Page 128 of Our Little Secret

Swim!

Kick!

Get the hell out of here!

She focused on the security lamp, an orb growing brighter as she swam upward.

She broke the surface.

Gulped air frantically.

Gasping, choking, searching the black water.

Where was he? Where?

She spun, searching the darkness. Expecting to see him rise to the surface near her and drag her down.

Don’t wait. Just get the hell out of here!Now!

Still dragging in precious air, she began to swim to the shore, toward the boat ramp near the parking lot. As she dragged herself onto the sloped asphalt of the ramp, she took one last look back to the black, undulating water.

No sign of another person in the depths.

She closed her eyes, felt tears mingle with the rain running down her face, then pushed herself to her feet.

She didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

Either way she prayed she would never see him again.

Never.

PART TWO

CHAPTER 28

Piper Island, Oregon

Now

Walking into Nana’s cabin on Piper Island was like stepping back in time. The stone fireplace, pine-paneled walls, and wood floors were battered but familiar, the scent of lemon from its recent cleaning detectable. The cabin was on the eastern shore of the island, facing the bay and the fishing village of Marwood on the shoreline of the mainland. Piper Island and the mainland were connected only by a ferry that shuttled vehicles across the narrowest stretch of water. On the other side of the island the Pacific Ocean stretched to the horizon, but here the view was of the forests climbing up steep hills beyond the small town.

Neal pocketed his keys as he followed Brooke inside. “Look at this place. It hasn’t changed since when? Maybe, if I’m guessing, the seventies. A long time before I was in the picture,” he said as he set down his roller bag and duffel in the entry hall near the base of the stairs. “Or earlier than the seventies.” She, too, eyed the cast-off furniture that they’d added to Nana’s worn leather over the years.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” he said.

Brooke could.

It had been the summer before last, sunlight had bounced off the waves, the air had been fresh and exhilarating, the sand warm against her bare feet, the cabin—this cottage—warm and inviting.

Now, outside, the sky was gray and threatening, the rumble of the sea audible, the wind gusting cold, promising snow.

Neal whistled to Shep and the dog streaked inside to explore.

“We came four years ago,” she reminded him. “Summer. Marilee had to give up that gymnastics camp to come.”

“Oh, right.” Neal nodded and walked into the short hallway to fiddle with the thermostat. “Too long.”

With a rumble, the old furnace engaged.

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