it gave under pressure. Jared steeled himself, ready to confront whatever lay on the other side. As Hannah’s house was slowly revealed to him, he realized this was about more than proving himself.

There was no turning back now. Today, Jared Venkman would not be a bystander to fate. He would seize it, wrestle it into submission, and, in doing so, revive the remnants of a love that had once defined his very existence. He and Hannah could be together again, and this time, they’d have a child to raise together.

Sure, he could call the cops, but he wanted—needed—to be the hero for Hannah. There was nothing he couldn’t handle if it meant winning back her love.

Muffled cries of a baby drifted through the walls, taunting him. To step into Hannah’s house uninvited was a risk, but it paled in comparison to the potential reward.

The baby’s cries grew louder, more urgent, as if sensing a savior’s presence. He could save the baby. Take it to the hospital…no! Take it to his new house. A place where Hannah and he could watch their children play in the golden sands, free from fear, wrapped in the security of his commitment.

He’d bought it to be a sanctuary where they could forget the world and start over together. She should never have to come back to this place now that it was desecrated. Once she was well, she would come running to him, grateful to him for reuniting her with her infant. He would be her hero, her champion.

The baby’s wails guided him, pulling him toward a chance at a new beginning, a chance to prove he could be everything he’d once failed to be. And with each step into Hannah’s old home, Jared Venkman vowed to seize that chance, to embrace it with every fiber of his being.

23

The sense of security that had enveloped me at Hannah’s family home unraveled the minute I stepped into Michael and Hannah’s place. It was a joke, thinking I could ever really be safe. At least the baby had fallen silent.

Or maybe the anger that had my blood pounding in my ears simply drowned her cries out.

Yet as I looked around, this house whispered promises of a better hideout. Hiding in plain sight. Outside, the crime scene tape, and probably the bloodstains on the driveway, kept people from coming inside. The flimsy temporary locks they police had installed were easy to break into.

Now there was an irony I could laugh at. I was using the very chaos I’d created as a safe haven. No one would want to come inside after what I’d done.

The blood traces were stark but easy to ignore. The missing pieces of carpet screamed an even clearer message. Something had happened here that was so bad, parts of the house had to be removed. The interior was neither clean nor clinical. Instead, it resembled a carcass being picked apart by vultures.

I moved through the rooms with a restlessness that matched the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat. But with each step, I cradled my daughter, loving her warmth against my chest. She was a stark contrast to the chill seeping from the walls stained with memories of violence. There were so many things for her to look at. Maybe that was what had finally calmed her down.

“Nice digs, eh?” I murmured to Holly, trying for nonchalance. “Enough room to run around when you get those little legs going.”

I kept my finger in her mouth to stop her constant caterwauling. It seemed to be working for the moment, at least. She gurgled quietly, blissfully unaware of the nightmare we were living.

I took in the remnants of the police presence, the outlines of dust where furniture used to be. The couch was gone, probably hauled off to be scraped and tested.

But that didn’t matter. Michael wouldn’t have the strength to come back here, not after what he’d seen. Not after what I’d done to Hannah to claim the child I deserved.

I let out a harsh laugh, the sound jagged, and I bounced Holly harder when she startled. Hannah could still choose me. Sure, she turned me down yesterday, but maybe that was because I’d sprung the idea on her too quickly. When she saw what a good father I was, she would understand that we could have an amazing life together—playing house in this very space, teaching our daughter to walk on these floors, far away from Michael and his envy.

That plan shattered like glass the moment I noticed the framed photo perched on a bookcase. It was them. Michael and Hannah, their smiling faces on their wedding day a mockery of the future I’d carved out in my mind.

It was like the damn picture was resurrecting itself to taunt me. I’d already smashed a duplicate at her parents’ home, the satisfaction of glass splintering under my heel. This time, my fingers itched to do it again, to eradicate his smug grin that told me I was nothing but a trespasser in their world.

How many copies of the damn photo are there?

I picked up the frame, testing its weight, contemplating the sweet release of shattering it. But Holly stirred in my arms, her tiny breaths a reminder of who I needed to be for her. Her crying had finally relented, and I didn’t want to set her off again. The glass remained intact, the image taunting me from behind it.

“Damn you, Michael.” I set the frame down with more care than I felt. A surge of anger rippled through me, hot and potent. It was all spiraling, spinning faster than I could keep up. Each action birthed consequences I could barely grasp. My hands tightened in anger.

Right on cue, Holly started to whimper and cry. Immediately I went to shushing her again, demanding her to calm down and be a good girl.

I was in the eye of my own storm, the pressure building with nowhere to go but straight through whoever stood between me and our salvation. And yet, as I held my daughter tighter, the only truth I clung to was everything I’d done to get her. I couldn’t let my efforts mean nothing. Holly was mine, and I’d do anything to keep her. Anything.

Holly whimpered as I caught the scent of musky cologne. It wasn’t the one Michael wore. Someone else was intruding on this sanctuary. My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline flooding my veins. I’d gotten sloppy, too caught up in dreams of domestic bliss with Hannah and our daughter, forgetting the world outside was hunting me, thirsting for my blood.

“Who’s there?” The question was out before I could swallow it back.

“Oh, ho, ho. Wait until I tell Michael who’s in his house,” came a drawl so casual it was like a slap across the face. “Did you really think you could just disappear with Hannah’s baby? Give me the baby. I’ll make sure it gets back to its mother.” He stepped closer.

This was my first time meeting him face to face, but I recognized him. Hannah never got around to untagging him in their old Facebook photos, so I knew who he was. He was just as slimy in person as I expected. Even his stride oozed smugness as he sneered at me.

I looked at Holly, her eyes wide and unknowing, and my decision was made. I couldn’t let him take her. Not now, not ever. I set her on the loveseat so I could deal with the intruder. At the last second, I remembered and pulled the blanket over her completely, shielding her eyes from the violence I was afraid I’d have to resort to once again.

“Get out.” My hand closed around the hilt of my knife. After the business with Ivy, I decided to keep it close, so I’d tucked it into my waistband. My fingers were steady despite the chaos in my mind. I knew what I was capable of. I’d proven that already. But the taste of violence stayed bitter on my tongue. My perfect new life wasn’t supposed to start with so much bloodshed.

The man laughed, a sound that curled my fists. “You think you can threaten me? What the hell are you going to do? As soon as I tell people who I found here, your life is over.”

Over?

No. It was just beginning. And no one was going to take that away from me.

With a surge of fury, I stepped toward him, the metal of the knife cold and reassuring in my grip behind my back. “Leave. Now.” If he did leave, I’d still be forced to stab him in the back to make sure he couldn’t tell anyone what he’d seen. That would at least be fast and easy for him.

He didn’t leave, though. Instead, Hannah’s ex lunged, all bravado and misplaced heroism, clearly not understanding my desperation. I sidestepped, but he was relentless, coming at me again with blind determination.

He swung for my face, and I brought my arm up, brandishing the knife. I hoped it would scare him off, but all he did was change his aim. His fist connected solidly with my wrist, making my hand spasm. The knife clattered to the floor.

I threw my weight into a punch that landed with a squelch against Venkman’s nose, which shattered with a satisfying crunch under my knuckles.

My breaths came out like ragged battle cries as I dodged the other man’s advance. The loveseat with Holly’s tiny form was an oasis we dared not disturb.

His fist connected with my ear while I was distracted. Pain exploded in white-hot streaks across my cheek. My head spun, and the world erupted into sparks of light and shimmers.

When he bent over to scoop up the knife, I jumped to the side, slamming into wooden chairs with a resounding crack. My leg tingled with pain as the chairs clattered away.

“Damn you.” I dodged another blow. We’d moved into the dining room, and I tried to circle around the table, but he glanced back at the loveseat. At my prize. I moved back between him and Holly, making it clear he wasn’t going to get to her.

Not now. Not ever.

I lunged forward, swinging a roundhouse blow at his head. He didn’t dodge fast enough, and I battered him sideways, knocking my knife free of his grip.

I scrambled for the blade, snatching it up before facing him again. He’d backed me into a corner of the dining room with nowhere to go.

“Stay away from her!” I barely recognized my own voice. It was nearly a growl, the undertones animalistic.

He swung for my ear again, leaving the whole front of his body open for my counterattack. I plunged the knife deep, feeling resistance before it gave way. My clenched hand was pressed against his chest, momentarily hiding the bloody wound I’d just inflicted.

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know if I was apologizing to him, Hannah, or the baby who was witnessing yet another murder.

His eyes were wide, staring past me in disbelief. I pulled the blade free. The world reduced to the sound of Holly’s crying and the thunderous beating of my own heart. He collapsed, one knee and then the other giving out as he crumpled to the floor. With a sigh of relief, I wiped his blood from my face with the sleeve of my shirt.

Blood was warm on my hands, too warm, and it wasn’t mine. This time I didn’t care as much about taking a life. He’d come after me. And he’d wanted to take my own daughter from me. It was despicable. He got what he deserved.

The baby’s wails clawed at my resolve as I snatched her up, tucking her tightly against my chest. Her diaper bag, now refilled after I’d raided the nursery that she’d never sleep in, was on the floor. I slung it over one shoulder.

“Come on, Holly.” The name felt foreign even as it came out in a hushed plea. She was all that mattered now. “Shh, it’s okay.”

The words were drowned by the screaming child and the scream inside my head. It would never be okay. And we both knew it. Maybe she really was sick, or maybe this tiny little bitch was as ungrateful as her mother. Every cry was like a cut into my own flesh. I had no idea how much longer I could take her outbursts.

“I’m not going to tell you again. Shut the fuck up.” The whiny brat in my arms didn’t need to see a doctor. She needed discipline. Good parents didn’t put up with shit like this.

If my daughter didn’t start obeying me, I’d just have to punish her too.

24

The red and blue lights of Rebecca’s cruiser splashed across the facade of Hannah and Michael’s quaint island home as she brought the car to a skidding halt. Beside her, Vivianne’s hand was already on the door handle, ready for action. They were both hoping their hunch was right and they’d find Jared Venkman inside the home of the woman he was obsessed with.

Rebecca scanned the scene, her heart rate accelerating. “What the hell?”

Jared Venkman, their main suspect, was dragging himself into the front yard, leaving behind a smearing path of blood that soaked into the dormant grass like dark ink. He collapsed on his face as Rebecca watched.

The rookie deputy was out and moving fast, her training kicking in, and she spun to the trunk to grab the first aid kit.

“Dispatch, we need backup at the Blackwood house. And get an ambulance rolling, now!” Rebecca’s voice was calm but firm over the radio, belying the icy dread settling in her gut. “We’ve got Venkman here, and he’s seriously wounded.”

Had Michael or one of his family members returned to his house for some reason and had to defend themselves against Venkman? Or had someone lost their patience and gone after Venkman in a bid to seek justice?

“Copy that, Sheriff. Units en route.”

“Darby, head inside and look for the baby!” Rebecca shouted as she rushed toward Venkman. Vivianne tossed the first aid supplies to Rebecca and disappeared into the house, her silhouette swallowed by the shadows beyond the open front door.

Venkman heaved with the effort to breathe as Rebecca kneeled beside him, pulling on gloves. His skin was gray, his lips tinged with blue. Rebecca rolled him over so he was face up. Blood covered his entire torso and streaked down his pants to his legs. His nose was mangled, and he had blood on his upper lip.

“Mr. Venkman, can you hear me?” Though his chest pumped up and down, he wasn’t getting enough air. She located the source of the bleeding, a nasty puncture wound just left of the sternum. Right near his heart.

Shit. How close?

“Stay with me, Jared.” Rebecca didn’t bother searching for the safety scissors once she saw the dark-red hole in his shirt. Grabbing it with both hands, she ripped it open. Blood continued to pulse out of the wound, but there were no air bubbles in it. At least his lung hadn’t been compromised, although internal bleeding may have put too much pressure on the lungs for them to draw breath.

Rebecca slapped her nitrile-covered palm over the wound. “Who did this to you?”

His mouth opened, but only a weak gasp escaped.

From his dilated pupils and shallow breathing, she knew he was on borrowed time. Yet she still needed answers.

Pulling a chest seal from the kit, she tore open the package with her teeth while maintaining as much pressure as she could with her hand. Moving as fast as possible, she applied it to the wound. One corner was unsealed. In case of sucking chest wounds, where the lung was punctured as well, it would allow air out but not in. “Mr. Venkman, can you hear me? Where is the baby?”

Rebecca leaned closer, her ear almost brushing his lips, hoping to catch any fragment of a whisper that might offer a clue.

But though his lips moved, the only sounds that came from him were the shuddering breaths that fought to escape his punctured chest. The patch wasn’t helping, so she pressed down with both hands again.

“Boss.” Vivianne leaped from the porch, racing back to them. “There’s no one inside. But there are signs of a fight. Blood all over the dining room and entryway. No baby. Nothing but a brand-new mess and what I think are missing diapers, bottles, and formula.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Who did you fight, Mr. Venkman?”

It appeared he was trying to swallow or clear his throat, but the effort overwhelmed him, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Dammit,” Rebecca muttered. “Darby, get back on the horn. Update the BOLO. Clearly, we don’t need to be searching for Venkman.”

“On it, Boss.” Vivianne was already reaching for her radio. Though her voice was steady, her hands trembled.

Knowing that keeping her active would help calm Vivianne, Rebecca quickly added to her command. “Once you do that, help me take care of our victim. He’s our best chance of knowing who did this to him and who has the baby.”

“Got it.” “We need to keep him from bleeding out until the paramedics get here. I’ll keep pressure on the wound. Call in the BOLO update.” Rebecca leaned forward to use her bodyweight on the bandage.

Vivianne cued her radio and called in the BOLO update.

Questions swirled through Rebecca’s mind like a puppy chasing its own tail. What happened here? Had Venkman been targeted? A partner in the abduction? Or had he simply figured out who attacked Hannah and killed Ivy, and instead of calling it in to officials, tried to take matters into his own hands. Revenge had clouded the minds of many fine people.

If Venkman wasn’t the one responsible for taking the baby, he was at least their best lead to finding who did. Though the attacker had grabbed the diaper bag and car seat, it was possible they weren’t terribly concerned with the infant’s well-being.

How long could a baby survive on their own? She knew they ate several times a day, and all that eating was liquid. Would a baby dehydrate within a day?

She considered the presence of human traffickers in the area. That was always a grim reality that lurked at the edge of their peaceful community. After all, the island had been targeted by traffickers once before.

A nanny or babysitter might unwittingly be caught in the middle, having been hired by a madman to care for a newborn without ever knowing their true parentage. There were so many possibilities. And their only lead was bleeding out on the lawn.

The flashing lights of another squad car illuminated the area where she and Vivianne worked. Deputy Jake Coffey’s tall frame unfolded from the passenger’s seat, with Frost close behind. They moved with purpose, their strides eating up the distance to where they were administering first aid.

“Boss.” Jake kneeled beside Venkman’s body. As Rebecca continued to lean on the wound, Vivianne moved to check the man’s neck for a carotid pulse. “What’s the situation?”

Vivianne’s skin was stark against the midday sun. “I think…I think he’s gone. I can’t…” Her voice broke.

“Let me check.” Rebecca’s fingers sought the rhythm of life at Venkman’s neck, the stillness beneath his skin confirming Vivianne’s fear. “No pulse. Let’s start CPR. We still need answers, and I’m not letting him go ’til we get them.”

25

No amount of CPR will fix a wound like that.

Rebecca watched as the ambulance disappeared down the road with Venkman’s lifeless body, lights flashing and siren screaming. Despite there being no real hope, she knew the paramedics would keep trying.

With three cruisers parked out front, they had three forensic kits staged around them and six cameras. Jake and Hoyt had already walked the scene outside, taking pictures of everything while Rebecca dealt with Venkman.

She turned to face them, noting the tight line of Jake’s jaw beneath the shadow of stubble. No one had taken a minute for themselves since they’d gotten the original call. “We all need to pray Venkman makes it because he’s our best chance at finding the baby.”

Jake scanned the scene. “We do know a few things, even if you weren’t able to get any information from him. That’s his car parked in front. Turns out it’s a rental, which we found when we ran the plates. Rental agency confirmed who paid for it. But there’s no sign of a car seat. Or any of the other things you’d need for a baby. Not even a bag. It doesn’t look like he intended to bring the baby here safely, if at all.”

“Can we even assume he would know how to care for a child?” Hoyt’s thin face was lined with skepticism. “He could have been driving around with the poor kid lying on the floorboard for all we know.”

“We know Venkman had a full nursery dedicated to the child he was trying to conceive with Hannah when they were married. If he had the child, I think he’d know what to do.” Rebecca picked up the camera she kept stored in her glove compartment. “If he didn’t bring Hannah’s baby here, then where? Did he leave them alone somewhere?”

“A newborn wouldn’t last long on their own.” Hoyt pulled his hat off, slowly dragging his hand through his hair.

“Stop.” Rebecca pulled out her phone and started doing an internet search for answers. “We can’t afford that kind of thinking. When Hannah wakes up, she needs to believe her baby is alive. We all need to believe that. That’s what will pull us through this. And we all know how quick rumors can spread, so don’t so much as think the Blackwood baby is dead.”

Hoyt jammed his hat on his head and nodded, chastened. Jake shifted uncomfortably beside him. Worry creased his brow, broadcasting the uncertainty looming over all of them. But despair was a luxury they couldn’t indulge.

She popped open the kit, pulling out the personal protection equipment she’d need for what came next. “Let’s focus on what we know and gather evidence with a level head. And let’s keep a little optimism, okay? For everyone’s sake.”

“You got it, Boss.” Jake took in everyone as he spoke. “But looking at all this cumulatively, we need to consider Venkman didn’t take the baby at all. The thought process leading us here might be right, but maybe we had the wrong person in mind.”

“In that case, did Venkman confront our kidnapper?” Vivianne bit her lip, thinking. “What’s our next move considering that?”

“We reexamine everything.” Rebecca pointed to the house and walked toward it, followed by her deputies. “Every detail matters now. We have to rethink the original attack without Venkman as our suspect. And consider how that might change what we see inside.”

Pausing to pull on booties she’d grabbed from the forensic kit, Rebecca pointed at the temporary doorknob they’d installed just yesterday. “Check for tampering.”

At the tech’s nod, she stepped across the threshold, taking in the disarray that greeted them. The front door was spattered with crimson droplets that came from inside, layered over the footprints from yesterday.

From the blood trails, Rebecca surmised that Jared had still been walking when he reached the door and only fallen somewhere in the grass. That was where the droplets ended and the large smears began as he dragged himself along the ground.

“Clear signs of a scuffle,” Jake noted dryly as he stepped inside, wearing the required protective gear. He pointed to the cracked dining room chair knocked off-kilter and leaning against the table with a streak of blood in the shape of a hand. The chairs on the other side had been knocked over and were nearly hidden by a table that had fallen on top of them.

“Looks like it spilled into the dining room.” He lifted a camera, the flash illuminating every detail in harsh relief.

“Ya think?” Hoyt drawled wryly, joining them inside, with Vivianne right behind him.

Jake twisted his lips as if he was thinking hard. “I could be wrong. But yeah, that’s my working theory right now.”

“Keep an eye out for anything else that might look out of place.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, glad Jake’s humor was relieving some of the tension for Hoyt and Vivianne. They were both jokesters normally but hadn’t been able to smile at all since they’d started this case. “One good thing about this scenario is that, if Venkman caught our real suspect off guard, we have a good chance of finding his prints, hair, or blood.”

As she moved into the dining room, Rebecca took in the scene. The red-and-green holiday tablecloth was askew. Blood smeared its embroidered edges. It was clear most of the fight had taken place in the area between there and the kitchen.

The drywall was cracked, as if someone had fallen hard against it. Vivianne stepped up and snapped pictures of that.

Rebecca shifted into the sparsely furnished living room, where the original crime had forced techs to remove the couch. A stain on the lone loveseat caught her eye. She crouched down to take a closer look and recognized the smell right away. Baby spit-up. She’d played with little Mallory Hudson enough times to identify the familiar scent.

“The baby is still alive. They were here.”

Vivianne rushed over. “What? How do you…” She stopped when she spotted the spit-up that Rebecca was marking. “That’s great news.”

“It is. Knowing the baby is alive and still on the island is the best damn news we’ve had on this case.” She cued her radio and updated Elliot, asking him to double the patrols at the marinas and the bridge. Knowing the baby was close gave Rebecca a spark of hope.

“Well, that’s…not what I expected.”

Rebecca turned to see what Hoyt was looking at. He was standing where the tile met the carpet of the front room. The forensic team had removed sections of it the day before, but that and the old blood were the only things that stood out to her.

Going for a better look, Rebecca stepped beside him. Rocker, tables, loveseat, the marks on the carpet where the couch had been, bookcases…it all looked normal to her. She was about to open her mouth to ask when it hit her.

Between the knocked-over furniture and the blood spatter and smears, a fight had clearly happened in there. The contrast was jarring when she looked at the front room. That space was serene, untouched by today’s violence.

Why would they have avoided that room? Perhaps the dried blood had made them squeamish. Had one of them wanted to return to the scene of the crime but steered clear of their previous violence?

Her eyes narrowed on a framed photo on the mantelpiece. It was set down in such a way no one in the room would be able to see it. Not something someone would do on purpose. And it hadn’t been that way when they’d processed the scene yesterday after Hannah had been hurt.

Crossing the carpeted area, she picked up the picture. It was a silver frame holding an image of Michael and Hannah smiling, frozen in happier times on their wedding day. Bizarrely, she recognized it.

“This same picture was smashed at the Walkers’ beachfront home. Why just hide the image here? Why not smash this one too?” The incongruity nagged at her, a puzzle piece that refused to fit.

Just then, the CSI team arrived, their kits in hand, ready to dissect the scene with scientific precision. “I need prints on this picture frame.” Rebecca handed them the frame she was studying. “Check if there’s anything recent.”

“Another framed picture? Does this guy have a thing for pictures or what?” A younger tech she hadn’t gotten to know yet walked over, carrying a small evidence bag.

“Someone does, at least.”

“Anything else you want us to prioritize?” Another tech joined them.

“Focus on any surfaces that would likely be touched during a fight. Tables, walls, furniture edges, anything that could’ve been used to stabilize or defend.” Rebecca stared at the rocking chair with its smooth curves. “Also check for other body fluids. I found spit-up on the loveseat. Might as well check for urine and saliva too.”

“Spit-up?” The voice belonged to Justin Drake, a tech in the Coastal Ridge forensic department. He walked in, setting his cases down. “Was the baby here today?”

“Until we get that tested, we won’t know for certain. But it’s definitely spit-up from a baby, and it’s pretty fresh. DNA testing will tell us if the baby is Hannah and Michael’s.” Rebecca turned a slow circle, trying to make sense of the fresh scene of destruction. “That’s why I want as much evidence as I can get to point me in the right direction.”

“You heard the lady. She needs us to tell her where to look. And there’s a baby out there waiting to be found. Let’s do this fast and thorough.” Justin raised his voice as more of his coworkers continued to walk in. He smiled at Rebecca. “We all know what happened. And we’ll do everything we can to reunite the baby with their family.”

“Thanks, Justin. Frost, Darby,” Rebecca called over her shoulder, not needing to look to know they were absorbing every detail of the chaos around them, “we need to consider the sequence of events here. Assuming Venkman is not the kidnapper, we still know he stalked Hannah. He could’ve been watching the house and seen something or someone come in.”

“Venkman might’ve wanted to save the baby too,” Frost interjected, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Played the hero.”

“Exactly.” Rebecca narrowed her eyes, trying to picture the fight. “So he interrupts our kidnapper, who is here for the same reason Vivianne hypothesized earlier.”

“No one is looking at the house,” Vivianne confirmed.

Rebecca nodded at her. “A fight ensues, both parties unprepared for the confrontation.”

“Either way, it doesn’t bode well for the baby.” Vivianne scanned the scene, her dark eyes reflecting a depth of concern that Rebecca knew mirrored her own.

“Right, but remember Hannah’s attack.” Rebecca kept a close eye on her two deputies, checking to see if they would push back on what she was about to say. “The lock wasn’t tampered with. Hannah either let them in, or they had a key. Venkman’s prints have only been found on the outside. With his obsession, I’m sure his prints would have shown up inside as well if he had a key. So it’s not Venkman.”

“Poor Hannah. All these people fixated on her.” Vivianne looked a little sick.

“Someone close to her.” Frost narrowed his eyes. “Someone she trusted.”

“Which is why you two need to pay Michael another visit.” Rebecca decided it right then and there. “Ask him who else had access to keys. Who could copy one without raising suspicion. We asked him before, but he’s had time to think since then. Since both of you know the victim, you both go. He might need some hand-holding to think straight.”

“Should we let them know we’re looking at someone else?” Vivianne asked.

“If you need to.” Rebecca frowned. Venkman was on his way to the same hospital where Hannah was fighting for her life. “Try to keep the information sharing to a minimum, though. Whoever this is…they’re close with the family.”

“Got it. We’ll question Michael again. Carefully.” Hoyt turned for the door, weaving his way through the techs, who were already hard at work.

26

Vivianne watched the waves, dark and calm, march one by one toward the bridge and disappear from sight. The rhythmic clunk of tires on the expansion joints played the familiar beat that had always been like a theme song to her. One that told her she was leaving home and heading to the big city.

Beside her, Hoyt’s jaw was set in a hard line as he drove them off the island.

Her phone pinged with a message from Rebecca. Venkman’s dead.

She couldn’t bring herself to have an ounce of sadness for the man as she relayed the news to Hoyt.

“I’d never wish ill on anyone.” Hoyt ran a hand through his hair, a gesture betraying his frustration. “But considering what I’ve pieced together about Jared Venkman, it’s a relief he’s out of the picture. Hannah’s well rid of him. Michael seems like a stand-up guy.”

“I know. Did you read my report after I talked to Ivy?” Vivianne’s throat constricted as she thought about her friend’s sister and how she died.

“I did.” Hoyt’s voice was deep and filled with even more pain than Vivianne’s thoughts.

She glanced over at the older man, noting the deep wrinkles around his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were so close to Hannah’s family.”

“I’ve known ’em for years.” Hoyt cleared his throat. “Ronna and Robert have been fixtures around here since the nineties. They were new parents then. Angie and I were newlyweds ourselves. Hannah and Ivy were still little and trying to get used to living in a small town.”

Vivianne shifted in her seat, turning to face him. She’d gathered that he knew the Walkers well, but this was her first chance to talk to him about it.

“Robert and I hit it off over our mutual appreciation for no-frills beers and anything that floats, be it bobbers or boats. We spent a lot of time together. Angie and I…I guess you could say we looked up to them. When Angie was pregnant with Zach, Ronna answered all her questions. They came to our baby showers. So did the girls.”

“Sounds like you were almost family.” Vivianne tried to remember if she’d ever noticed Hoyt hanging out at the Walker house. Hoyt had been such a staple in her childhood that seeing him around town hadn’t really stood out. But she thought she would have noticed if he was at the Walkers’. Then she realized that Hannah’s parents rarely had other adults over. Most of their socializing was done outside the home.

“Almost. We joked that the girls were our starter kids. Our trial run before we had our own.” A wistful smile crossed his lips. “As the Walker girls grew up, Angie and I had two toddler boys. We saw less of each other. Life gets busy. You start hanging out more with the parents of your children’s friends. Things shift. You must have stepped in right around the time Ivy and Hannah hit their teens.”

“Right around then.” Vivianne’s mind wandered to her high school days. The camaraderie, the whispered secrets between classes, and the protective circle the two teens had formed.

“Angie and I were just starting out, building a life.” Frost rubbed his eyes. “Those were different times. I want to say they were simpler times. But they weren’t. Things were…well, you know what it was like back then.”

Vivianne knew exactly what he was talking about. That was when the Yacht Club had been in its heyday. Boats were constantly coming to shore. Parents didn’t let their kids hang out on the beach after dark for fear they’d get picked up or see something they shouldn’t.

Which, of course, had made it that much more tempting. She and Hannah had snuck out fairly often, more often than not just to hang out on the beaches where rumors of nefarious happenings swirled.

Maybe for Hoyt it hadn’t been simpler times, but it had been for Vivianne. She hadn’t really worried about anything except having their nighttime hangouts broken up by the adults or Ivy. Wallace had been sheriff. Her mom had been the dispatcher. And Vivianne had a police scanner she took with her so she’d always know when they were coming and could leave before anyone showed up.

“Once the boys were older, we’d do our best to hang out with Robert and Ronna in the evenings. The bar scene never really appealed to us, so we’d meet up elsewhere. Usually on the beach. Drinking beers and just talking about everything. Watching the stars and the boats in the distance.” Hoyt gave her a smile. “You know how that goes.”

Vivianne laughed, realizing their late-night escapades hadn’t gone as unnoticed as she had once thought. She’d been so certain the scanner would let them know if anyone was coming. But of course, Hoyt had a private life and wasn’t reporting his movements over the radio when he was off-duty.

It was obvious to adult Vivianne, but back then she’d been too wrapped up in her own life and the lives of her friends. They hadn’t given much thought to anyone else. Especially not the adults. They were parents, after all, and boring. Parents never did anything exciting.

She wanted to scold her younger self’s arrogance and shortsightedness now. That childhood innocence had blinded her to a lot of things. Vivianne looked at Hoyt, really looked at him, and saw him not just as a senior deputy or the man who made her hot chocolate at the station or her mom’s friend but as a man with a life and friends of his own.

Remembering how the case involving her old teachers gave her fresh insights into their lives, she was embarrassed it had taken her this long. Rebecca had warned her then. And she had listened. But she hadn’t truly understood the admonition until now. Everyone had their own life, one they didn’t share publicly. Especially not with kids like she’d been. People she had grown up thinking she’d known…she hadn’t, really.

And still didn’t. Not until she could see them without the filter of her childish memories.

Ronna and Robert were parents going through the worst times of their lives. One daughter was dead, another was still unconscious and gravely injured, and their grandchild was abducted. Tears welled up in Vivianne’s eyes as she started to understand the immense layers of hidden pain she’d been shielded from her entire life.

She glanced at Hoyt, wondering how much he was still hiding. A sob broke loose, and she pressed her knuckles against her lips, turning to look out the window.

A calloused, familiar hand pressed against the back of her head.

“It’ll be okay, Vivianne. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of talking to Ronna and Robert.”

A memory rushed back. Her first Sadie Hawkins dance. She’d asked Jimmy Blake to be her date. He’d said no. At the time her heart had been crushed. She’d been so embarrassed she’d gone to the station and hidden behind her schoolbooks so no one could hear her cry. Deputy Frost had offered to take her out for a drive so she didn’t have to sit in the stuffy station while waiting on her mom.

He’d made a joke about how doing paperwork, the work version of homework, made him want to cry too. She’d broken down then, and he hadn’t said a word. Just let her cry it out on his shoulder while he patted the back of her head. They’d never talked about it afterward. But they’d gotten ice cream.

Another sob tried to break free, but she clenched her jaw.

He was still trying to shield her. To protect her from the pain of the job…of the world. He’d be hurting, too, having to talk to his old friends, people he’d known for as long as she’d been alive. Breaking the news that their primary suspect was dead might leave the family feeling hopeless and desperate.

Vivianne dashed away the tears. “No. It’s okay. I can do this.”

“I know you can.” Hoyt gave her one final pat on her shoulder. “But you don’t have to. You can stand back and watch how it’s done. You’re still a rookie.”

“My probation period’s over. I need to learn how to do this on my own.”

They drove on in shared reflection, the only sound the occasional squawk of the police radio and the whisper of wind slipping through the partially open window as the tires hummed over the grid plating. The bridge gave way to solid ground, and the hospital loomed ahead, its sterile white walls a stark contrast to the vivid hues of the sky.

“You know, Hannah and I didn’t even like each other when we first met. I was always envious of her good looks.” Vivianne twisted her fingers together. “Her pretty blond hair that would blow in the wind. She always had boys who wanted to be with her. The same boys who were too scared to be my friends because Mom worked for the cops.”

Vivianne leaned back into the passenger seat. The irony of envying Hannah because of the boys she attracted wasn’t lost on her now.

“Envy has a funny way of blinding you.” Hoyt’s eyes looked even sadder, and Vivianne wondered if he was thinking about Robert Walker. Had he envied the man? It would make sense, she realized with a start. Robert was about a decade ahead of Hoyt and Angie when it came to having children and navigating that world.

“Doesn’t it just?” She shook her head slightly. “But once I got to really know her, Hannah’s got this…this heart of gold. Always looking for the best in people. Sometimes more than they deserve. That was why people wanted to be around her. Not just because of her looks.”

“That’s Ronna’s influence, no doubt.” Hoyt navigated a gentle curve before the final approach to the hospital grounds. “She always had that same soft spot for the underdog. And Ivy was pragmatic to her core, like Robert used to be. He and I could talk about life as fathers and husbands for hours, him laying out the practicalities while I was still learning how to balance a badge and a baby bottle.”

“Sounds like they were good anchors for you.” Vivianne flexed her fingers and rested her hands on her duty belt, the metal of her handcuffs cold against her skin.

“Anchors, life preservers, the lot of it.” Frost’s tone held a deep-seated gratitude. “Ronna never turned away from a soul in need, even when I was at my lowest. Robert, he had a knack for cutting through the noise, offering up advice that stuck with you.”

“Hannah and Ivy had some strong role models growing up.” Vivianne took a deep breath, remembering how Hannah would complain about her mom always lecturing her.

“Without a doubt.”

“Hannah’s going to make it through this. She’s got the sort of strength that doesn’t show until it’s tested. She’ll be a great mother because she has all those qualities, kindness, resilience, seeing the good in people.”

As they approached the hospital, the island seemed to contract around Vivianne, making the web of connections tighter, denser, even as the sheer scope of the case expanded in her mind. It was a small community where everyone knew everyone else. Or thought they did. But the secrets hidden in plain sight could fill volumes. That dichotomy, the small yet immense nature of their home, weighed on her.

“Life’s never simple, is it?” She kept her gaze fixed on the hospital. If she looked at Hoyt and saw his pain, she’d start crying again.

“Simple left town a long time ago.” Hoyt steered the cruiser into the hospital parking lot.

Vivianne braced herself for what was to come. “Time to break the news about losing our primary suspect.”

“Let’s do it.” Frost pushed open the car door. “But after this, I’m going to need some ice cream.”

Vivianne smiled, wiping away tears he couldn’t see. “My treat this time.”

27

Rebecca sat in the driver’s seat of her cruiser, the door open as she listened to the hum of activity while the crime scene was bagged, tagged, and recorded. There were so many techs it formed a sort of white noise, allowing her thoughts to focus on the puzzle at hand. The vehicle’s heater was running, keeping her feet from freezing while she used the on-board laptop, writing her report and trying to figure out how everything fit together.

They still hadn’t figured out how the killer had gotten into the house the first time. Who could have a copy of the key or might have been able to convince Hannah to open the door to them?

Michael had been cooperative, as had the Walkers and Blackwoods. Except for Michael’s brother, Charlie Blackwood, who was still allegedly out fishing.

Lance Davis walked past, and Rebecca flashed her headlights to get his attention.

“Did you need something, Sheriff?” Lance walked closer.

Rebecca leaned out the open door. “Yeah. You said there were no signs of picking the lock. Did you find anything else that might tell you how the lock was bypassed?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. No heat or friction damage from a bump key. No scrapes. Just the normal amounts of wear and tear you’d expect from a key being used over a couple of months.”

“Okay, thanks. I just wanted to double-check and make sure I hadn’t missed anything.” Rebecca slumped back into her SUV.

“On that same note…” Lance took a few steps closer, his expression troubled. “You said that Charles Blackwood was a known visitor, and we should ignore the fingerprints of anyone who had a reason to be in the home, right?”

“That’s right. Why do you ask?” Rebecca frowned. “We still haven’t been able to get you his prints so you could rule him out. He’s out of state, and we haven’t been able to get ahold of him.”

“That’s true. But we didn’t need that. When we ran the prints we collected from the house, we got a hit on him.”

Rebecca straightened, nearly hitting her head on the door frame. “You did? How?”

“That’s what I wanted to run by you. The brother has an arrest record. I don’t remember everything, but one was drunk driving. No felonies. Still, we were able to match him that way. And Charles isn’t his first name. It’s Chandler Blackwood.”

Lance leaned against the front of her SUV. “We had to do a bit of sleuthing, tracking his old addresses, to make sure he was actually the brother in question. Neither Charles nor Charlie is listed on any official documents. I wanted to make sure you knew about that, since I’m sure you tried looking him up under the wrong name.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Rebecca was both grateful for his diligence and impressed. She made a mental note to reach out to his supervisor to let them know about his excellent work. “Thanks, Lance.”

“No prob, Sheriff. I’ll get back to it now.” He patted the SUV and started to turn away, then paused. “By the way, we found his prints on his brother’s and sister-in-law’s keys. We haven’t had them under a microscope to check yet, but he could have made molds from those. Which would explain why there were no signs of forced entry at either house, and the locks we examined at the lab didn’t show signs of tampering.”

“Both?”

“Hannah had a spare key for her parents’ house on her keychain.” With that final bit of information, Lance headed back to his work.

Rebecca turned back to her laptop, typing in the brother’s real name, Chandler Blackwood.

The search results flickered onto the screen, revealing a history speckled with encounters with the law. Two DUIs were listed within the past decade, painting a picture of recklessness. More concerning was an arrest for assault, along with a petty shoplifting charge. Each instance was a breadcrumb, possibly leading to something larger, something more sinister.

Why wouldn’t Michael mention his brother’s run-ins with the law? Maybe Michael was unaware of his brother’s darker side, or perhaps there was an unspoken pact of silence between the siblings. And why hadn’t he mentioned his brother’s legal name?

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she pondered the implications and what his possible motive could be. If Chandler, aka Charlie, had the opportunity to copy the key during his visit, it would have been easy for him to slip inside undetected. And if he was hiding something, what better cover than a fishing trip with no fixed return date or location? One that his brother knew about ahead of time that would provide an alibi without the police ever talking to him directly.

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor, where the social media profile of one “Charlie” Blackwood loomed. There wasn’t much. She focused on the personal data in his account profiles to learn about jobs, relationships, and so forth. She noted his employment at a hardware store in Norfolk.

She fished out her phone and dialed the number listed for the store.

“Norfolk Hardware. How may I help you?” The voice on the other end was brisk, the sound of clanging metal and muffled conversations in the background painting a vivid picture of the bustling establishment.

“Hello. This is Sheriff Rebecca West from Shadow Island Sheriff’s Office. I’m looking to speak with Charlie or Chandler Blackwood. Is he available?”

There was the slightest pause. “Charlie? No, ma’am. He’s on vacation.”

“Did he happen to mention where he was going?” Rebecca’s focus remained fixed on the screen, her mind turning over each possibility as it presented itself.

“Ah, not really. He just said he needed some time off for a fishing trip with friends. He’s on the schedule for next week, though.”

“All right. Thank you for your time.” Rebecca hung up.

Returning to the glow of the computer screen, Rebecca scrolled through Charlie’s social media history. There were a few photos, some sporadic updates, and the usual barrage of birthday well-wishes that no one bothered to delete.

Her eyes narrowed as she found the announcement of Hannah’s pregnancy. It was a joyous post, but Charlie’s odd remark amidst all the congratulations and well wishes tainted it.

Hopefully the little one takes after you more than Mike. Beautiful on the inside and out and not just an overrated high school jock like my brother.

She sucked in a breath through her teeth. That comment held a bite, a hidden snarl in the guise of a smile. Why would he say such a thing? It could just be “boys being boys,” but it looked toxic to her.

Changing tactics, she switched to Hannah’s profile. Charlie was a frequent visitor, handing out likes as though they were candy. As she flicked through the photos, she began to see a pattern. He only liked the photos of Hannah alone, conspicuously ignoring photos of Hannah and Michael together.

Why don’t you like the pictures with your brother in them, Charlie?

She feared she knew the reason. “Creepy doesn’t begin to cover it.” Rebecca’s instincts as both law enforcement and a woman sensed the undercurrent of something darker. Charlie was hyper-focused on Hannah.

The most recent photo of Hannah showcased her baby bump, draped in soft sunlight. Charlie’s comment there was a red flag waving in a gentle breeze.

Can’t wait to welcome the new addition and grow my little family.

His words felt invasive, overstepping invisible boundaries. Hannah and Michael’s baby would be Charlie’s extended family. And if he was talking about extended, why would he say it was his? Or little?

Charlie Blackwood warranted a closer look. Rebecca reached for her radio before drawing her hand back. A conversation with her senior deputy over the radio might be overheard by members of the Blackwood family. Instead, she pulled out her phone and dialed Hoyt.

“Yeah, Boss? Did something happen?”

“I’ve been digging into Charlie Blackwood’s background and his recent activities. Something doesn’t sit right. It turns out his real name is Chandler, and not Charles. Also, he has a record, including a charge for assault. I need you to lean on the family a bit more about him. See if they truly believe he’s gone fishing or if that’s just a convenient alibi. And check to see if anyone went with him.”

“Got it. I’ll push them on it.” Hoyt’s voice got quieter, and she wondered if he was walking up to the family now.

“Thanks. Keep me posted.”

Rebecca was about to revisit the social media profiles when her phone vibrated again, this time with Rhonda Lettinger’s number flashing on the screen. “Hey, Rhonda. Did your crew find something while canvassing the island?”

“Nothing yet. And I just touched down on the island with some additional personnel. Bring me up to speed on the case.”

“Good timing.” A wave of relief washed over her. “Our original victim’s sister was attacked and killed. Our main suspect was also killed in the first victim’s house. We’re now looking at the husband’s brother, who was supposed to be out of state, but we haven’t been able to verify his alibi. He’s got a criminal past, so I’m wondering what’s up with him. And we found evidence at the latest crime scene that the baby is alive and still on the island.”

“Damn, the aftermath from the bodies at the cemetery has been madness, but it sounds like it was even crazier here. Where do you want the extra folks I brought?”

“Knowing the baby is still on the island means we need everyone canvassing every nook and cranny. Your crew could help with that. Currently we’ve got a lot of empty houses from snowbirds where anyone could be hiding. Every minute counts, and we need to find that baby.” Rebecca was already picturing the lines of search widening across the quiet landscape of the island.

“Consider it done. I’ve still got your search pattern from the last time. We’ll join the people I sent earlier and start an immediate house-by-house search. The suspect could be constantly changing locations, so if we cover ground your people already have, I don’t mind. Do you have pictures of your new suspect? If he’s supposed to be out of state, seeing him in town would almost confirm your new theory.”

“I’m uploading pictures of him now. And of course everything else is in the case notes. I’ve made sure they’re all up to date.”

“That’ll make everything a lot easier.” A long breath crackled the line. “Damn, so your first suspect just got killed? You still at the scene?”

Rebecca looked out over the street in the direction the ambulance had gone. “Well, we’re not sure he’s dead, but he left here in an ambulance without a pulse, and his wounds didn’t look good. I’m still at the scene, but I can be available for whatever you need.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get started now and leave you to your investigation.” Rhonda’s voice was calm and determined. “We’ll find this baby.”

28

Hoyt ended the call, the screen of his phone turning black as he slipped it into his pocket. He focused on the huddled forms of Hannah’s family.

Beside him, Vivianne shifted her weight from one foot to another. “That was Rebecca? Did she have an update? Did they find something?”

“She learned that Charlie Blackwood might not be the innocent man Michael made him out to be. Let’s update them first, but then I have a few more questions for them.” Hoyt kept his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Can you pull up the criminal record for Chandler Blackwood?”

Vivianne nodded and pulled her phone out, typing as they started walking again.

Hoyt had not observed any suspicious behavior by the family members gathered at the hospital. If one of them had taken the baby, they’d run off frequently to tend to the baby’s needs, and no one had done that. And everyone basically had an alibi.

Clenching his fists by his side, he decided to share the news they had to the whole group instead of questioning the family members separately. Time was of the essence, and he needed to trust his instincts were right about these people.

As they approached, Michael looked up, searching their faces for any flicker of hope. Ronna and Robert were huddled together, holding each other’s hands. They stared at Hoyt with haunted eyes. Hoyt glanced around. “Michael, where are your parents?”

“My dad had a doctor’s appointment back on the mainland he couldn’t miss.” Michael ran his hand down his face. “They’ll be back later tonight.”

“When did they leave?”

Michael shrugged, glancing at the clock. “About ten minutes ago. No more than fifteen at the most.”

Hoyt nodded, relieved that the timeline eliminated the couple from possible suspects regarding the attack on Venkman. They’d need to double check the appointment, but that could come later.

He braced himself for the blow he was about to deal. The trio wasn’t in the waiting room where strangers might overhear the conversation, which might make things easier, considering what he had to do.

Before he could start, Vivianne stepped forward. “We found evidence that the baby is alive.” Everyone started talking at once, and Vivianne held up a hand to silence them. “We haven’t found the baby yet, but we do believe they’re alive. That’s good news that we all need to take in.”

Hoyt nudged Vivianne. If she was going to take the lead on this, she needed to get to the point.

Vivianne offered a small nod without looking at him. “That’s not all. We need to let you know that Jared Venkman was attacked in your house and was severely injured. Given the circumstances, we believe it’s connected to what happened to Hannah and Ivy and your baby. And that the suspect feels comfortable enough in your home to come back even after what they did.”

A collective gasp rose from the family, like air escaping a tire. Hoyt watched the realization settle in.

“Murdered? How did he get in my house?” Michael’s voice cracked, betraying his attempt at composure. “But how does that⁠—”

“We have a lot of questions and not a lot of answers, I’m afraid.” Vivianne paused for a moment, letting them digest the news about Venkman. “In light of this development, Jared Venkman is no longer considered a suspect. We need to consider the possibility that whoever did this knew Hannah, might even have been someone she trusted. Someone who could’ve gained entry without force. Did Hannah let anyone in recently? Or could someone have a copy of the key?”

Michael’s forehead creased with concentration. “No one. No one except family has been in the home. I’ve made sure of it. We didn’t have work done, no services, nothing. With Jared so focused on Hannah, we weren’t taking any risks.”

“Absolutely certain?” Vivianne persisted.

“Positive.” Michael’s response came with a weary finality. “Since the attack on Hannah and our baby…well, I’ve spent a lot of time going over everything in my mind. No one else came into our house. And I never lost my keys. Not even for a minute. Hannah never mentioned losing hers either.”

“Have you heard from your brother at all since this happened?” Hoyt tried to keep the question gentle, but it landed like a brick in shallow water.

Surprise flickered across Michael’s face, giving way to confusion. “No. Why? He’s on his fishing trip. I told you guys that.”

“Okay. Do you know what he’s fishing for? Or where exactly?” Hoyt probed gently. “I’m a bit of a fisher myself. If you know anything about his trip, I might be able to track him down.”

“Look, I don’t…” Michael’s hands fluttered in frustration. “Why does that matter? Shouldn’t you be out looking for my baby and the madman who did all this instead of asking me about fishing?”

“Because, Michael,” Hoyt was unfazed by the rising tension, “by your own admission, Charlie was in your home recently, and his alibi hasn’t been verified yet. Everyone else who has been in your home is here, at the hospital.”

The words hit Michael like a physical blow. “What are you suggesting about Charlie?” His voice climbed an octave in protest. “I trust my brother with my life.”

“Nobody’s accusing anyone.” Hoyt held his hands up. “We just need to eliminate him as a suspect. And we’re not able to do that without talking to him. With Jared Venkman’s death, we’re tying up any loose ends to make sure we don’t miss anything.”

“Great.” Michael spat out, the word dripping with sarcasm. “But he’s out of reach, no cell service wherever he is. We’ve known about this trip for months. We had a damn argument over it, since it was so close to Hannah’s due date.” His anger dissolved into a wistful sigh. “I wanted him here for her birth. Now, part of me is glad he’s not. At least he can be spared all this grief.”

Hoyt digested this information, logging it mentally alongside other facts of the case. His eyes remained fixed on Michael, capturing every nuance of emotion playing across his face. This was the grim dance of investigation. Each step deliberate, each question a potential lead or a dead end. And all of them loaded with emotional pain for the victims.

“Charlie deserves some happiness in all this madness.” Michael stared off into a distance only he could see. “He’s had a rough year and needed the time away.”

Hoyt watched Michael’s face, the creases of worry etched deeply around his eyes as they darted from Hoyt to the sterile hospital walls and back again. “A rough year? Does that have something to do with Charlie’s past criminal activity? And why you didn’t tell us his legal name is Chandler? You keep calling him Charlie.”

“What criminal history?” Michael’s voice was tinged with incredulity. “And I call him Charlie because that’s what he wanted to be called. Chandler is his legal name, but he hates it. Said it makes people yell ‘Bing’ when he introduces himself. I’ve called him Charlie for so long I didn’t even think about it. Are you sure you looked up the right guy? My brother’s never been in trouble with the law.”

“Maybe he didn’t tell you about it, but records show he’s been arrested a few times. DUIs and assaults.” Vivianne turned her phone so Michael could see what she’d pulled up, keeping her tone matter-of-fact. “Is that what made his past year so bad?”

Hoyt knew that if Michael hadn’t known these things about his brother, the information could rock the young man’s world. He’d struggle to reconcile it with the image he held of Charlie. But if he had known about his past, that would be evident in his reaction as well.

“I-I don’t know. He just said he was having a hard time. And it’s been going on for a while now, I guess. We don’t actually talk a lot, especially since Hannah and I moved.” Michael shook himself. “Even if he has a few DUIs, that doesn’t mean he’s capable of doing something so…so…” He struggled to find the words.

“Horrible,” Hoyt supplied quietly, acknowledging the weight of the accusation hanging unspoken between them. “I’m aware of that, Michael. Like I said, we just need to tie up loose ends. Part of that is verifying his whereabouts.”

“Charlie’s out fishing,” Michael repeated, as if clinging to the normalcy of the statement could shield his brother from suspicion. “With friends.”

“Good. Friends are good.” Hoyt nodded. “Can you give me their names and contact numbers? If we can confirm they’re all together, it helps us rule out possibilities.”

Michael reached for his phone and recited two names and numbers, which Hoyt jotted onto his notepad. “They’re my brother’s closest friends for the last couple of years now. I’ve never met them, but he’s gone on trips with them before. He gave me their numbers so I wouldn’t worry if I couldn’t get in touch with him.”

Hoyt noted the defensive tone in his voice. “Thank you, Michael. This is standard procedure. Nothing more.”

“Sure, standard.” Michael’s expression spoke volumes of the fracturing trust, the erosion of the world he thought he knew, replaced by the creeping possibility of betrayal lurking beneath the surface of familial bonds.

“Every detail matters,” Hoyt said softly, pocketing his notepad. “We’re piecing together a timeline, eliminating doubt. We’re on your side.”

Hoyt stepped aside with Vivianne, moving a respectful distance from the grieving family clustered in the sterile hospital hallway. He quickly texted Rebecca the names and numbers Michael provided, trusting her to run them down efficiently.

“Was it necessary to bring up Charlie’s past like that?” Vivianne chewed her thumbnail. “Michael is barely holding it together.”

Hoyt exhaled slowly, staring at the linoleum floor as he contemplated his approach. “I know,” he said at last, the weight of his decision evident in his tone. “But we can’t afford to overlook any angle, no matter how much it stings. He needs to understand that even family can have secrets. Clearly there are some things he doesn’t know about Charlie.”

“Still,” Vivianne countered, her eyebrows knitting together, “there’s a way to do things. That felt…harsh.”

“Harsh times call for harsh questions.” Hoyt lifted his head, meeting her eyes with a solemnity reserved for moments when the badge seemed more like a burden than an honor. “If Charlie is innocent, he’ll understand why I had to ask. If he’s not…” His words trailed off, leaving the unsaid implications hanging heavily between them.

Vivianne didn’t appear to be appeased, but she let it go. “I guess I understand.”

“Let’s get back to Michael.” Hoyt shifted gears as he turned back toward the family. “We need to dig deeper, find out who else might have had contact with Hannah or the house.”

Vivianne nodded, her expression hardening into a mask of professional focus as they rejoined the circle of strained faces. Michael’s eyes were red-rimmed, his posture deflated yet tense, like a man bracing against an unseen force.

29

Rebecca West picked up the phone and dialed the first number on the list Hoyt just sent her. Mick Billingham.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice crackled through the line, thick with suspicion.

“I’m trying to reach Mick Billingham. This is⁠—”

“Is this his whore calling?” The question was sharp, like a slap.

Oh boy.

“No, this is Sheriff Rebecca West of Shadow Island Sheriff’s Office. I need to ask Mick a few questions about a case I’m working on.”

“A cop. The friggin’ sheriff. Even better.” The woman on the other end exhaled a heavy sigh, her voice softening with concern. “What the hell’s Mick gotten into now?”

“I just need to verify if he’s on a fishing trip with a man named Charlie Blackwood.”

“Mick’s been gone a few days. Didn’t say where.” There was a pause, and Rebecca could almost hear the woman’s mental gears grinding. “Might be with Charlie. That guy’s bad news.”

“Can you tell me more about their relationship?” Rebecca scanned the notes she took earlier.

“Trouble,” the woman spat out. “He comes home reeking of booze, smokes, and cheap perfume. But I can’t confirm nothing. Mick’s a liar. Charlie probably is too.”

After asking about additional phone numbers and friends, as well as learning the model of his vehicle, Rebecca thanked her for her time and disconnected the call. She made a note next to Mick’s name. Unverified.

She then dialed the next number. Trey Witzel. After two rings, a man answered.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mr. Trey Witzel?”

“Who wants to know? I’m not buying shit⁠—”

“This is Sheriff Rebecca West from Shadow Island. I have a few questions regarding Charlie Blackwood.”

“Charlie? Haven’t seen that mess in months.” Trey’s tone was dismissive, tinged with disdain. “We used to work together, but I quit. I couldn’t stand the guy.”

“Weren’t you scheduled to be on a fishing trip with him right now?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. Like I said, I haven’t seen that asshole in months.”

“Do you know if he had a favorite fishing spot? A place he liked to go that was maybe off the grid?”

“First, if Bing liked to fish, that’s news to me. Second, I don’t think that douchebag could be away from technology to take a trip off the grid. He was always on his phone scrolling through people’s social media posts. Like a damn teenage girl, if you ask me.”

They’d already attempted to track his phone, but the device wasn’t powered on.

“Did you spend much time with him outside of work?” Rebecca pressed.

“Sure. Some of us would go out for a few drinks after work sometimes. But the guy’s an asshole. Pathetic, really.”

“Pathetic how?” Rebecca leaned forward.

“Obsessed with some married woman. His own brother’s wife. In fact, that’s whose social media he scrolled most of the time. Can you believe that?” Trey’s voice held a mixture of amusement and contempt. “I can’t hang out with a guy like that. Some things you just don’t do. Ya know? I’ve got a brother myself, and the thought of him doing something like that…”

“Indeed.” Rebecca typed furiously. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Witzel.”

She hung up, her mind racing. Charlie Blackwood’s alibi was unraveling thread by thread, each call shedding light on the man’s character. Or lack thereof. And it proved what she’d noticed from his social media comments. The man was infatuated with Hannah.

Rebecca’s fingers moved swiftly over the phone’s screen, her thumbs tapping out an urgent message to Hoyt. She chose her words with precision, knowing that what she conveyed could change the tide of their investigation.

Charlie’s alibi doesn’t hold up. He isn’t with Mick or Trey. There’s more—apparently, he’s been fixated on Hannah.

Rebecca knew all too well how rumors spread like wildfire in their small community. Discretion was as vital as the evidence itself. That and she didn’t want Michael acting out once he learned about this new wrinkle. Grief could do all kinds of stupid things that would hinder an investigation.

Having two bodies drop so close together, and so soon, also meant she’d have no forensic help from the medical examiner yet. There was almost no way the autopsies had even been started. Still, she sent a message to Bailey, asking to be updated as soon as possible, even with preliminary findings.

The phone vibrated with a succinct reply from Hoyt acknowledging the information. Rebecca pocketed the device, satisfied Hoyt would keep the intel close to his chest until they had more to go on.

A glance at the clock told her it was time to check in with Coffey. She picked up the radio.

“What’s the status?”

“Hey, Sheriff. We’re coming up dry. But we’ve got a ton of new boots on the ground. And that makes a hell of a difference. They’re all out knocking on doors, questioning locals. The whole nine yards. We won’t rest until we find that baby.”

“Good work. I’ve uploaded a photo of Charlie Blackwood to the case file. He might also go by the name Chandler Blackwood. Keep an eye out for him. His story is full of holes, and he might be more involved than we thought.”

“Understood, Sheriff. I’ll circulate his photo to the team and local businesses. We’ll canvass without using his name so nothing gets back to the family. We don’t want them going rogue. Anything else?”

“Stay sharp, and report any sightings immediately.” Rebecca rapped her knuckles against the dashboard.

“Roger that.”

With the call ended, Rebecca stood, noticing the CSI team was finishing up.

Three short beeps sounded from Rebecca’s phone. Her timer. Even though she’d just checked the timer, she was surprised when its alarm sounded. Twenty-four hours since the baby was taken. And all they had so far was two murdered adults, one gravely injured woman, a missing baby…and motives Rebecca couldn’t decipher.

30

Hoyt pocketed his phone with a grim set to his jaw. The conversation with Rebecca had done little to ease the tension in his gut. He and Vivianne were tucked into the corner of the hospital waiting room, opposite where Michael and the Walkers were sitting. They’d moved to this area after delivering the news earlier but had found a quiet spot to huddle.

He turned to Vivianne, who was watching him with an expectant look in her deep, dark eyes. “Rebecca’s got something new. We need to talk to the rest of them. It’s not looking good for Charlie.”

Vivianne shifted her weight, her shoulder-length black hair swaying slightly. “Are we sure we want to open that can of worms without solid evidence? It could just be a misunderstanding, Frost.”

He rubbed the back of his neck as the responsibility weighed on him. “I know, but I believe in being upfront. The families trust us to keep them in the loop, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Transparency is key. I get it.” Vivianne crossed her arms. “But we can dig deeper into Charlie’s background without slapping a ‘murderer’ label on him prematurely.”

Before Hoyt could respond, movement at the edge of the waiting room caught his eye. The surgeon from the previous day, Dr. Nick Bryant, had come into the waiting room and walked to where Michael stood, waiting for him.

Hoyt waited a moment as the doctor started speaking animatedly to the family gathered around him. Their faces lit up with something akin to hope.

“Looks like they’ve got some good news.” Vivianne had a spark of hope in her voice as well.

“Let’s hope so. Come on. Let’s see what’s going on.”

They moved toward the family, ready for even a little bit of the relief that was settling into place. Dr. Bryant saw them coming and greeted them with a nod. He was no longer wearing his surgeon’s cap, revealing thick brown hair that was just long enough to form waves.

“Hannah has come around. She’s lucid and stable now.”

Hoyt caught the surgeon’s gaze, noting the sharp contrast between the man’s soothing eyes and the harrowing circumstances they found themselves in. It was a brief moment of human connection in the depths of the nightmare.

“We’re allowing family to see her, a few at a time. It’s important for her recovery that she not be overwhelmed, but as I’m sure you can appreciate, she also wants answers we just don’t have.” He gestured between Vivianne and Hoyt. “I’m hoping you two have something you can tell her to calm her down.”

Hoyt wished they did too.

He gave a curt nod, stepping aside with Vivianne to allow the family to go first. Michael pushed to the head of the group, walking right beside the doctor as he led them down the hall he’d just come from.

Michael rushed inside, followed by Hannah’s mother after a quick word with Robert. Hoyt lingered in the hall just to the side of the threshold to Hannah’s room. Close enough to overhear without intruding on the emotional reunion.

Through the open doorway, he watched Michael approach Hannah’s bedside with trepidation. Hannah was pale as a ghost, and her hair was a mess, but her eyes lit up when she saw Ronna and Michael.

Her hands were shaking, and tears threatened to spill over as Michael reached out slowly. When Hannah accepted his touch by leaning into it, he cradled her face in his palm, whispering words lost among the sterile beeps of medical equipment.

After a long, whispered conversation, Ronna moved in and kissed her daughter’s head, unashamedly crying over her.

“Where’s Ivy?” Hannah’s voice was frail but insistent, cutting through the hum of the room. “I could have sworn I heard her a bit ago.”

The question hung in the air, a specter that cast a pall over the faces of all present. There was no way Hannah could have heard Ivy talking in the waiting room. Robert took a deep breath, lifting his face to the ceiling in a silent prayer.

Hoyt’s throat tightened at the inevitable pain that would follow. Michael’s expression crumbled, and the words that tumbled from his lips were laced with a sorrow so profound it seemed to echo off the walls.

“She’s…she’s gone, Hannah.” Michael choked on the confession, his body racked with sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean? Where’d she go? When will she be back? She sounded so sad earlier. I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but I couldn’t talk.”

Dammit. Hoyt squeezed his eyes shut. That was why you never used euphemisms like “gone” when informing someone of a death. They confused next of kin who didn’t want to know their loved one had died.

Neither Michael nor Ronna could seem to find the words. They just looked at each other. Robert took a deep breath and started to turn, but Vivianne put a hand on his shoulder to stop him as she walked past him and into the room.

“Hannah, honey, I’m so sorry to tell you this. Ivy’s dead. She was killed. We think it was the same person who attacked you.” Vivianne’s voice was soft but firm. Hoyt wasn’t sure he’d ever been prouder of her. His little rookie had grown up.

Hannah’s reaction was visceral, her features contorting in disbelief and horror. Ronna hugged her surviving daughter, whispering into her hair while Michael held her hand, bent over the bed railing. Hannah babbled things, but the words were so choked with tears that Hoyt couldn’t make them out. Vivianne moved around the bed, taking her other hand.

In the hallway, Hoyt gathered himself, watching the tears pour down Robert’s face. He couldn’t afford to let emotions cloud his judgment, but he could still be there for his friend the same way Vivianne was. Leaving his section of the wall, he crossed to Robert, putting his arm around his shoulder.

They stood together like that, connected only by a small touch and years of friendship that didn’t need anything more to draw strength from. Inside the room the sobs slowed, and Hoyt could make out words again.

Michael cleared his throat. His voice was a frail shadow as he addressed his wife. “Hannah, Deputy Frost and Darby need to understand what happened…anything you can remember.”

Hannah’s red-rimmed eyes widened. “Charlie.”

Michael stiffened but didn’t say anything.

Hannah’s breath hitched, and she swallowed the tears. “It was Charlie. He had a knife. He…he attacked me. After I refused to leave you for him. He…” Her fingers twisted the hospital sheet, knuckles whitening. “He said if I wouldn’t go with him, then he’d take our baby instead.”

The room fell into an eerie stillness, punctuated only by the beep of the heart monitor. Michael was frozen, as if the very air had solidified around him. Words had abandoned them, leaving behind a void too large for Hoyt to fill with any reassurances or promises.

“Michael, Vivianne, where’s my baby? Is the baby okay? Did Charlie actually…?” Though Hannah could only whisper, everyone flinched as if she’d screamed.

Michael’s face, already etched with lines of unbearable pain, seemed to crumble even further. “We don’t know. We don’t know where Charlie is either. Are you sure it was him?”

Hannah’s body convulsed with sobs, a crescendo of despair that rocked through the room. “Yes, I’m sure. I looked right into his eyes as he cut into me.” The beeping in the room sped up as Hannah tried to push Michael and her mother away. “He took my baby from me. Out of me.” She fumbled with the sheets, trying to pull them off, but she was too weak to even untuck them from the edges of the bed.

“Honey, stop. What are you doing?” Michael tried to take her hand again, but she shook him off.

“I’m going to find my baby.” The beeps were screaming now in a nearly solid wail as she fought her mother, her husband, and her own weakness, attempting to save her child.

“That’s enough.” Dr. Bryant pushed his way in, his focus moving between his patient and the monitor’s threateningly high numbers. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. These police officers are the ones who…” He trailed off, clearly not wanting to say the wrong thing. “You need to rest. You need to get healthy so you’re strong enough to care for your baby once the little one’s in your arms again.”

Hoyt remained stoic, though every fiber of his being screamed to do something, anything, to ease their pain. But sympathy wouldn’t bring back the dead, nor would it find the missing.

With a glance at Vivianne, he signaled that it was time to withdraw. They’d heard enough. Somewhere out there, answers were waiting to be unearthed from the shadows of the island.

And at least he wouldn’t have to be Bad Cop, insinuating to Michael that his own brother had done this heinous thing. Hannah’s own testimony conveyed the truth for him.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you all to leave. Only one person can stay. She needs her rest.” A nurse pushed her way in, walking over to one of the machines and displacing Vivianne.

Whether it was the nurse’s announcement, or she’d just run out of steam, Hannah collapsed back against her pillow, her breathing slowing.

“Michael.” Hoyt called to him from the doorway, keeping his voice low but edged with the authority of his badge and the urgency of their predicament. “We need to find Charlie, and we need to do it fast.”

Michael’s bloodshot eyes met Hoyt’s, a flicker of confusion passing through them before settling into a grave understanding. He looked to Ronna for her consent for him to leave his wife’s bedside, and she waved him off. Reluctantly, he left Hannah’s side and joined Hoyt in the hall, with Vivianne following.

Hoyt spoke in a deliberate cadence, choosing each word with care. “During Charlie’s visit to your home, did you go anywhere on the island together? Was there any place he seemed to take a particular interest in?”

“Not really. We all stayed together. He never went off on his own. It wasn’t like a vacation where we went to do our own things. It was more like a housewarming party.” Michael’s gaze drifted away, landing on Robert, who was still leaning against the wall, staring after them.

“Think, Michael.” Hoyt took his shoulder, turning him away from Robert and catching his eye. “Did he say or do anything out of the ordinary? Mention he’d like to move here as well? Maybe he thought a house would make a good rental. Or maybe he talked about a boat he’d like to take out. Anything?”

After a moment, Michael’s expression shifted. “There was this one thing. Charlie left behind a bar of soap in the guest bathroom. It was still wrapped and branded with the Sunrise Cove Motel logo. It didn’t make sense. Why would he need a motel when our home is always open to him?”

The mention of the motel sent a jolt through Hoyt’s veins. Beside him, Vivianne stiffened. The Sunrise Cove Motel. A nondescript establishment frequented by tourists and transients alike. And owned by Nathan Warner, who never had a good thing to say about the police since Rebecca had taken over.

“Are you sure about this?” Hoyt prodded, just to make sure.

“Positive. Because I didn’t know the motel was local until I saw it a week later.” A dawning horror crossed Michael’s features. “I told Hannah about it, and we both thought it was weird. But it made more sense when we learned he’d taken up fishing. That was something new for him too. At least that was what he said. Now, I don’t know what to believe.”

“Is there anything else? Anything that might explain how he got into your house when there was no sign of forced entry?”

Michael’s eyes widened, and a sob escaped him. “Oh god. I did lose my keys once. But it was at the house. I thought I’d left them in my coat pocket the night before, but when I went to leave the next day, they were in a dish next to the front door. I never put them there. But they were there that day. I just assumed Hannah had done it.”

“Thank you, Michael. That’s very helpful.” Hoyt clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder, a gesture meant more for solidarity than comfort. “Stay with your family now. We’ll handle it from here.”

As he turned on his heel, Hoyt experienced a surge of momentum and reached for his radio.

This was it. The lead they needed to blow the case wide open.

31

Rebecca’s people were running themselves ragged. But they had a missing infant, and no one was going to rest until that baby was reunited with its parents.

“Sheriff!”

Rebecca looked up as a CSI tech, wrapped in a sterile white suit, stood on Michael and Hannah’s porch. The suit obscured their identity, but whoever it was signaled for her to come over.

Concluding her task of updating the case file, Rebecca got out of the car and ran over. As she approached, the person pulled down their mask, revealing the familiar face of forensic tech Justin Drake.

“We lifted new prints from the scene. Both latent and imprinted in blood.” He frowned, looking at the bag in his hand. It was the same picture frame Rebecca had noticed set askew on the bookcase.

“Bloody prints?” Usually, getting caught red-handed was a metaphor, but sometimes the phrase was literal—catching the killer because their hands were still stained with the victim’s blood.

“We submitted the fingerprint photos to the lab, instructing them to do an immediate comparison with the Blackwood guy you mentioned. It’s a confirmed match. At least thirty-four points of comparison match up, which is really solid.”

That meant Chandler “Charlie” Blackwood was their killer. And he most likely had Hannah’s baby as well.

“And the prints aren’t just on this picture. We also found them on the inside of the door and a thumbprint of his with even more blood on the bottom of the table. And the creepiest part, we found several of his fingerprints on the family photos. Right next to your first victim’s face. Those were latent, so it took us longer to find them. But it should be more than enough for an arrest warrant.”

A surge of adrenaline hit Rebecca. She had her man, but she still had no idea where he was.

Justin grimaced. “It was like he was walking through the house pointing her out for some reason. Touching her likeness.”

An idea clicked in her brain. “Charlie Blackwood is obsessed with his sister-in-law. Geez, what if he was here showing the baby pictures of her mother?”

“Oh. That…” Justin pulled away. “That’d be messed up. Didn’t he try to kill her?”

She looked around the house, the little bit she could see from the porch. Nothing here had been damaged. Not even the pictures showing Hannah lovingly hanging on Michael. “He left her gutted and bleeding out while her arms and legs were still tied. I doubt he cared about her survival. But it’s anyone’s guess what his real intentions were.”

“I think consent is pretty important in most surgeries. So are painkillers. I’m going to go ahead and just say the guy’s a psycho.” Justin gestured to his bloodied protective gear. “I’m so glad I only have to deal with the mess they make and never have to confront the ones who make the messes.”

Rebecca grinned at that. “Yeah. That’s my job. And the part I happen to like the most.” She started to turn around when a voice rang out from inside the house.

“Drake!” Another white-clad tech came shuffling over, the suit making schwicka-schwicka sounds in their haste. “Ah, Sheriff, you’re still here. Good. I just found this in the garbage can of the guest bathroom.” The tech held up a clear, plastic evidence bag. Inside was a clumsily wrapped used baby diaper.

Most experienced parents, or child minders of any kind, would carefully fold and roll a diaper, then use the side tabs to keep it closed. This one was mangled and crumpled, with one of the tabs sticking straight out the side.

“Looks like you were right about him bringing the baby here.” Justin made shooing motions at her. “Go find that baby. We’ll keep working and call if we learn anything.”

Turning away from the noise of the group of techs working inside, Rebecca ran back to her car. Once she was clear of the noise, Rebecca raised her radio to her mouth.

“Boss, you got your ears on?” Hoyt’s voice came through before she could cue her mic.

“I’m here, Frost. And I’ve got an update.”

“Me too.”

“We’ve got an ID on our culprit. It’s Chandler Blackwood, aka Charlie Blackwood. We’ve got a match on the prints. Charlie Blackwood left fresh, bloody prints in the house that are roughly two hours old. We need to move fast.”

“That lines up with what Hannah said. She identified Charlie as the attacker.”

“She’s awake?” Rebecca’s heart lightened.

“Weak but awake and lucid. The family is shocked. No one knew about Charlie’s police record, and no one suspected him. But the last time he visited his brother, he had a bar of soap from the Sunrise Cove Motel.”

Rebecca jerked to a stop at her car door. “Our Sunrise Cove Motel? The one on the island, I mean?”

“Sounds like it. I’ve lived in this area my whole life and I think I’d know if there was another place with the same name. It’s a bit of a stretch to be a coincidence.” Hoyt snorted, his disbelief clear over the radio waves.

“And I⁠—”

“Don’t believe in coincidences. I know. Neither do I, not when they’re this big,” Rhonda’s voice cut in, showing she was following along the conversation on the radio as well. “If he went there once, he might go there twice.”

Rebecca wasn’t so sure. “Having a screaming infant in an old hotel with thin walls sounds risky to me. Maybe that had been his first plan, but he’d gotten spooked by how loud a newborn can be. That could be why he holed up at the Walker’s…”

It was coming together.

But still, she had to look.

“I can’t imagine he’d take the risk of taking a newborn back to a hotel, but it’s always possible. Desperate people do desperate things.” Rebecca studied the house she’d found soaked in blood two days in a row. One thing she didn’t want to do was converge team members to one spot unless absolutely necessary. They needed to cover as much of the island as possible. “You and Darby get back on the island as soon as you can. I’m going to head over to Sunrise and check this out.”

“You want some backup, Sheriff?” Jake butted in.

“I can spare a man or two to follow you out there, Sheriff,” Rhonda offered.

“Not yet. One of us can get in there quieter than a bunch of us. Let’s stay spread out so we can cover as much of the island as possible, until we know we have stronger indications of his location. You keep an eye on the bridge in case he runs for it, Coffey. Rhonda, keep going door to door in case this Sunrise lead doesn’t pan out.”

“What about me, Boss?” Locke joined the conversation.

“Keep doing your searches of the nonresidential buildings. Check every potential hideout on the island. Guesthouses, hotels, boats, store bathrooms. Stay alert for the sound of a baby crying. Ask around. We need eyes and ears everywhere. This is just one possibility. If he’s at the motel, I’ll call in all the cavalry. I promise.”

“We’ve heard that story before,” Vivianne’s voice came through, filled with sarcasm.

It was immediately replaced with Hoyt’s. “And last time you said you didn’t need backup ‘just to check’ a location where we thought kidnap victims were, you ended up with a bullet in your vest. And I had to play interim sheriff while you were out on admin leave.”

“And I returned those girls unharmed to their parents that night. Let’s hope for a similar result today.”

Still, he was right.

She’d driven out in the middle of the night to check on an address. While looking for anything that might tell her where the three kidnapped girls were being held, she’d been ambushed by the human trafficker.

That situation ended with a shootout. Which she’d won. The memory of pulling the trigger, twice, to save the girls surged through her. At the time, she’d known it was a necessary evil. Later she’d regretted it, tired of constantly needing to kill to save lives. The irony was not lost on her.

But now, Rebecca was done with regretting things she’d done or that had happened to her. She turned on the SUV and backed away from the Blackwood’s house. It was time to focus on the future.

32

The baby’s wails echoed through the dimly lit room, bouncing off the walls and burrowing into my skull. I clutched her tiny body close to my chest, even as my heart constricted with panic as beads of sweat formed on my brow.

I couldn’t believe how little this child appreciated all I’d done for her. She was getting on my last nerve with her incessant whining. Nothing was ever enough. Just like Michael.

“Shut. Your. Damn. Mouth.” I swung her back and forth, trying to quiet her while my mind raced in a thousand directions. The memory of Ivy’s lifeless eyes stared back at me from the shadows.

And down will come Ivy, cradle and all…

Jared Venkman’s bloodied corpse haunted my thoughts. It was never supposed to be like this.

“Dammit, you need to stop crying. What more could you want? You’re never satisfied. I’m starting to think you’re just a selfish little bitch.”

But Holly kept screaming, not one iota of concern for the darkness consuming my life. I sped up my rocking as my thoughts raced.

I didn’t want to kill anyone. I liked Ivy, but it was necessary. I had no choice. And that last guy…Hannah’s ex-husband, Jared. From what I knew of that guy and how he’d tormented my Hannah, he was just another creepy Jared, like the famous spokesperson who’d ended up behind bars for pedophilia.

I’d convinced myself that raising Hannah’s child would complete my life. She’d be my future and also a link to my past. We were going to be so happy together. Never did I imagine I would have to drive a knife into another man’s chest just to protect my little girl.

How many more lives would I have to take before this nightmare was over?

“Dammit, why won’t you stop crying?” My hands shook as I held her, fearing that at any moment the world outside would hear her cries and come rushing in. Being a dad wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Of course, I hadn’t thought I’d be doing it alone. I honestly thought Hannah would make the right choice.

Goes to show you can never really know someone.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to calm down, setting her on the bed so she wouldn’t squirm so much. I tried to think. She was driving me insane, always fidgeting, giving me no chance to collect my thoughts and find a way out of this for us. Shaking my hands, I tried to work out the stiffness from having clenched them so many times.

“Look, I know you’ve had a rough start to your life, but you need to stop complaining and demanding things.” I scooped her up, lying on the bed and placing her on my chest, once again parroting actions I recalled from wholesome television shows with perfect families.

As if sensing her imminent punishment if she didn’t start obeying me, her cries finally subsided, her trembling lips a sign that she finally understood me.

“I’m going to figure this out,” I murmured, more to myself than the baby.

The baby’s soft breaths filled the room like whispers of hope. With her tiny body sprawled across my chest, her rapid heartbeat was in harmony with mine.

Wasn’t this how babies bonded with their mothers? Perhaps if she stayed swaddled against my chest, she’d come to think of me as her mother. How many more days would it take before the familiar cadence of Hannah’s heart would be replaced with the beat of my own?

I was desperate for her to get some sleep because I needed to rest. Perhaps a nap would allow her to recover from the exhaustion that had painted dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Only a few minutes had elapsed before her cries pierced the silence again like a siren. Frustration and anger warred within me as I tried to shut her up, rocking her and attempting to feed her with shaking hands. She was far needier than I’d ever imagined. Selfish to the core, just like Michael.

“Stop crying,” I commanded through gritted teeth.

But her wails grew louder, each sob a gut-wrenching reminder of our precarious situation. I was drowning in a sea of fear and uncertainty, every second pushing me closer to the breaking point.

“Stop it!” I growled, anger bubbling beneath the surface. “Can’t you see I’m trying? Why is nothing I do good enough?”

And in that moment, the weight of my actions bore down on me, suffocating me with the knowledge that I’d brought this darkness upon us both.

“Shit.” Hot tears streamed down my face. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

I looked out the window, desperate for any sign of relief from this growing dread. A couple strolled by, their intimate laughter only mocking me further. Their eyes met mine for a moment, and I yanked the curtain closed, my heart pounding.

“Please,” I hissed, my voice cracking. “I’m begging you. Just be quiet for a minute.”

But the world outside didn’t care about our struggles. The sun kept shining. The birds kept singing. And those damn people out there kept walking and laughing. They didn’t know how close Holly and I were to the edge, teetering on a razor-thin line.

“Fuck!” The word burst from me as the baby’s cries reached a fever pitch. “What the hell do you want from me?”

In that instant, the cold grip of fear tightened my chest. What if I couldn’t keep her quiet? What would happen then? My mind raced through every horrifying possibility. Discovery. Capture. They might…they might take her away from me if they thought I was a bad father.

Unable to bear the weight of it all, I shuddered. I knew there were other reasons they might take her, but I couldn’t stand to think about them anymore.

I’d done what I needed to do. That didn’t mean I had to spend the rest of my life beating myself up over it. Done was done. I needed to focus on my new life as a single dad.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re gonna figure this out. Sooner or later you’ll realize I’m all you need.”

As I held her close, her tiny body trembling with each wail, I knew there was no turning back. The consequences of my actions had brought us to this point, and now I needed to face them head-on.

But no matter what, I would keep her with me, even if it meant sacrificing everything.

33

The late-afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Sunrise Cove Motel as Rebecca’s SUV rolled into the parking lot, stirring up a thin cloud of dust. She caught sight of a couple standing by their car, loading luggage into the trunk. Maybe they’d seen something.

She rolled down her window. “Excuse me. I’m Sheriff Rebecca West. Have either of you heard a baby crying recently?”

The man glanced at his partner before turning back to Rebecca, nodding slightly. “Yes, we did. From one of the rooms, on this side. But I couldn’t tell which one it came from. It was pretty faint.”

“Thank you.” Rebecca drove up to park next to the motel’s entrance. She surveyed her surroundings, but nothing stood out. She waited a moment, hoping to hear the sound of a baby. There was nothing other than the couple pulling away in their car. Not even the seagulls were out and about right now.

Inside the lobby, the air was stale with the scent of old smoke and pine cleaner. Behind the reception desk, Nathan Warner leaned back in his chair, a cheap ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. He didn’t look up as Rebecca approached.

“Mr. Warner.” She greeted him curtly. She flashed her badge briefly, all business. “I need to know if you’ve had any guest check in with a baby in the past couple of days.”

Nathan finally looked up, his expression souring. “That’s none of your business, Sheriff. What happens here is confidential.”

Rebecca pursed her lips and fixed the motel’s owner with an icy stare. “Nathan, I don’t have time for your bullshit, so cut the crap.”

He dropped the pen he’d been twirling, and she fought to keep a smile from her lips. She had his attention, at least.

“I’m aware that Deputy Frost paid you a visit not too long ago and tried to reason with you in his own way.” Nathan’s eye twitched as he did everything he could to avoid looking at her. “I need you to look at a photo. Plain and simple.” She held up the picture of Charlie. “This is Charlie Blackwood. Have you seen him? Are you going to cooperate?”

“Way I see it, I’m under no obligation to help you.”

“Really? I think ‘obstruction of justice’ has a nice ring to it. You really don’t want to push me on this. I can have cuffs on you before you can finish swallowing.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as he swallowed hard. “Sheriff, that sounds like a threat. I could have your badge⁠—”

“Can it, Nathan. Forget ‘obstruction of justice.’ That doesn’t carry enough jail time. You know what sounds even better? ‘Aiding and abetting.’” She waved the picture in front of his face. “The man I’m after has killed two people and kidnapped a newborn. By not cooperating, you’re helping him, and that makes you just as guilty of his crimes. Now, you’re going to look at this photo and tell me, honestly, whether you know the guy.”

Sweat beads formed on Nathan’s balding head, but he stuck out his chest in a failed attempt to look unfazed. “As I said, you’re in danger of losing your badge if you keep pushing me.”

Rebecca set the photo of Charlie on the counter and slid it in front of the motel owner. “Funny thing, Nathan, but your motel is known for not having any security cameras. I always thought it was a glaring oversight, but I guess it suits the clientele you cater to. And here you’ve been blustering about the sheriff’s office not being transparent.”

He scoffed. “Whatever.”

She leaned over the counter and pointed to her uniform shirt. “The department requisitioned body cams, but they haven’t come in yet. So anything that transpires here is going to be your word against mine. Are you a betting man, Nathan? Do you think the people of Shadow Island will take your word over mine?”

“Tha-that’s…are you threatening me? That’s illegal.”

“Suddenly you’re an expert on the law. I’m exhausted, and I’m trying to find a missing baby.” She dropped a hand to her weapon. “This is your last chance to cooperate, or I’m going to forget I’m an upstanding sheriff.”

Nathan’s facade cracked. He glanced away, then back at the photo, nodding ever so slightly. “Yes…yes, I’ve seen him. The man in this picture…he’s here.”

“Go on.” Rebecca’s heart rate quickened.

“He checked in under another name, brought no baby, but…there’s a car out back. A black sedan with a gray interior. He’s in room 211, and I think he’s there now. There’s no one in the rooms around him.” Nathan’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he cast a nervous glance toward the door. “But please, Sheriff, don’t turn this into a circus. I can’t have this motel’s reputation tarnished.”

Rebecca bit back a laugh. A reputation for what?

She held out a hand. “Keys.”

He muttered a few curses, his shoulders shrugging up to his ears. “Only got the once.”

She stared at him hard, hoping to see some glimmer of a lie. “If I learn anything different later, your ass is mine.”

He held his hands out in front of him. “I’m not lying. I swear.”

He better not be.

She nodded curtly and turned on her heel, stepping outside into the crisp beach air. Her hand went to the radio attached to her shoulder.

“All units, I’m calling in the cavalry. Charlie Blackwood is in room 211 at the Sunrise Cove Motel.” She peered through the glass wrapping around the motel lobby. Nathan was getting up from his seat, slinking away to the back to hide. “And I haven’t even shot anyone yet. Come in quiet. We need to keep things calm. He’s attacked everyone who’s run into him, and I don’t want him getting violent with the baby in his care.”

She received an immediate crackle of acknowledgment from Jake.

“Copy that, Sheriff. ETA less than two minutes.”

“I’ll wait for you to get here before I engage, Coffey.” Rebecca put her hand on her gun, unsnapping it.

As she waited for backup to arrive, Rebecca kept her focus locked on the balcony, her mind racing with the gravity of what lay ahead. It was time to bring a baby back to their mother and ensure that justice was served…preferably with no one getting shot. But she was making no promises.

34

Though it was almost too faint to hear, the unmistakable wail of an infant carried through the door to room 211. Rebecca had turned down her radio and checked the other two windows, just to make sure the cries were coming from the room Nathan had told her Charlie was in.

This room was the only one with the curtains pulled tight. Rebecca pressed her ear against the door as her backup took their positions.

She thought she could make out a man talking disjointedly. The baby’s cries were also sporadic. And soft. So soft Rebecca was concerned. Moving away, she pulled out her phone and typed a quick message to Hoyt, telling him to dispatch an ambulance to their location.

Hearing the tiniest sound of metal on metal, Rebecca turned. Jake was standing at the corner of the building. He’d walked up without making a sound and was quietly announcing his arrival by tapping his watch against the railing.

Rebecca walked slowly and silently to talk with him, keeping an eye on the door the whole time.

“How do you want to do this, Sheriff?” Jake jerked his head toward room 211. “I counted four cars besides Nathan’s in the parking lot. One has a baby blanket on the floor of the back seat and is parked behind the dumpster. The top floor has thirty rooms. Same on the bottom. That’s good odds no bystanders will get hurt.”

“I thought about that while I was waiting. I think the best bet would be to try to coax him out. Jared and Ivy walked in on him, probably surprising him. That was when he attacked.” She glanced back at the room. “He hasn’t gone after anyone, as far as we can tell, unless he thought he was defending himself. Even his assault charge was because he thought the other guy was going to attack him. He simply attacked first.”

“So he thinks he’s a good guy but won’t hesitate to use violence to get what he wants? Then I should stay back.” Jake gestured to his uniform and full belt. “Guys like that tend to see me and think they have something to prove. Having a woman approach him would be better.”

Rebecca was impressed with his insight. “Best bet would be to have someone he knows or relates to. He may not see me as a threat, but he’s not going to relate to me either.”

“Keep all your weapons out of sight and try to smile?” Jake shrugged. “I’m not going to look at you and believe you’re harmless, but maybe Charlie boy will.”

That was pretty much the same thought she’d had. “If you see any chance, grab the baby and run. I’ll handle Charlie.”

“Where do you want me?”

“You can stand next to the door, out of sight.” She cued her radio and whispered instructions. “Locke, take up a position at the rear of the motel to cut our guy off if he gets past us. Darby, get up to the second floor. I want you here with a battering ram. And Frost, you’re with me and Coffey.”

Her radio chimed with a chorus of muted “Roger.” Within moments, her team was assembled. She assessed everything before contacting Elliot. “Dispatch, request backup from Agent Lettinger and a few of her people at Sunrise Cove Motel. We need to make sure our suspect doesn’t slip through any cracks.”

“Copy that, Sheriff.”

Vivianne, Jake, and Hoyt were all ready for her instruction. “If we’re trying not to spook him, it would be best to start with one person. Then as he sees more people arrive, he’ll understand that the longer it goes on, the more danger there will be.”

Each of the deputies bobbed their head in acknowledgement.

When Rebecca turned and made her way back to 211, Jake prowled behind her in a duck walk as they got closer so he wouldn’t be visible through the windows. Vivianne moved to the other side of the door and crouched beneath the window to the neighboring vacant room.

Rebecca walked to the side of the door with the hinges while Jake stayed on the handle side. Swinging the door in on Charlie while he was holding an infant wouldn’t be a good idea, and that limited their options to get inside.

Pulling her gun, she kept it tucked out of sight behind her back.

She looked down the walkway to where Frost waited, within easy earshot but out of sight of the window. He offered a tip of his hat. Jake gave her a nod and rapped sharply on the wood. Silence answered, followed by another spike in the baby’s cries, shriller this time.

Rebecca knocked again. “Charlie Blackwood, this is Sheriff Rebecca West of the Shadow Island Sheriff’s Office. I’d like to talk to you. Can you open the door, please?”

Jake shifted beside her, keeping his muscles loose and ready to move in any direction at a moment’s notice.

“How did you…? Go away!”

“I can’t do that, Charlie. I need to talk to you.”

The baby gave a weak wail. “You’re upsetting the baby.”

“I don’t want to upset the baby, Charlie. I want to help you with the baby.” Rebecca used the same tone she would when soothing a skittish dog or cat, trying to convey that she wasn’t a threat. “The baby sounds like they have a good set of lungs. Can you tell me if they’re a boy or a girl?”

A shuffle came from inside, the faintest sound of life. Then Charlie’s voice, frayed but defiant, filtered through the door. “She’s a beautiful, healthy baby girl. She’s my baby girl.”

Rebecca could almost picture him inside, clutching the child to his chest. “That’s great to hear.” She opted for a coaxing cadence. “But as I’m sure you’re aware, newborns need to be checked out by doctors. They’re pretty resilient, but they’re also delicate. It’s standard procedure, Charlie.”

“She’s fine! She’s perfect!” He broke down into mumbling Rebecca couldn’t make out over the soft crying. “She just needs to sleep. Stop knocking on the door and let her sleep.”

Charlie sounded angry and possibly sleep-deprived, sending Rebecca’s already spiked adrenaline into the stratosphere. “I can’t do that. I’m not just a neighbor passing by. I’m the sheriff. It’s my job to help people in need. Let me help her, Charlie. Let me help you. The only way to be certain she stays healthy is to get her seen by a pediatrician.”

The metallic rasp of a chain being drawn cut through the infant’s whimpering, followed by the sound of furniture scraping along the floorboards resonating like distant thunder. Rebecca’s heart sank as she realized he was barricading the door. “Charlie, don’t do this.”

“Go away!” The voice that shot back was fraught with desperation. “I’m warning you! I’ll take her to the doctor myself. Just leave us alone!”

Jake stretched up, just a hair, trying to look in the window. He shook his head, indicating he couldn’t see a thing, despite the movement inside.

“Charlie, I know you don’t want to hurt her.” Rebecca kept her words measured, each one laid out with precision. “You’ve been taking good care of her. I can tell. But we need to ensure she stays safe and healthy.”

“Safe?” Charlie’s laugh was sharp, edged with hysteria.

Rebecca tried again, fighting to keep the terror from her voice. “Think about her future, Charlie.”

Silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the infant’s relentless cries. The tension was a taut wire, vibrating with the potential to snap.

“It’s not fair. She just keeps crying. Why won’t she stop? I did everything right.”

“Why isn’t it fair, Charlie?” Rebecca seized upon the word like a lifeline, willing him to see reason. “Talk to me. What’s not fair?”

“Everything!” His voice was a raw wound, naked pain spilling out. “Just…everything.”

Rebecca held her breath as she waited for Charlie to continue.

“Charlie, tell me about ‘fair.’”

“Fair?” Charlie’s voice was a broken whisper before it ascended into a crescendo of fury. “Michael, he always gets everything! His life’s a damn golden road!”

Rebecca hadn’t expected that answer. Was this all about Michael and not Hannah at all? “I had no idea. What has Michael gotten unfairly?”

“Everything!” Charlie spat out the word. “The girls, the grades, the jobs. He even got the looks. Do you know what it’s like to live in someone’s shadow your entire life? To see everything handed to them on a silver platter?”

Jake reached out with his left hand, ready to try the doorknob, so Rebecca raised her voice to cover any possible sounds.

“Charlie, I understand it’s hard⁠—”

“No, you don’t!” The interruption was fierce. “He doesn’t even try, yet it all works out for him. And Hannah…Hannah was just another trophy for him. But for me, she was everything.”

So he’d been envious of Michael his whole life but shifted the focus of his obsession to Hannah. “Tell me about you and Hannah, Charlie.”

“Me and Hannah?” A mirthless laugh echoed from behind the door. “There is no ‘me and Hannah.’ There never was. I wanted there to be. We didn’t even meet until their engagement party. I’d tried to stay away from him and his perfect life, but our parents forced me to come to the party.”

“That had to be difficult for you.” Rebecca kept her tone steady. This was a scared dog barking viciously because he was afraid to be hurt again. That was all. She just needed to coax him out.

“Difficult?” Another mirthless laugh. “You have no idea. It was clear that Hannah only had eyes for Michael. Girls like her, they don’t notice guys like me. They want charisma, charm, the easy smile, the piles of money to make all kinds of big romantic gestures. Michael has that, not me.”

“Is that why you wanted with the baby, Charlie? A connection to Hannah?”

“Yes.” Bitterness soaked his words. “I wanted something that was mine, something that tied me to her. But the baby’s just like him, isn’t she? Crying, demanding…reminding me that I’m nothing. She won’t even eat the food I give her! She just spits it up later.”

“Charlie, babies spit up. It’s what they do. That’s why I always give burp cloths at baby showers.” Rebecca tried to joke but was getting more agitated as she realized she hadn’t heard the baby for a while now. Her excessive crying could be indicative of dehydration, and her sudden silence was starting to freak her out.

From the way Jake’s face was creasing, he was also getting worried. A sideways glance toward Vivianne showed she was concerned, too, though Rebecca couldn’t be sure if it was for the escalating situation, her friend’s baby, or both. Rebecca turned to catch Frost’s gaze, and he nodded to signify he was ready for anything.

“It has nothing to do with who is feeding her. And you are something to her. You’re all she knows right now. But it might have something to do with her health. Does she spit up every time? We could get a doctor to check her out. Make sure her tummy is okay, and she’s able to drink properly. You have the chance to do right by the baby. To be the bigger person here. To be a good dad.”

There was a shuffling sound from behind the barrier. The faint wail of the infant cut through the silence that followed. Rebecca drooped with relief momentarily until Charlie screamed in frustration.

“Why are you crying now?”

“Charlie!” Fear clawed at her insides. “You’ve got to understand that babies cry. It doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It’s what they do when they’re hungry or tired or just need a little comfort. And sometimes they have problems with their ears or noses, and we can’t see what they really need. That’s why doctors check out babies before they’re released from the hospital.”

Behind the barricade, the shuffling ceased, replaced by a strained silence that reflected the gravity of the situation. Rebecca could picture Charlie inside, rocking on his heels, the lines of worry and anger etched deeply into his brow.

“Can’t make it stop.” His voice was ragged, the words slicing through the air, carrying with them the weight of a man teetering on the precipice of despair. “It’s supposed to be…it should have been different. Why does everything work perfectly when Michael has it but breaks apart when I try to get the same thing? It’s not fair!”

Breaks apart?

Rebecca’s eyes widened, and her hand tensed around the gun she was holding at low ready. Jake shifted, eyeing the frame of the window. Most likely wondering how quickly he could get through it, either the frame or the pane, to breach the room. Thankfully, Vivianne had the battering ram by her side, and Rebecca knew the deputy was eager to use it.

“What do you mean ‘breaks apart,’ Charlie?” She gripped her gun tightly, its cool metal an anchor in this tempest. “Tell me what broke?”

35

Hoyt’s hand rested on the railing as he waited two doors down from the suspect’s room. Vivianne was on the opposite side of Charlie’s room, poised to breach the door on Rebecca’s command. He strained to hear what Michael’s brother was saying to Rebecca.

“What do you mean, ‘breaks apart,’ Charlie? Tell me what broke?” Rebecca’s hand was steady, holding her gun at the low ready position.

“My grades were never as good as Michael’s. My girlfriends all thought he was better looking and cooler. Mom cried at his wedding! She’s never been so happy for me that she cried. But she did for Michael. Michael always gets what he wants.” Charlie’s words seeped through the thin walls, laced with a lifetime of envy and defeat. “Just this once, I wanted to get the good thing.”

Hoyt’s mind drifted to his boys, Zach and Adam. Zach, his oldest, was the quiet and studious type, but he had to work hard to get his grades. Adam, the youngest, had moved quietly through school, forming his own world. A wistful sigh escaped Hoyt’s lips as he recalled Adam’s graduation speech, the auditorium echoing with applause.

There’d been no such speech or applause for Zach, who had graduated three years earlier. Zach, who took longer strides on a path less trodden, found his own way off the island, living a better life than he had ever imagined.

Adam was single now, by choice, and focusing on his career. Zach had finally found a classmate he wanted to spend time with who was just as ambitious as he was.

The memories brought a certain clarity to Hoyt. He understood the complex tapestry of brotherhood. How it could be woven with threads of rivalry as well as loyalty. Both had confessed to envy over the years. After careful digging on his and Angie’s part, the boys had admitted their envy sprang from the admiration they felt for the other but were too embarrassed to admit.

But it wasn’t until after the boys were no longer living together under his roof that they finally got to know each other. When they no longer traveled in the same circles and had forged their own paths, their competition gave way to admiration.

Hoyt leaned over, catching Jake’s eye, then glanced up at Rebecca and bobbed his head. Rebecca turned to look at him and waved him over.

Walking slowly so his boots wouldn’t clomp on the balcony, Hoyt sidled up behind Rebecca, who turned to look at him. Vivianne rose from her crouched position, pressing herself tight against the wall and pulling her gun.

How’s it going? he mouthed to Rebecca.

She shook her head and shrugged.

Want me to give it a shot? As a dad? he mouthed again.

She nodded, stepping back so he could take her place. “Charlie, my colleague would like to talk to you.”

Hoyt rapped his knuckles against the flaking paint of the door, the same way he would have knocked on his kids’ bedroom doors. “Hey, Charlie. It’s Deputy Hoyt Frost. We need to talk.”

There was a beat of hesitation. “What is it? Why would I talk to you?”

Hoyt crossed his hands in front of him, trusting that Rebecca would protect him in case a gun was needed. He wanted his hands empty and ready to grab the child if necessary.

“Listen, Charlie, I know about family dynamics, about the push and pull between brothers. My sons…they’re different as night and day. But at the end of it all, they respect each other. They’re family. Family sticks together, Charlie. Even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts. Because that’s what family does. That’s why you’ve taken such good care of the baby. I was just talking with your brother.”

“What did he have to say?” The question was so hopeful that Hoyt thought he might actually have a chance of talking Charlie down.

“That he didn’t believe a word I was saying when I told him it was you who attacked his wife and stole his child. He defended you every step of the way.”

Hoyt waited for any sign that his words had struck a chord, hoping that somewhere within Charlie lay the same frustrated respect that had always simmered beneath Adam’s quiet exterior.

Charlie’s continued silence was a fortress, each brick laid with years of comparison and competition.

“He cares about you…a lot. He’s out there, right now, trying to hold everything together with Hannah. All he wants is the baby back so you can all be a family again. Like it’s supposed to be.” The statement hung heavy in the air, mingling with the distant sound of an infant’s cry that only accentuated the tension.

“Come on, Uncle Charlie,” Hoyt continued, deliberately using the familial title to remind him of his connection to the innocent life tangled up in this mess. “That crying you hear? That’s your brother’s child. Your niece.”

The standoff continued. Charlie’s reticence seemed nearly impenetrable, but Hoyt knew his fatherly patience could find the cracks.

“Everyone’s worried sick.”

After what felt like an eternity, the dam broke. “My niece is the sweetest little girl,” Charlie blurted out, the words erupting from a place of hurt. “A sweetie who looks just like her mama. Just what my brother wanted, right? Michael got what he wanted again. And as always, useless Charlie comes in second.”

Despite the anger lacing Charlie’s confession, the underlying pain was clear. It was the kind he had seen simmer between his own sons before they found their separate ways to stand tall. Charlie had never found a way to stand out on his own.

“All right, Uncle Charlie. That’s great.” Hoyt deliberately glossed over the vitriol in Charlie’s voice. “I always thought it would be amazing to have a daughter. But you know, life has its own plans. Instead, I have two amazing boys.”

He paused, allowing a brief chuckle to punctuate the tension like a release valve.

“And let me tell you, I wouldn’t trade Zach and Adam for anything. Not now. Not ever. They grew into amazing men. Before I had sons of my own, my close friends had two little girls. They were the sweetest things. I loved them like my own and had the pleasure of watching them grow up for about ten years before my own boys came along.”

Hoyt smiled as he said it, keeping his pain tucked away deep below the affable voice he was using. He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing but the soft whimpers of a baby.

“I’ve been doing this job long enough to know that life doesn’t hand out easy passes, especially between brothers. Michael cares about you. Wants you to have all the good things in life.” He let the words hang in the air, hoping they would penetrate the fortress Charlie had built around himself. “But I get it. It’s hard when it seems like he always gets what he wants.”

Rebecca nodded her encouragement, and Hoyt took a steadying breath. He wasn’t a trained negotiator and had no idea if his words were making a difference.

“It must hurt, thinking you’re living in his shadow. But something tells me you still care about your brother, despite it all. You want him to be happy, don’t you, Charlie? That’s why once you had what you wanted, you just left, instead of taking anything more from him.” Hoyt pressed his palm against the faded door. “You didn’t want to kill anyone. You just wanted to protect your family. Right?”

36

I slouched against the cold wood of the closet door, my breath hitching in erratic bursts. Through the barrier, the muffled voices of the cops bled in, their words undulating between coaxing and commanding.

“Charlie, do you want to protect your family? If so, just open the door.” Deputy Frost sounded so reasonable.

But what could I say to them? That I was too far gone? My chest heaved with grief, a torrential mess of regret and shame that no words could mop up. I hadn’t said a word in what seemed like hours. My tongue felt like it was made of stone—useless, heavy, silent.

Holly’s soft cries from her makeshift crib, a drawer padded with towels, was a painful reminder of my reality. I couldn’t give myself up. The thought was acid on my skin. That would mean handing over Holly. That was unthinkable. The baby represented everything pure and untainted. A stark contrast to the rot creeping inside me.

Images of Michael flashed before me.

His easy smile, the way Hannah looked at him like he hung the moon and stars. It gnawed at me, how effortlessly my brother skated through life, dodging the cracks that I stumbled into. If I had been given half the chances Michael had, I would’ve clung to them, cherished them. I would have worshipped Hannah, not taken her for granted like he did.

She only loved him because he gave her everything she wanted. A big house, a nice car, the perfect baby.

I only took one of those things. Why couldn’t I just keep the one thing I had for myself?

“Charlie, talk to me, buddy,” Deputy Frost persisted, his voice now laced with an edge of desperation matching my own. Perhaps in another life, we would have been friends, two guys shooting the breeze over a beer. But not here. Not now.

My fingers curled into fists, nails biting into my palms. This wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about being fair. About leveling the playing field. This was about showing that the world couldn’t always favor the lucky ones while the rest of us burned.

“How you doing in there, Uncle Charlie?”

“Can’t,” I croaked, my first syllable in forever, barely audible even to my own ears.

“What was that, Uncle Charlie?”

“I can’t do it,” I whispered to the empty air, to the baby, to the ghosts of my shattered dreams. “I won’t let him have it all. Not this time. It’s not fair that I have to lose everything just so he can have it all.”

The weight of my decisions pressed down on me, suffocating, unrelenting. I was a man cornered by his own actions, the consequences looming like vultures ready to feast. Desperation clawed at my insides, a feral beast with nowhere left to run.

Outside, the world waited for me to crumble, but inside, I was already broken.

“Charlie.” It was the woman again, the one who had first knocked on the door. I think she said she was the sheriff. “Life can really sucker punch you, huh?”

I pressed my back against the cold wall, a bitter laugh bubbling out of me. “You can say that again.”

“Oh, trust me, I have. I say it all the time. See, I lost my parents just a few years ago. Both of them. Killed in their own home. Overnight, I was made an orphan. I never had any siblings, so there was no one for me to turn to. Does that sound fair to you?”

Her story crept into the room, settling among the dust motes and the shadows. For a brief moment, I wasn’t alone with my grief. “What was your name again? I’m sorry. I forgot it.”

“My name’s Rebecca West. I’m the sheriff here.”

“Sheriff West, that doesn’t sound fair. What happened to you…it doesn’t sound fair at all.”

“That wasn’t the end of it, though. I also got beat up real bad. I landed in the hospital because I was trying to find the drug dealers who killed a man’s son. Then after that, my friend got into a nasty car accident. She ended up in a coma. I was beside myself with fear. She looked so weak in that hospital bed. So small and frail. Not at all like herself.”

The air thickened around me, charged with words unspoken and lives unlived.

“Bad things, they happen to good people all the time, Charlie. It’s a bitter pill, isn’t it?”

What could I do except nod along? The sheriff was right. I guess she would know more than most. She probably saw a lot of bad things. But it sounded like a lot of bad things happened to her too. Which seemed unfair, since she sounded so nice.

“Michael.” She said my brother’s name, and it broke into my spiral of thoughts. “Is he a good man?”

That question, so simple, so complex, stirred something inside me. Michael, with his easy smile and his perfect life. My throat tightened, and the answer was a stone in my mouth.

“Y-yeah.” The admission was a betrayal to my own pain. “I mean, he’s not bad.” She was right, the woman sheriff with the voice that knew too much pain. Right that Michael was a good guy, even if it burned to admit it. But she didn’t get it. Not really. Nobody did.

“You’re not bad either, Charlie. You’re a good person, and you can make a good choice here. Open the door.” Her tone wasn’t accusing. It was almost gentle, probing at the edges of my resolve.

But I didn’t want to think about that. I couldn’t think about that.

Her words hung there, suspended in the stale air, a lifeline or a noose. I couldn’t tell which. But I knew this much—the story I was writing now was one of desperation. And desperation didn’t lead to happy endings.

My gaze flicked to little Holly, her eyes mere slits. I blinked back tears, hot and stinging. My chest felt like it was caving in. I couldn’t just hand her over, let her slip through my fingers like everything else good in this damn world.

Holly scrunched up her eyes, like she was gathering all the strength her tiny body could hold. I knew that face. I knew what she was about to do.

The baby squirmed, and I put my hand firmly over her mouth. “I’m sorry.” My throat hurt from yelling the words.

Her shrieks vibrated against my fingers.

I was too scared to press, too scared not to. What was I doing?

“Shh, Holly, please.” I pleaded through clenched teeth, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm. My fingers pressed down a little bit more. “I’m so sorry.”

The air was getting thin, or maybe it was just me. Consequences were knocking, ready to burst through the door along with the intruders. But I’d be damned if I wasn’t writing the last line of this chapter on my own terms.

Her eyes glared up at me, just like how Hannah had glared at me when I’d cut Holly out of her. Like mother, like daughter.

“I’m so sorry.” I forced the words out again. This was as useless as it was necessary. It was a confession, a prayer, a farewell.

Desperation clawed at me, and I knew one thing for sure. There was no escaping the consequences. Not for Michael. And not for me.

37

The wail of the infant cut off abruptly, followed by a bellowed, “I’m so sorry!” Then a chilling silence swallowed the cramped motel balcony where they all huddled.

Rebecca’s pulse throbbed in her ears, an ominous drumbeat against the quiet. “Charlie, what are you sorry about? Why did the baby suddenly stop crying like that? Is she okay?”

Hoyt moved up next to Rebecca, pressing his ear hard to the door. Vivianne and Jake did the same at the window. Only the man’s sobs answered her. The baby stayed silent.

Vivianne and Jake shook their heads. They couldn’t hear the baby either.

“Charlie!” Rebecca nodded to Vivianne, who slammed the battering ram into the door. It barely swayed. “Is the baby okay?”

Somewhere in the distance, the long cries of an approaching ambulance sounded, swiftly growing stronger.

Charlie hadn’t said a word or offered any resistance or threats. Rebecca was certain she knew what he was doing. And they needed to get the door down in time to save the baby.

Hoyt grabbed the other handle of the battering ram and joined Vivianne in one mighty swing. The door bowed but remained on its hinges.

“What the hell is going on up there? I told you to keep it quiet!”

They all ignored the motel owner.

With a heave fueled by desperation, they swung the ram forward. The door’s frame splintered with a resounding crack, hinges protesting until they gave way and the door burst open with a thunderous bang. It fell, but not flat, landing on whatever Charlie had used to attempt to block their entrance.

Rebecca’s senses went into overdrive as she crouched out of the way, letting Vivianne go first while she covered her. Vivianne balanced on the middle of the fallen door, bracing her shoulder on the frame, then jumped the rest of the way.

The baby’s cries pierced the tense air, a sound both relieving and heart-wrenching. “Darby!”

“The baby. On it.”

“Coffey, Frost, clear the entrance.”

Vivianne moved farther inside. Rebecca followed immediately, getting her first glimpse into the motel room.

She scanned the dimly lit space, finding the tiny figure on the bed. The redness of her face stood in stark contrast to the pale imprints of fingers over her mouth and lips. Evidence of a perilous grip. The blanket she was wrapped in was layered in smears of dried blood. On the floor in the back corner of the room, a car seat was lying on its side, discarded.

Charlie Blackwood sat crumpled by the side of the bed, his head bowed low.

Vivianne scooped up the baby, turning immediately to rush back to the door. “None of this blood looks to be hers. She doesn’t have a speck on her.” She paused by the debris pile that Hoyt and Coffey were clearing. Quicker than Rebecca would have thought possible, the obstructions were gone, and Vivianne darted out the door and thundered down the stairs to the waiting ambulance.

Rebecca didn’t see what happened after that, but she could hear the paramedics barking instructions. Flashing lights scattered through the room from the open door.

Charlie lifted his head, eyes rimmed with red and haunted by his actions. Dried blood was matted on his clothes, streaked and splattered down his sleeves. There was a dried patch wiped across the unbroken skin of his face. Someone else’s blood.

His voice broke as he spoke, a tremor of regret shaking each syllable. “I couldn’t do it, Sheriff. Please tell Michael I’m sorry. I just wanted something good in my life.”

Rebecca held his gaze, reading the turmoil within. It was a look she had seen too often in her line of duty. A mixture of despair and fear when reality hit like the harsh island wind, leaving raw truth exposed in its wake.

Her pulse hammered in her ears as she stood over Charlie. She drew her handcuffs with practiced ease, the metallic click punctuating the heavy air. “Chandler Blackwood, you’re under arrest.”

He offered no resistance as she secured his wrists behind his back, his defeated eyes never leaving the floor. Rebecca nodded to Jake, who began reciting the man’s Miranda rights.

From down below, Michael Blackwood’s fear-filled voice called to Vivianne and the paramedics.

Rebecca spun around, spitting curses. He was nowhere in sight, and with the way his voice echoed, she guessed he was still in the parking lot. “Coffey, watch Charlie. And don’t let him out until his brother is out of here.”

“Copy that.” Jake stood next to the debris that had been pushed to the side to clear a path.

Down at the ambulance, paramedics were bent over the infant. The child’s little legs flailed but she didn’t hear any crying.

Worried, she rushed forward while keeping an eye on the lot below. Michael was half running, heading in the same direction, his eyes locked on to the assembled emergency workers.

“Are they…are…”

“She’s going to be okay,” Vivianne reassured him as he reached her at the ambulance. “What are you doing here?”

“When Deputy Frost asked me all those things about my brother, I wanted to deny it. But there was just too much. I came down to see if you were right. Is that my baby?”

“It is,” came a woman’s voice. “Please give us some space. We’re checking her over now.”

Rebecca recognized Sandra Baker’s voice before she noticed the brown hair wrapped tight against the back of her head. Sandra looked up, half her face covered with a mask as she draped a stethoscope over her neck. She held the baby while her partner checked for injuries. It looked like they were finishing their evaluation already.

Getting her first look at the baby was startling. She was thin, thinner than a baby should be, but not emaciated. The second paramedic nodded and swaddled the baby tightly in a clean blanket. Then he cradled the little baby Blackwood against his chest. Turning toward Michael, he held out the infant. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”

“It’s a girl?” Michael stood, dumbfounded and unmoving.

“It’s a girl,” Sandra assured him, stowing some of her gear into the back of the ambulance. “Why don’t you hop in the back there, and you can hold her while we take her to the hospital to get her checked out, just to be sure.”

“Thank god,” Michael breathed. He finally reached for his daughter, his hands trembling.

“It would be better if you climbed up into the ambulance first. Then I can hand her to you.” Michael obeyed Sandra’s commands and stepped up into the back of the ambulance. He stood there, looking around, as if unsure of where he should sit.

“Go ahead and sit on the gurney.” Sandra guided the new father with practiced ease. Once he was settled, she gently placed the one-day-old baby into Michael’s arms.

Rebecca watched it all from the second-floor walkway above, and once Michael and his baby were safely ensconced in the ambulance, she went back to the room where Jake was waiting with Charlie. He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, crying softly, with his arms cuffed behind him.

“Okay. Bring him out. Coffey, you parked on the other side of the building, right?”

“Right. So he wouldn’t see me coming.” Jake grabbed Charlie’s arm, and the man followed along like a robot. Vivianne appeared at the top of the stairs, awaiting her instructions.

“Good. Take him down the stairs on that side. Go ahead and get him booked too. We’ve already got enough on him that we won’t need to interrogate him right away. He needs time to pull himself together anyway. You two can go together.”

“On it, Sheriff.” Vivianne took Charlie’s other arm, and they led him away. Rebecca got on the radio, letting Locke and Rhonda’s crew know the situation had been resolved and everyone could stand down. Once that was done, she radioed for another CSI team to come out to the motel.

Those poor guys were getting way too much work on her island.

With that all settled, Rebecca made her way down the stairs. Halfway down, she found Nathan standing in the shade, glaring at her.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to scream insults at her, but she cut him off. “Once we release the room, you can make a list of everything that’s broken. Add it to the guest’s bill. I’m sorry to say, but he trashed the room. You might end up having to replace every bit of furniture in there.”

Nathan scowled, then froze before grinning with understanding. Most motels had policies requiring payment for the full replacement cost of anything that was broken or vandalized by their guests—even if the item wasn’t completely destroyed and could be repaired for much cheaper.

Rebecca thought it was only fitting that Charlie should have to pay, literally, for some of the suffering he’d caused. “I’ll make sure to send over the pictures and the case number as well.”

That was both a blessing and a warning to Nathan. While an official record would help with the claims Nathan would make against the credit card he had on file for Charlie, it would also keep him from taking it too far, since there would be pictures attached.

“S’pose that’s only fair,” Nathan grumbled. “I’m glad that baby is okay.” With a little grunt, he turned and stomped off back to his office, no doubt to tally all the items in the room so he could get paid as soon as possible.

That left only Hoyt in the parking lot, since the paramedics had disappeared inside the ambulance.

He was leaning against the side of his cruiser, arms crossed over his chest, and appeared to be doing slow breathing techniques.

“You okay, Frost?”

“Yeah.” He shook his head, blowing out his breath slowly. There was a fine tremor in his hands as he ran them both through his hair, knocking his hat to the ground. “I…I can’t believe it, Rebecca.”

“Believe what?” Rebecca knew it had to be personal, since he’d just used her first name.

“That Charlie…that he might’ve…” Hoyt’s words trailed off, and he shook his head, his expression haunted. “If that baby⁠—”

“Hoyt.” Rebecca bent to pick up his hat before the wind took off with it. “You were right. He didn’t go through with it.” She reached out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “And it’s because you got through to him. I never would have thought of calling him Uncle Charlie. That was genius on your part.”

“Maybe,” Hoyt mumbled, accepting his hat back when she handed it to him. “But you’re the one who wore him down.”

She shook her head, leaning against the cruiser next to him. It felt good to not be rushing around for a little bit. She’d been up and active, physically and mentally, for nearly forty hours now. Just standing still was a relief. “You reminded him about his love for his brother and that envy is a totally normal thing between brothers.”

“So you’re saying this was a team effort?” He tried to make a joke of it but couldn’t manage a laugh.

“Of course it was. I couldn’t get shit done around here without you guys.” She grinned at him and straightened. “And you’d all fall apart without me to guide you.”

“God’s honest truth.” Hoyt managed a weak laugh.

They watched as the paramedics looked over to check with them before closing the door of the ambulance.

“Why don’t you give them an escort to the hospital? I’m sure you want to be there when they all get reunited.”

“On it, Boss.” Hoyt’s posture straightened as he slipped back into the role they both knew so well. “You coming with us?”

“You go on.” She gave him a gentle shove. “I need to stop for coffee if I’m going to stay awake long enough to do all the paperwork for this case.”

38

Extra-large coffee in hand, Rebecca arrived at the Coastal Ridge hospital and made her way to Hannah Blackwood’s room. Frost was seated in the hallway just outside. After a few moments, Michael came around the corner, alongside a nurse who was gently pushing a rolling bassinet.

The onesie with dried blood on it had been exchanged for a clean one. Slung over one shoulder was the diaper bag that Hannah had packed and that had probably saved her daughter’s life.

Now Michael was walking next to the bassinet while his daughter held his pinky.

So much chaos had unfolded in such a short time frame. Michael’s wife fighting for her life, the tragic death of his sister-in-law, learning his wife’s stalker had not only followed them when they moved but also been killed, being betrayed by his brother in the most unfathomable way. But despite it all, Michael beamed with the glow of a new father, offering his daughter an expression that transcended the madness.

“Look at her, Sheriff West,” Michael murmured softly as their mini entourage came to a stop outside Hannah’s room. His voice was a blend of awe and relief. “She’s got no idea about any of this. And I pray she never has to understand.”

Rebecca nodded, her professional mind momentarily set aside, replaced by the simple humanity of the scene before her. She watched Michael gently stroke the tiny hand that held one of his fingers. It was as if his touch could shield her from the world’s harsh realities, and in this moment, Rebecca believed it might just be possible.

“I was worried sick about what could’ve happened to this little one.” His gaze locked onto his daughter’s peaceful face. “I don’t think I can let her go, not even for a second. She needs to know…to feel that she’s loved, you know? We should have been holding her this entire time.”

“Every child deserves that,” Rebecca agreed, her tone laced with the empathy she often kept guarded.

Michael’s concern surfaced as he looked up at the nurse watching over them. “Is it normal that she isn’t crying?”

“Perfectly normal.” The nurse gave him an encouraging smile. “She’s content. See? Sleeping like an angel.” Indeed, the baby appeared to display a small smile, her other hand curled tightly into a fist.

“Mr. Blackwood, I think your wife has been waiting long enough to meet her daughter, don’t you? I know she’s eager to hold her.”

As she pushed the door open, Rebecca observed all the family members gathered around Hannah’s bed.

Rebecca leaned against the wall outside the door to stay out of the way, but Michael noticed and turned around. “Please, come in. This is all happening because of you. You, too, Deputy Frost. I’m sure you see so much crap in your job. It’s important to see the good that comes with it. Right?”

Rebecca smiled. “Right. If you’re sure.”

“I insist.”

They were met with hushed anticipation. Hannah’s parents stood on the far side of the room, their faces expectant. But upon seeing the baby, expressions softened and tear-streaked smiles bloomed. Michael, with a protective tenderness, rolled the bassinet over to where Hannah sat in her bed, bandaged and pale yet alert.

“Hannah, love of my life, meet your daughter.” Michael’s voice cracked with emotion as he presented the baby to Hannah.

She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the baby’s cheek. For a brief, heart-clenching moment, the weight of recent events seemed to lighten. “It’s a girl? We had a girl?” Hannah watched as the nurse gently lifted the baby from the bassinet. “Oh, Michael, she’s beautiful.”

“Of course she is. She gets that from her mother.” Michael tenderly kissed his wife’s forehead, and the nurse carefully handed the baby to Hannah to hold for the first time. The newborn woke up and blinked her eyes in the bright room.

Hannah dipped her head, taking a deep breath, and seemed to relax. With a soft laugh, she peppered her newborn in tender kisses.

Hoyt stepped around Michael, clapping a hand on the back of Robert Walker, while Ronna came up beside him to give him a tear-soaked hug.

The three of them started talking, but it was so quiet and blubbery that Rebecca couldn’t make it out. A pediatric nurse slipped in, with a second bassinet filled with diapers, wipes, and a change of clothes. Little baby Blackwood made tiny little noises of complaints, which were swiftly soothed by her parents as they changed her into one of the outfits they’d bought for her.

“We can let her stay here in the room with you, but we’ll need to check her vitals again in a little while. Just to make sure she’s still doing okay.”

“And her footprint.” Ronna spoke up. “Michael and Hannah both said they wanted to do the little footprint thing on the birth certificate. If that’s still possible.”

“We’ll see what we can arrange.” The nurse smiled.

Michael leaned close to Hannah, their heads bowed together in a hushed conference that seemed both urgent and intimate. Rebecca’s keen eyes didn’t miss the way their whispers were punctuated with soft smiles and the occasional nod. It was clear to her that they were on the brink of a significant decision, one that would tie a hopeful bow on the recent calamities.

Rebecca felt a swell of something unspoken fill the room, a collective exhale that promised hope after all the heartache. She discreetly stepped back, giving the family their privacy as she soaked in the scene.

“Rebecca. Sheriff West?” Hannah beckoned, drawing her back from her thoughts.

Rebecca froze, a little embarrassed at being caught trying to slip away. “That’s right.”

“We’ve been thinking,” Michael began, but Hannah squeezed his hand, signaling she wanted to speak.

“About the baby’s name.” Hannah kissed her baby’s little cheek. “We agreed on Charlotte initially if it was a girl, but…” She trailed off, and everyone in the room looked extremely uncomfortable.

Rebecca couldn’t blame them. The name Charlotte would forever be entangled with the madness of Uncle Charlie, and it felt like a shadow they didn’t need cast over this new life.

“After what’s happened,” Michael looked to his wife, and she nodded encouragingly, “we’ve decided on something else.”

Rebecca tried to keep a smile on her face, but the fatigue was starting to get to her now that the adrenaline was fading.

Hannah’s smile was illuminated with gratitude, as if Rebecca had personally delivered them from darkness into light. “We want to name our baby Rebecca Ivy. After the two bravest, strongest women we’ve ever known.”

“I…” Rebecca’s mouth fell open, and she couldn’t seem to think.

Hoyt burst out laughing. “Hear, hear! Rebecca Ivy Blackwood is a fine name.”

A surge of emotion swelled within Rebecca, cresting like high tide against her professional resolve. Her vision blurred slightly as tears threatened to break free. She’d faced down criminals and navigated treacherous investigations, but this honor struck a chord deep within her, resonating with a frequency that left her at a loss.

“Thank you,” she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to her usual authoritative timbre. “I’m…incredibly touched.”

“Rebecca Ivy Blackwood.” Robert said the name slowly, as if he was testing it out. “That’s a beautiful name. Your sister would be so happy.” He choked up, and his wife was quick to hold him tight.

“Well, how about we get little Rebecca Ivy all checked out, then.” The pediatric nurse smiled with understanding as Hannah reflexively clutched her daughter. “We understand, and don’t worry. I’ve got a whole team of nurses who are willing to do everything right here in your room. But we’ll have to ask the rest of the family to leave if that’s what you want to do.”

Hannah looked up at her parents, obviously conflicted.

“No, honey, don’t you worry. We’ll go get something to drink. She’s your daughter. Your first responsibilities are to her. We can wait.” Ronna leaned over the bed and kissed her daughter’s head. “Don’t worry. We’ll be right outside.”

The Walkers started a slow shuffle to the exit, and Rebecca got out of the way. Spotting Frost, she held up her phone and shook it at him to let him know she had to make a phone call.

He nodded, and now that it was more appropriate, she turned to leave.

Rebecca strode through the sterile hospital corridor, her steps echoing in the quiet as she processed the emotional weight of the day. Following the signs, she made it to the ER waiting room, where she quickly found a water fountain.

After taking several deep drinks, she cupped her hands in the water and splashed a bit of it on her face. The day wasn’t over yet. She still needed to drive back to the island, fill out the paperwork, and make sure Charlie Blackwood was properly processed.

“Sheriff West?” A voice pulled her back from the brink of exhaustion, and she turned to find its source. “Rebecca West?”

Rebecca straightened to find a doctor staring at her. Though his scrubs appeared worn, his long white doctor’s coat was spotless. She guessed he was probably a surgeon of some kind who spent most of his time in the operating rooms while his coat was in a locker somewhere.

For a moment, gazes locked, and she noted their intense hue of his eyes, a deep azure that sparked with life. His smile was warm and inviting, and she caught herself staring a beat too long.

“Sorry.” Rebecca’s cheeks heated. “It’s been a long one. Thirty-six hours and counting.” Her voice was steady, but fatigue frayed its edges.

The doctor chuckled, a rich sound that resonated with shared understanding. “I can relate to that. I’m not sure I spent more than eight hours a week in my apartment during my residency.” He ran a hand through his hair, the silver streaks catching the light. For some reason his smile seemed self-conscious. “Turns out that’s the real reason all doctors look old. The job wears us down more than the years do.”

“Tell me about it.” The corner of her mouth twitched into a half-smile. “I do my part to hide the gray, though. It doesn’t suit me like it does you.” Shocked at what she’d just admitted, Rebecca quickly searched for something else to say. “How is Hannah holding up? Really?”

He seemed momentarily taken aback by the compliment, but he recovered quickly. “It’ll be a tough road to recovery, especially juggling things with a newborn. She lost a lot of blood, and she’ll endure a lot of pain after two separate surgeries to her abdomen. We had to go in and tie off a small blood vessel that was leaking. But she’s strong and getting stronger, so I’m optimistic about her prognosis.”

“Thanks to you and your team,” Rebecca acknowledged, her tone sincere.

“Most of the credit goes to you, Sheriff, from what I’ve been hearing. Hannah kept saying she knew Sheriff West would find her baby. It was that trust that kept her going.” His words were earnest, his gaze direct.

“Part of the job.” Rebecca flapped her hand. “And I have a great team helping me out. That makes a world of difference.”

“Your team must be exceptional.” He gave a slight nod, acknowledging her words. “But there has to be something extraordinary about you, Sheriff West. The entire day, everyone here was buzzing with confidence that you would bring that baby home.”

Touched to her core, she could only stare at him, her mouth open like a fish searching for water.

A laugh escaped him, lightening the atmosphere for a moment. “After hearing all that, I had to meet the renowned sheriff everyone’s been talking about.” His eyes twinkled with mirth, then softened. “Though they left out a crucial detail in your description. No one mentioned how beautiful you are.”

The compliment caught Rebecca off-guard, her cheeks threatening to explode with heat as she fumbled for a professional response. She wasn’t used to being seen outside the context of her work, let alone being admired for her looks. Especially by such a handsome man.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—and was saved by the abrupt melody of a ringtone. The doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone with a practiced swiftness, peering at the screen with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, Sheriff. It seems I’m needed for a consult.” His apology held the underlying current of a man all too familiar with interrupted plans.

“I thought you were off the clock.” Rebecca managed a half smile as she recognized the shared burden of responsibility that came with their respective vocations.

“Ah, well, the life of a doctor.” His shrug seemed to dismiss the inconvenience. “We’re always on call, much like law enforcement, I imagine.”

“Exactly how it goes,” Rebecca agreed, her smile growing more genuine.

“Take care, Sheriff West.” He slid the phone back into his pocket with an expression that suggested he wished the conversation wasn’t over.

So did Rebecca. “Wait a moment, Doctor.”

He paused, one eyebrow lifted in polite inquiry.

“Your name.” She needed to know. “I didn’t catch it.”

“Ah, my apologies.” He extended his hand, not just in greeting but with something clasped between his fingers. A business card. “Dr. Nick Bryant, at your service.” His fingers lingered on hers as she took the card from his grip.

She scanned the card, the standard credentials and contact information for the hospital, but there was an addition—ink still fresh, a series of digits penned along the edge. She glanced up at him. “Is this…” Her voice trailed off as her thumb brushed over the numbers. A surprising jolt of electricity seemed to arc from the paper to her skin.

“That’s my personal number.” He finally released her hand with a languorous slide of his fingers across her palm. The sensation was unexpected and not entirely unwelcome.

“Isn’t this a bit presumptuous?” Rebecca asked, a playful challenge lighting her tired soul. “Do you just carry around a stack of cards with your number on them, waiting to hand them out?”

Nick met her gaze squarely, the intensity in his own eyes unwavering. “No,” he answered sincerely, and Rebecca was certain he was not lying. “I wrote that on my card when I saw you walking in. There’s something about you…I knew after hearing about you all day that I wanted to get to know you better.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t think of another thing to say.

His phone chirped insistently, breaking their connection. “Seems like I’m still needed here.” He started to walk backward away from her. “But Rebecca, I do hope to hear from you soon.”

Rebecca watched him turn away again, this time making it through the doors before they swung shut behind him. She turned the business card over in her hands, wondering what in the hell just happened.

39

Rebecca pushed open the half door that led from the lobby to the bullpen at the station. Jake and Trent had already left, hauling Charlie Blackwood over to the jail on the mainland so he could be ready for his hearing in the morning.

She immediately spotted Vivianne and Hoyt hunched over their desks, their postures speaking volumes of the weariness that had settled into their bones. The station was quiet, with only the occasional murmur of the heater to break the silence.

Melody finally switched the dispatch board over to the weekend service and had left right after Coffey’s arrival.

“Hey. How are you two holding up?” Rebecca made her way to the coffee pot. She knew she should switch to water, but dammit, she still needed to drive home tonight.

Vivianne glanced up, her deep, dark eyes briefly flashing with relief. “Other than feeling like I hit a wall, I’m good.” She sighed. “I’m so glad Hannah got her baby back. She looked so happy.”

“And I’ve never seen a new father look so proud.” Rebecca poured a cup of coffee that was so thick and burned she thought it might be tar. Crossing one arm over her stomach, she leaned against the counter, letting it take a bit of weight off her tired feet. “He was so goofy-eyed and just kept staring at her. And she was just as happy as could be, holding on to her daddy.”

Hoyt grunted, acknowledging the bittersweet victory with a nod. “A moment of pure joy after all this chaos. He really did find the reserves of strength you need to be a parent. I’m proud of the boy. Hannah seems to have picked a good one this time.”

It would be hard to pick a worse one than her ex, Rebecca’s tired mind responded immediately, and she felt guilty for even thinking it. The evidence suggested the creepy ex had tried to save the baby, so there was at least one redeeming quality buried within the stalker.

Vivianne shifted uncomfortably. “I can’t help but think about Ivy, though. It’s so messed up, and now all this crap that happened will always be tied to the start of the little one’s life. That baby’s first day on Earth, and her mother’s sister was taken from us. How will they ever celebrate her birthday when it’s also the anniversary of so much tragedy?”

Rebecca cocked her head to one side as she regarded her friend. Vi was right. The island had seen its share of pain, but this…this Shadow’s sacrifice had gone too far. It was a though the island itself demanded a price for its secrets, its past.

She had no idea how to answer that question. She took a gulp of her coffee and mulled it over.

“For us, we solve the crime and make sure Charlie doesn’t ever bother them again. We bring justice for Ivy and Jared Venkman. That’s how we honor her memory, not by letting the darkness win.”

Hoyt tapped a pen against the stack of reports. “The baby’s safe, and that’s what counts right now. We did good today, even if it doesn’t feel like it yet. The pain will ease, just like it does every time. And if they’re smart and can heal fast enough, then Hannah and Michael will take the chance every year to appreciate what they have and remember those they’ve lost without letting it consume them.”

Rebecca knew they were both right. Joy and sorrow always seemed to intertwine in a way that couldn’t be untangled.

“And you know Hannah, Vivianne.” Hoyt leaned back in his chair with a loud creak. “She’s always been one to find light in the darkest places.”

At Hoyt’s words, a faint smile traced Vivianne’s lips.

“Tragedies happen,” Hoyt continued, his gaze fixed on some distant point, perhaps a memory or a hope. “But at least their baby will know her parents’ love, grow up with them. It could have been so much worse.”

Rebecca clutched the mug in her hand, letting its warm soothe her tired muscles. “I think Hannah and Michael are already hopeful about moving forward. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t have chosen to give the baby Ivy as a middle name. Ivy will always be part of their lives moving forward.”

Hoyt nodded solemnly. “A fitting tribute to her aunt.” A mischievous grin started at the corner of his mouth. “What was the baby’s first name, again?”

Rebecca fidgeted with the edge of the manila folder in front of her, a temporary barricade. She still couldn’t believe that someone would actually name their child after her. Clearing her throat, she bought herself an extra second before the ribbing began by taking a long gulp of coffee.

“Sweet little Rebecca Ivy.” Vivianne giggled. “Isn’t that the best name ever?”

Waving her friend’s words away, Rebecca took another, much smaller sip of coffee. She needed the caffeine to get her home but wasn’t sure she needed it bad enough to drink the sludge in her mug.

“Oh, don’t act like you aren’t loving it. I saw you in the waiting room when I left. You were grinning like a Cheshire cat.”

Rebecca nearly choked on her coffee, remembering what she’d been doing right before Vivianne showed up. “I am honored. I really am. But that wasn’t the only reason I was smiling like that.”

Vivianne frowned and cocked her head. “What was with that smile? I haven’t seen that grin in a while. Rebecca West, what did you do?”

Rebecca reached into her back pocket, pulling out the business card she’d hidden there. She held it up, letting the anticipation build before dropping the next piece of news. “You know that handsome surgeon who worked on Hannah?”

Vivianne nodded, confusion wrinkling her forehead. “I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to him. I guess he might be handsome…” Vivianne got up from her desk to get a closer look at what Rebecca was holding. “Wait. Did you say handsome? Why did you say handsome?”

“I got his number.” Rebecca turned the card, showing Vivianne the handwriting on it.

“Is that so?” Hoyt’s voice came tinged with amusement, his eyebrows arching in mock surprise. “Well, look at you, making the best out of a bad situation.”

“Talk about finding some light in the darkness.” Vivianne leaned on the counter next to Rebecca, bumping her with her shoulder. “And apparently some digits too. You get it, girl.”

40

“Here are your shakes. By the way, Betty says hi.” Rebecca set down the cardboard carrier on Vivianne’s desk. “How goes the research?”

Vivianne perked up, spotting the Styrofoam cups and quickly claiming hers. “Slow. Who knew body cameras could be so complicated?”

Rebecca shrugged. She’d been wearing body cameras off and on her entire career. Each one had its own idiosyncrasies, but they were all basically the same. The important part, for her, was making sure it was centered properly on her chest so her arms and hands didn’t block its function. Though, to be fair, they all had their own downsides and problems too.

She took a seat in the spare chair she’d taken to leaving at the back of the bullpen. Sitting in her office all the time was boring and left her feeling isolated from the rest of the team. At least it had for the last week.

“I’m just grateful things have been slow enough for us to try these things out first.” Hoyt leaned back in his chair, staring at the top of the camera strapped in the middle of his chest. “But it’s going to take me a while to get used to not knocking the crap out of this thing every time I get in and out of the cruiser.”

Vivianne snorted and bobbed her head, making her straw squeak in the plastic lid of her cup.

Hoyt looked up again, his brow creasing with focus. “Setting them up to work is pretty straightforward, but we’ll need to run some drills with the team. Vivianne’s already started drafting a policy for their use.”

Rebecca turned to look at Vivianne, who was eyeing the paper bag in Rebecca’s hand.

She sniffed loudly and leaned back in her chair, getting closer to Rebecca. “Do I smell French fries?”

Laughing, Rebecca stood, holding her midafternoon meal protectively. “Probably since I got fries with my meal. But no, you can’t have them.”

“Aww.” Vivianne slumped. “But they go so good with Betty’s shakes.”

“Which is why I offered to get you some, but you said you were watching your diet because of all the Christmas parties you’ve been invited to, and the shake was enough.”

Vivianne groaned. “Why do you have to use my own words against me?”

Rebecca laughed and skirted past Vivianne’s desk. “I guess I’ll go eat my late lunch in my office. So you’re not overly tempted.”

Hoyt chuckled at their antics but didn’t say a word as Rebecca slipped off down the hall to her office.

In the last week since apprehending Charlie, work had been light. That had allowed them to catch up not only on other tasks but on sleep. Rebecca had made sure everyone got at least one paid shift off, telling them to use it to recharge their batteries.

Rebecca had put every minute of her free time to good use. She’d finally gotten new furniture for her house so it didn’t look so much like her old place. Humphrey and she had run several trails that were new to them. Vivianne had even come over a couple of nights, and they made cookies together and sat on the back porch, eating them while drinking beers.

That made Rebecca chuckle. Maybe that was why Vivianne was watching her intake now. They’d managed to kill a twelve-pack and an entire batch of cookies together, sitting around and talking about nothing. Or nothing much. The subject of the handsome surgeon may have come up a time or three.

Rebecca was going to contact him. There was no doubt in her mind.

But first, she had an itch to scratch. Those nights when Vivianne didn’t over, Rebecca had stayed up late on her couch, reading over the files on the thumb drive Simon Lankford had given her.

Lankford once worked in aeronautics, the same as her father had. And he’d also invented a new type of engine that had brought him to the attention of unsavory men who would rather keep the new technology hidden than lose money they’d invested in the current landscape.

At first, she hadn’t thought she’d be able to understand anything on there. Engineers like Lankford tended to write in such a way that only a specialist in their field would be able to comprehend it.

But the drive had contained more than just schematics, proving Lankford had invented what he claimed. Some really damning stuff was in there, namely emails between Senator William Morley and his associates describing certain “targets” being eliminated. Lankford left a bunch of notes about how he decoded some of the coded language.

Using that code key, it was clear the emails discussed the assassinations of various enemies and rivals. Rebecca hadn’t found her father’s name in there yet, but she expected to.

Sitting at her desk, Rebecca wolfed down her food before turning on her computer. She’d written down the dates on the emails, as well as the names mentioned. All she needed to do now was find out if those people really did die on those dates. If they did, Morley could face even more criminal charges than he already did.

Except I don’t know who I could turn this information over to. The last time I went up against Morley, I lost my career and had to move several times trying to evade detection. Even my supervisor lost his job because of the political flack this pulled down on the FBI.

Rebecca’s cell rang, and she answered it, though she didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Sheriff, it’s Simon. Simon Lankford.”

Had he read her mind? But his tone sounded more distressed than prescient. “Mr. Lankford, you sound upset. Has something happened?”

“They’re following me. Stalking me. You have to help me.”

“Mr. Lankford, you need to contact the local authorities where you live. I can’t help you. But who’s following you?”

“I can’t say his name. My phone might be tapped. You know who. And the local authorities can’t help me. I need your help, your protection.”

“Me? I’m sorry. I⁠—”

A thunderous boom shook the windowpanes of the tiny station. Within seconds, Frost and Vivianne were in Rebecca’s office. Instinctively, Rebecca’s hand went to her sidearm. “Mr. Lankford, I have to go. I’ll call you back.” She locked eyes with Hoyt. “Let’s go!”

The End

To Be Continued…

WHAT’S NEXT?

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You’ll also be the first to know when each book in the Shadow Island series is available.

If you enjoyed the Shadow Island Series, I’d love to introduce you to my Sky Stryker Series.

Fatal Secrets (Sky Stryker Series: Book 1)

Sky Stryker arrives in New York armed with a pen and an eye for true crime. When she's pulled into the world of elite modeling by her gorgeous cousin, she expects to be writing about fun and glamor...not human trafficking and murder. When her cousin disappears, Sky finds herself working the case with the help of a handsome fashion COO, a sharp supermodel, a private investigator, and a retired FBI agent. As Sky delves into the secrets, scandal, and seediness of the modeling world, she doesn't realize the killer has a new target: Sky Stryker.

SERIES READING ORDER

Shadow’s Edge (Shadow Island Series: Bonus Story)

Shadow’s Secret (Shadow Island Series: Book One)

Shadow’s Captive (Shadow Island Series: Book Two)

Shadow’s Deadline (Shadow Island Series: Book Three)

Shadow’s Force (Shadow Island Series: Book Four)

Shadow’s Watch (Shadow Island Series: Book Five)

Shadow’s Hostage (Shadow Island Series: Book Six)

Shadow’s Ritual (Shadow Island Series: Book Seven)

Shadow’s Conspiracy (Shadow Island Series: Book Eight)

Shadow’s Mystery (Shadow Island Series: Book Nine)

Shadow’s Darkness (Shadow Island Series: Book Ten)

Shadow’s Flame (Shadow Island Series: Book Eleven)

Shadow’s Hoax (Shadow Island Series: Book Twelve)

Shadow’s Escape (Shadow Island Series: Book Thirteen)

Shadow’s Loss (Shadow Island Series: Book Fourteen)

Shadow’s Siege (Shadow Island Series: Book Fifteen)

Shadow’s Fate (Shadow Island Series: Book Sixteen)

Shadow’s Doom (Shadow Island Series: Book Seventeen)

Shadow’s Sacrifice (Shadow Island Series: Book Eighteen)

Coming Soon

More Shadow Island series books coming soon!

HAVE YOU READ MY OTHER SERIES?

Latest Series:

Journey Russo Series

Sky Stryker Series

More Series:

Emma Last Series

A Villain's Story Series

Winter Black Series

Amelia Storm Series

Ellie Kline Series

Stella Knox Series

Kylie Hatfield Series

Psychological Thrillers:

Don’t Tell

Gone Viral

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

How does one adequately express gratitude to all those who have transformed a shared dream into a stunning reality? Let us attempt to do just that.

First and foremost, our families deserve our deepest thanks. Their unwavering support and encouragement have been our bedrock, allowing us the time and energy to translate our collective imagination into the words that fill these pages. Their belief in our vision has been a constant source of strength and inspiration.

As coauthors, our journey has been uniquely collaborative and rewarding. Now, with Mary also embracing the additional role of publisher, our adventure has taken on an exciting new dimension. This transition from solely writing to also publishing has been both a challenge and a joy, opening doors to share our work more directly with you, our readers.

We are immensely grateful to the entire team at Mary Stone Publishing — a group who believed in our potential from the very beginning. Their commitment extends beyond editing our words; it encompasses the tireless efforts of designers, marketers, and support staff, all dedicated to bringing our stories to life. Their expertise, creativity, and passion have been vital in capturing the essence of our tales and sharing them with the world.

However, our greatest appreciation is reserved for you, our beloved readers. You took a chance on our book, generously sharing your most precious asset—your time. It is our fervent hope that the pages of this book have rewarded that generosity, offering you a journey worth taking and memories that linger.

With all our love and heartfelt appreciation,

Mary & Lori

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nestled in the serene Blue Ridge Mountains of East Tennessee, Mary Stone crafts her stories surrounded by the natural beauty that inspires her. What was once a home filled with the lively energy of her sons has now become a peaceful writer's retreat, shared with cherished pets and the vivid characters of her imagination.

As her sons grew and welcomed wonderful daughters-in-law into the family, Mary's life entered a quieter phase, rich with opportunities for deep creative focus. In this tranquil environment, she weaves tales of courage, resilience, and intrigue, each story a testament to her evolving journey as a writer.

From childhood fears of shadowy figures under the bed to a profound understanding of humanity's real-life villains, Mary's style has been shaped by the realization that the most complex antagonists often hide in plain sight. Her writing is characterized by strong, multifaceted heroines who defy traditional roles, standing as equals among their peers in a world of suspense and danger.

Mary's career has blossomed from being a solitary author to establishing her own publishing house—a significant milestone that marks her growth in the literary world. This expansion is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of her commitment to bring thrilling and thought-provoking stories to a wider audience. As an author and publisher, Mary continues to challenge the conventions of the thriller genre, inviting readers into gripping tales filled with serial killers, astute FBI agents, and intrepid heroines who confront peril with unflinching bravery.

Each new story from Mary's pen—or her publishing house—is a pledge to captivate, thrill, and inspire, continuing the legacy of the imaginative little girl who once found wonder and mystery in the shadows.

Discover more about Mary Stone on her website.

www.authormarystone.com

Lori Rhodes

As a tiny girl, from the moment Lori Rhodes first dipped her toe into the surf on a barrier island of Virginia, she was in love. When she grew up and learned all the deep, dark secrets and horrible acts people could commit against each other, she couldn’t stop the stories from coming out of the other end of her pen. Somehow, her magical island and the darkness got mixed together and ended up in her first novel. Now, she spends her days making sure the guests at her beach rental cottages are happy, and her nights dreaming up the characters who love her island as much as she does.

Connect with Mary online