The words hung in the air—light on the surface—but Candy’s hand trembled around her glass. Tosh finally looked at her as the thunder rolled over the water. The storm was getting closer.
Outside, Harmony moved down the street and spotted Deputy Evans and Deputy Duong standing beside their patrol unit, fog beading on their tan uniforms.
Deputy Ciscel stood a few feet behind them, a notepad in hand, head bent as he wrote something down. He didn’t look up when she approached, but she was uncomfortably aware that, out of all of them, he was the one who always seemed to be recording.
“Harmony,” Evans said with a short nod. His eyes were tired, jaw tight.
“How are you guys holding up?” she asked.
“Could be better,” Duong said. His gaze swept the street, then landed back on her, sharp and assessing. “We don’t like unsolved crimes on our island.”
Harmony nodded. “Any leads?”
Evans shook his head once. “And if we had some,” he said gravely, “we wouldn’t be sharing them out here.”
“You two are the best of the best,” Harmony told them. “I’m sure it won’t be long now.”
That earned the faintest curve at the corner of Evans’s mouth. Duong didn’t smile, but his shoulders eased by a fraction.
“Stay safe,” he said.
Behind them, Deputy Ciscel stepped out of the fog with his notepad half-open, pretending he hadn’t been listening. He nodded once at Harmony—polite, unreadable. His gaze lingered too long on her notebook, as if memorizing details he wasn’t allowed to collect.
“Morning,” he said quietly. Too quietly.
Something in his tone made the hair on Harmony’s arms lift.
Ciscel walked on without another word, writing something down she couldn’t see.
“Aren’t I always safe?” she said with a shake of her head. Then she walked on, feeling their eyes on her until the fog swallowed her.
By afternoon, Torie cornered Harmony near the harbor, eyes red-rimmed and wild. “I saw them,” she hissed. “Together. He says I’m paranoid, but I saw her shirt. I saw his hands.” Her voice broke. “He thinks I’m stupid.”
Harmony rested a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not crazy, Torie. Sometimes people confuse guilt with love.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that Tosh doesn’t fake who he is. If a person is with him, they have to understand that—and either accept what he offers, or walk away.”
Torie’s breath hitched, fury sparking beneath exhaustion. “If I find out—”
“You will,” Harmony said gently. “The truth always surfaces. Tosh is . . . Tosh.” She shrugged.
“Don’t make jokes!”
“I’m not.”
Torie’s hands shook around her coffee cup. “Well, if I’m paranoid, then he’s unstable.”
“I think you’re awake, Torie. Everyone else is still pretending.”
“He’s going to make me look crazy,” Torie whispered. “That’s what men like him do. They wear charm like armor, and when you start bleeding, they tell everyone you did it to yourself.”
Harmony didn’t argue. She’d seen that particular magic trick before—how a woman’s fear could be turned into entertainment, her fury intohysteriawith a single well-placed shrug.
Harmony studied her face. The desperation. The edge. The way her eyes refused to settle. “It’s easy,” Harmony said. “Stop bleeding for him.”
Torie blinked. “What?”
