CHAPTER ONE
Noah Aylett preferred the hour before dawn to any other slice of the day.
The world was as close to silent as it would get, only interrupted by the whoosh of his rowing machine, the thump of weights, the whistle of his breath. Unlike the rest of his life, these were predictable things. Things he could wrestle into order.
He racked the barbell—a clean, hard clank—then rolled his shoulders and checked the time. Twenty till five. He had at least another hour before Charlotte woke, before the slow, sticky business of fatherhood—unclehood, in his case—turned his orderly existence into chaos. Time enough for one more set.
He had just settled on his weight bench, hands spreading wide to grip the bar, when a shriek pierced his peace.
It was so out of place that it took him a moment to realize what it was. The burglar alarm.
Then his phone was vibrating, and his lungs filled with dread.
He stood, swiping to answer.
A woman’s voice. “We have an alarm sounding?—”
“Yeah. I know. Let me check.” Noah crossed the basement workout room, phone pressed to his ear. “Can you turn it off?”
“Sir, if you didn’t set it off accidentally?—”
“Turn it off!” He hadn’t triggered it, but maybe Charlotte had woken up early and opened a door, looking for him.
That would be a first, but there was a first time for everything. Thinking of all thefirststhis year, his heart thumped in a way that had nothing to do with his punishing workout.
Mercifully, the alarm silenced as he hurried up the stairs to the first floor.
The quiet allowed him to hear heavy footsteps thumping toward the back of the house. Footsteps that couldn’t be his niece’s.
He hurtled the last few steps, shouting into the phone, “Intruder!” He hit the main floor and bolted toward the noise.
One of the rear French doors stood wide open. It had been locked.
It was still dark, but a shadow moved on the far side of the backyard. Noah rushed onto the patio, ready to give chase.
Then stopped.
He needed to check on Charlotte. Surely the intruder hadn’t had time to get upstairs.
The shadow disappeared into the hedge—if it’d ever been there in the first place, not a phantom born of fear. If thatwasa person, they were getting away. Climbing over the fence, headed for the beach or even a boat.
He stood frozen, listening. The sharp scents of salt and wet fern drifted in, along with the distant slap of waves. No childish screams.
Noah lifted the phone. “Get the police here.”
“They’re en route.”
He ran back inside, anxiety crawling up his throat. He had to get to her.
“Can you confirm everyone in the residence is accounted for?” the voice on the phone asked.
“Working on it.”
He bolted toward the staircase, fear plucking his nerves. He hit the bottom and looked up.
Charlotte was halfway down, eyes wide. She rarely sucked her thumb outside of bed these days, but it was in her mouth now, her ratty crocheted blanket dragging on the steps behind her.
Relief washed over him. “Hey, Charlie-Bear.” Somehow he kept the panic out of his voice.
