Gladys practically had to break down the front door to wake me up the next morning. Which, for an eighty-two-year-old woman who’s all of four-foot-nine, is impressive.
Rather than dwell on the past, I pull on a tank top, shove the ancient flip phone into the back pocket of my shorts, and grab my ball cap before I head for the small ATV parked in the driveway. The entire island is only six miles across, and while we have a small airstrip and a marina, the main roads are more or less…suggestions.
By the time I get to the little boathouse in the center of the campground, my teeth feel like they’re about to vibrate out of my skull. A drop of sweat rolls down my back. July usually brings a long stretch of warm weather, but this summer has been brutal. Maybe I’ll skip the kayaking and swim instead.
I shut off the ATV, pull off the ball cap, and wipe my brow. At the bottom of the hill, Puget Sound sparkles in the sun, a million diamonds glittering all the way to the horizon.
Gladys sits on the wraparound deck, a massive insulated cup balanced on the arm of her Adirondack chair, and a scowl twisting her lips.
“I thought you were headed to Seattle to see your niece?” I ask when she fixes her steely gaze on me. In reality, Bella is hergrand-niece, but reminding Gladys about her age will only get me a lecture about how you’re only as old as you feel.
“That girl is on my shit list.” Her voice carries the sultry depth of more than eight decades spentliving—as she calls it. I call it smoking, drinking, and fucking everyone she could get her hands on. I’ve heard so many stories I’llneverbe able to forget. Including the one time—before she married—that she made out with a certain now-disgraced movie star on the red carpet at his movie premiere.
“What did Bella do this time?” I lean against the wood pillar at the edge of the steps and stare down at the water. If Logan had lived, would I be an aunt now? He always wanted a huge family. A husband. A white picket fence. Three kids. A couple of dogs.
My eyes start to burn. Why did he have to come back that night?
Because he didn’t want you to testify. Because he knew what it would cost you.
If only he’d known it would cost him even more.
Gladys snorts and takes a swig from her tumbler. I bet she’s got something a hell of a lot more potent than iced tea in there.
“She had the gall to suggest I mightembarrassher at her company picnic. Me!” Pushing to her feet, she waves her hand up and down. “There ain’t nothing embarrassing here.”
I stifle a laugh. Gladys has two full sleeves of tattoos, orange and purple stripes in her short-cropped white hair, and her t-shirt has “Fuck Me Sideways” emblazoned across her boobs. She’s also clearlynotwearing a bra.
Her niece is a corporate lawyer.
“Gladys, Bella loves you. Don’t be too hard on her.”
I’ve heard all about Ms. Bella Cavalli, Esquire. Top of her class at Harvard Law School. Polished and professional with shining blond hair, legs for days, and a stare that makes her opponents wither in fear. But she’s only twenty-seven. Shehasn’t hit that “life is precious” stage yet where she’ll realize Gladys won’t be around forever.
The older woman snags her tumbler and takes a healthy swig. Yep. I can smell the vodka. “If my sister Maisy were still alive, she’d set that girl straight right quick. Embarrassing, my ass.”
“Gladys—”
We see the man at the same time. Six-foot-something with a neatly trimmed, gray and white beard, black pants, a light blue t-shirt, and a large ruck slung over one shoulder.
“Now that’s a tall drink of water if I ever saw one,” Gladys says. “He taking one of the cabins? Or a campsite?”
I’m still too shocked to speak and tug my ball cap a little lower over my eyes. Greeting campers and renters is risky. But I’ve done as much as I can to change my appearance over the years. Chopped off most of my long black hair, had my Ranger tattoo covered with flowers and hearts, put on twenty pounds—though that wasn’t intentional. Perimenopause is a bitch.
If the wrong person recognizes me and reports my location to Bastian, it won’t matter that he’s locked up tight in Leavenworth. He’ll find a way to end my life. But this—along with taking care of Clancy’s house—is the job. A job that lets me live in peace on this tiny island so far north, I can see Canada from its highest point.
Mr. Tall and Silver ambles up the boathouse steps. His gaze slides from Gladys to me.
“I’m looking for Nat.”
Oh, God. Even his voice is sex-on-a-stick. Deep and smooth, with a hint of the East Coast. Boston? Or New York? I was never very good at accents.
He swats a mosquito on his bicep, and my gaze is drawn to the tattoo winding around the bulky muscle. A parachute over an angel, with four words underneath.
That others may live.
Holy shit. He’s Air Force Pararescue. Or was. PJs are the most unhinged sons of bitches on the planet. And the best trained. My squad never needed them, but I’ve heard stories. Lots of them.
Gladys elbows me in the side. “He’s talking to you,Nat.”
