Page 59 of Tangled Past
Chapter Nineteen
The new safehouse smelled like salt and old storms.
Maya stood at the narrow living room window and watched the beam from the decommissioned lighthouse sweep the water in slow, soundless arcs. It wasn’t even active anymore, not officially, but the rhythm of the light still worked its way under her skin.
Light. Dark.
Light. Dark.
The cottage huddled on a rocky outcrop above the eastern side of the island, wind-shoved and weathered. In summer, it was probably available to rent for a small fortune to families who wanted ocean views and bragging rights about being “a stone’s throw from the old lighthouse.”
In December, with freezing rain threatening, was a serial killer somewhere in the mix?
It was just far enough from town to make her feel exposed and just close enough to the lighthouse to make her wonder who else liked the view.
Behind her, the murmur of voices from the kitchen drifted down the short hall. JT and Eli were arguing over the best perimeter setup. Rachel was on the phone with Will, relayinggear requests. The Hope Island Securities team moved around the cramped space as if they’d been born in safehouses—plugging in radios, checking locks, sweeping blind spots.
Her world had narrowed to a handful of rooms and the people inside them. The notebook was now locked in an evidence box back at the station. Vanessa Warren. Witness. Target. Mom.
Maya pressed her fingers against the window frame until her knuckles ached. She’d thought knowing the truth would feel like ripping a bandage off—sharp then clean. Not so. It felt like realizing the wound had been bigger all along. Deeper. Older than her own memory.
“You look like you’re trying to glare the ocean into submission.” Asa’s voice came from behind her, low and familiar.
She turned.
He leaned in the archway between the living room and the short hall, his shoulder braced against the frame. His jacket hung open, his T-shirt soft with wear. The weight of the last twenty-four hours sat around his eyes, but there was still a thread of something steady in his gaze.
“You say that like it’s not a reasonable plan.”
“If it starts obeying, let me know,” he said. “We could put you on coastal duty.”
She tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
He crossed the space between them, close enough that she could feel the lingering cold on his clothes from the last trip outside. “How’s the head?” he asked quietly.
“Loud. Yours?”
“Same.” His mouth tipped wryly. “Different soundtrack.”
“Let me guess,” she said. “Endless loops of ‘what was my father thinking going into that barn alone’ mixed with ‘how do we hunt a serial killer who’s had a twenty-five-year head start.’”
“Something like that.” His gaze searched her face. “You should sit down. It’s been a day.”
“If I sit, I’ll fall over,” she said. “If I fall over, you’ll worry I’m broken. I’m not. Just . . . rearranged.”
His hand brushed her elbow, barely there. “You’re allowed to be both.”
JT appeared in the hall behind him, a laptop tucked under one arm. “Perimeter cameras are up,” he said. “We’ve got eyes on the front approach, the back path, and the trail leading down toward the lighthouse. Eli’s setting up motion sensors by the tree line.”
Maya blinked. “There’s a trail?”
JT nodded toward the right side of the window. “Cuts down behind the cottage. Locals use it in the summer to take sunset pictures by the lighthouse. It’s narrow and slippery in weather like this. We’ll keep it covered.”
Asa’s jaw tightened. “Last thing we need is him getting clever with the terrain.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re more clever,” JT replied. He looked at Maya. “You doing all right?”
She opened her mouth to say yes. What came out was, “I keep seeing their names.”
