Page 24 of Christmas Harbor Secrets
“Because of you,” she said quietly.
He met her gaze over the rim of the cup. “Because of us.”
The words warmed her more than the coffee.
“How strange.” She leaned back, exhaling.
“What?”
“This morning feels more normal than one in a long time…”
“Yeah,” he murmured, glancing at her with a half-smile that reached his eyes. “Almost feels like peace.”
The moment stretched—warm, fragile, something unspoken threading between them.
Isobel stood, reluctant to break it but knowing she had to move. “I need to grab something; be right back.”
She climbed the short ladder to the pilot house so she could get that Altoids tin. Something told her this wasn’t just a note to her but a message of some sort, and it had been gnawing at her.
Sunlight poured through the forward windows—too bright at first. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes, blinking as the glare softened…
Across the inside of the glass, in jagged red strokes that dripped like blood, two words screamed back at her.
LAST WARNING.
After waiting a half-hour,Sheriff Fletcher came out of his office and waved them inside. Rone could no longer see the words of warning on the pilot house windows, but the blur of it burned behind his eyes all the same.
Echo jumped up, but before he or Isobel could move, Rone bolted through the door and slammed the photo he’d printed off onto the man’s desk. “Someone was close enoughto touch her boat. Close enough to stand over her while she slept.”
“She’s lucky,” the sheriff said, leaning back in his chair, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Could’ve been worse. Probably some punk with too much time and a grudge.”
Rone kept his voice even. “A punk doesn’t leave wire to trip a boat owner when coming down steps, or rig power pedestals to blow, or paint a threat across a woman’s window.”
The sheriff’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “You saying I should call in the feds?”
Echo groaned and collapsed by Rone’s side as if bored of hearing this conversation again.
“I’m saying,” Rone said slowly, “you make sure your deputies keep eyes on the docks. She’s selling her boat. Leaving soon. She doesn’t know anything about Shade. Or whatever mess he might’ve left behind.”
The sheriff’s gaze flicked up at that name, sharp, calculating. “Shade again. You can’t seem to let that go. The man drowned. Case closed.”
Rone didn’t flinch. “Neither can whoever did this.”
“Face it, you’re a washed-up detective who failed his partner looking to play hero. You’re seeing things that aren’t there. Guilt will do that to a man.”
Echo jumped up, nudging Rone’s fisted hands. Anger boiled up like volcanic lava, but he refused to explode. Wouldn’t give the man the satisfaction.
Isobel slid the paper to the sheriff. “I hope you’ll take this more seriously. I don’t know much about who Shade was, but my father, the one I knew as a child, had been a great, loving and caring human.
Rone sobered. She shouldn’t have shared that information; now the target would be painted in neon on her back.
“Daughter? Thought Shade had no family. Only a niece who died years ago.”
“Don’t know they are related,” Rone grumbled.
Sheriff Fletcher leaned forward with that arching brow of interest. Rone needed to shut this down and fast.
Echo did a low whimper and trotted to Isobel’s side, nuzzling her hand.
