Harmony’s tone was tender. “Are you finding it?”
The words landed like a slap. Mary blinked, stepped back, and then fled toward the exit. Tosh called after her, but she was already gone. The doors slammed, echoing through the vaulted hall.
The silence didn’t last long. Sergeant Durante approached Harmony, clearing his throat. “Harmony. A word?”
“Okay.” She turned to face him, polite, unreadable.
“You’ve been asking a lot of questions lately,” he said. “People talk.”
“They always do.”
“Some of them are starting to ask why you’re always in the middle of it. And why you’re always nearhim.” His gaze flicked to Zach for a brief moment. Harmony said nothing. She knew when to wait, and it seemed all of them had it out for her at the moment.
He studied her. “You were at the scene the night Lisa died. You’ve been seen with every person involved since. That’s not a coincidence.”
Harmony smiled faintly. “It’s research.”
“For a book?”
“For the truth.”
Durante’s jaw tightened. “Don’t make me regret going easy on you.”
She tilted her head. “If I were guilty of anything, Sergeant, you’d already know. The island talks to you too, doesn’t it?”
He didn’t answer, just gave her one long, unsettled look, then walked away.
The music shifted, slower this time—a sinuous rhythm that slid across the floor like smoke. The kind of song that was made for hips and half-truths. Harmony stood by the bar, still tasting the fight that had come out of nowhere, and Durante’s questions. They’d been sharp and metallic, like blood or truth. She needed something to wash them away. A drink wouldn’t do it. Movement might.
As the crowd regained its rhythm, she saw a man confidently striding forward.
“Dance with me?”
The voice was warm, unfamiliar, a stranger. Broad shoulders, linen shirt clinging where the heat had caught it, a grin that promised distraction. The kind of man who’d disappear by morning, leaving no name, no questions, no answers.
Perfect.
She took his hand. Why not? Catalina loved bad ideas. His palm was rough, his confidence practiced. They moved easily, his breath sweet with rum and bravado. She let herself be pulled close, let her body remember what ease felt like. The song wrapped around them like heat—all bass and heartbeat and suggestion.
The crowd parted enough for them to weave their way toward the center of the floor. The man guided Harmony forward, his hand lightly supporting her back. The first press of his palm against her spine sent a shiver through her. His hand was firm, confident, his rhythm easy. They began to dance, moving together like they’d done it before.
Lights over the dance floor flickered gold and amber, catching in Harmony’s hair as it swung over her shoulder. His breath brushed her neck.
“You definitely seem a woman of mystery,” he murmured, voice low in her ear.
“I am,” she said.
He gave a murmur of approval, the sound vibrating against her skin.
Around them, the air thickened. There was the kind of heat in the room that made logic unravel. Couples swayed. Glasses clinked. Laughter turned into moans.
Harmony tilted her head back, eyes half-lidded. For a moment, she wasn’t thinking about dead girls, secrets, or who might be hiding behind fake smiles. She let herself move—really move—hips catching the slow drag of the song, her breath syncing with his.
Then she looked up and saw Zach and Cass dancing together.
Zach’s shirt was half undone, his collar damp, his hands low at her waist. Cass looked up at him with a dangerous ease she saved for beautiful men. Curiosity and invitation. She was sex and poetry in motion.
Harmony’s partner spun her, then pulled her back. She laughed, then made the mistake of looking up again. This time, Zach’s gaze met hers. The music seemed to wrap around her, and her body pulsed with need.
