“I don’t see how composure is a problem.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s . . . interesting.”
He took a step forward—not threatening, but undeniably invasive. She waited, knowing he had more to say. He didn’t take long.
“I’ve noticed something else, too. Every time something happens here—every shift, every new clue—you seem to be right in the middle of it. Do you like the fire?”
Harmony smiled. “I’m often cold. Maybe I’m looking for the heat.”
“Or maybe,” Evans said, not backing down. “Maybe you know how not to get burned.”
Something about the way he said it felt off. Familiar. Like the voice she’d half-heard through the roar of the storm on the mountain road. The one she’d convinced herself wasn’t real.
Harmony felt the shift in the air. There was an unspoken recognition that the deputies and detectives were watching her closely. She was being studied . . . by more than one person. They were reading her and enjoying it. She wasn’t used to being watched. She didn’t like it. And yet, a part of her—a dark, curious part—understood the attention. Writers studied the world. Now the world was studying her back.
“Writers often seem far more fascinating than we actually are. As much as we’d like to live in the worlds we write, our livesare far more boring than you can imagine. It’s why we write, to settle the dullness of life, to live the adventures we dream about without actually realizing. But if you want to make me more exciting than I already am, then please, do it.”
He smiled—cold.
“Detective Vega thinks you’re worth watching,” Evans said. “I believe he might have come to the party a little late.”
Her pulse skipped . . . not enough for him to see, just enough for her to know this moment mattered.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what you’re implying, Deputy?”
“People love hiding things. They’re good at it.” He didn’t move and didn’t break eye contact. “I’m very good at noticing who’s hiding the deepest secrets. I haven’t failed yet.”
She didn’t say anything. She refused to defend herself when there was nothing to defend. The silence stretched between them like another body had dropped from the heavens.
“Don’t worry, Harmony, I’m not going anywhere. We all take a lot of pride in this community. We protect one another.” He gave another long pause. “The mainland detectives will leave soon . . . but our department doesn’t go anywhere.”
There was something unhinged in the softness of his voice, something that suggested he expected to be standing at her shoulder long after the murder cases closed. Harmony felt the phantom weight of that future, cold and unwelcome.
His look lingered for another long moment. Then, he walked away, not once turning to look back. He didn’t need to. His message had come through loud and clear.
Harmony stood perfectly still. She evaluated the two conversations. Vega suspected her mind. Evans was tracking something else entirely—something darker, something a lot more personal.
They were both watching . . . and neither was done.
On this island, danger wasn’t just the killer in the shadows. It was also the men who thought they understood others . . . especially her. They were fools.
She could handle killers. They were predictable. It was the men who wanted her truth, her mind, her fear. Those were the ones who broke stories wide open.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marked in the Fog
Cass and Harmony walked, neither of them wanting to be locked inside. They reached a curve where the road narrowed, flanked by trees bent from years of wind and too little rain to strengthen their roots. Fog still hung heavy, like something alive.
A sudden sound broke the quiet—a low engine, fast, too fast for this narrow curve.
Headlights tore through the mist.
“Move!” Cass shouted, grabbing Harmony’s arm.
The car barreled toward them. At the last second, it swerved, the side mirror clipped Harmony’s sleeve, and jerked her sideways. Cass dragged her into the brush. They hit the wet earth hard as the vehicle roared past, vanishing into the fog.
“What the hell!” Cass gasped. She scrambled upright and looked at Harmony. “Are you okay?”
