He started back toward theWindward Lady, boots striking faster, his mind already running ahead. Maddox had sent him into this blind. And Viv—she’d trusted him, believed this was just another lead.
He hated the thought clawing up his throat.
If Maddox knew about Jenson, he’d also know what happened to anyone who got too close to Laurel Tide.
And if history had a way of repeating itself—Vivian.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vivian grippedthe steering wheel tighter as the road narrowed, the coastline falling away in a sheer drop to her right. The lighthouse loomed ahead—a tower of cracked stone and rusted steel, its silhouette ghosting in and out of the remnants of fog that hadn’t burned off this part of the island, like something watching her instead of the other way around.
The Jeep’s wipers screeched across the glass, barely keeping up with the drizzle. Her phone buzzed against the console. She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Blake.
She let it ring. The sound filled the SUV, too loud in the quiet. When it finally stopped, she exhaled, shoulders tight. He’d said he’d handle Dan; she’d said she’d do a quick recon. She didn’t need his permission to do her job.
She pulled into a turnout tucked under the cliff’s curve—hidden from anyone approaching the lighthouse—shifted into park and killed the engine. The silence hit hard—thick, coastal, damp. Even the gulls were gone.
Her phone buzzed again. A text this time.
BLAKE:Don’t go near the lighthouse. Just found something. Wait for me to go with you.
Vivian frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. Her breath clouded the glass.
Wait for me.
He never used those words. Neveraskedher to wait. Which meant whatever he’d found was serious.
But if there was something to find, someone had to verify it. And she was already here. And if she was right, Laurel Tide wouldn’t give them much longer to stick around.
He trusted Dan, but if this was a set-up, she needed to make this play before they could set a trap. And Blake would never stand down if he were here.
She slid the phone into her pocket.Sorry, Blake, she texted.You don’t get to have a lead fall in your lap out here.For once, she wasn’t going to play it safe; she’d take a page from Blake’s big, black book of bold moves.
She shoved the SUV door open, the wind biting instantly through her coat. She stepped out, the smell of brine and cold iron sharp enough to sting. Her boots crunched over gravel as she made her way toward the chain-link fence. The gate hung ajar, a single padlock broken and dangling.
She crouched, touching the metal. Cold. The edges rusted where the cut was.
Her pulse ticked up. Freshly snapped.
She pushed through and followed the narrow path up toward the base of the lighthouse. Grass and seaweed tangled around her boots. The air thickened with mist, curling around her like breath.
Halfway there, her phone vibrated again. Another call.
She ignored it.
Her focus locked on the structure. Up close, the lighthouse looked worse—paint peeled down to gray stone, streaked with rust and algae. The old wooden door sagged, one hinge cracked loose.
She pressed her palm against it. The wood groaned but didn’t move. She gave it another shove. The lock chain slipped through with a metallic clang and the door swung inward, groaning like it hadn’t been opened in years.
The smell hit her first—salt, mildew, and something sharp underneath. Hypochlorite.
“Perfect,” she whispered. Someone tried to clean up a blood bath in here.
Her flashlight cut through the gloom. The beam slid across curved concrete walls, a workbench littered with tools, a single folding chair, and a thermos lying on its side. She crouched beside it, running a gloved finger over the rim. Dust clung to her glove—except where a thumbprint had smudged it clean.
Someone had been here. Recently.
