By the time The Sandpiper comes into view, there is no unfamiliar rental car parked along the road. No idling vehicle. No mysterious figure waiting under the house. Just the pale blue cottage lifted on pilings, the private dune path beyond it, and sun beating down on crushed shell and wood like nothing terrible has ever happened here.
Cole does not relax. He glances over, and for one brief second, I see the man from the boat. The man who smiled at one of my jokes. Also, the man that used his strong fingers to spread sunscreen on my back.
He parks beneath the cottage but doesn’t reach for his door right away. His phone is already in his hand.
“Sloane?” I ask.
“Eli. He made a pass ten minutes ago. They noticed a vehicle, but it’s gone now.”
“So someone could have been lost.”
“Yes.”
“Or someone could have been watching.”
His jaw tightens. “Yes.”
I close my eyes. For a second, the salt air from the boat is still on me. Sunscreen. Wind. The faint rocking sensation in my knees from being on water. I want to crawl backward into that moment and stay there. Instead, I open my eyes and look at the cottage.
“Do we go inside?”
“Yes. Stay with me, but I enter first.”
The underside of The Sandpiper feels different now. Earlier, it was just shade and storage doors and practical beach-house clutter. Now every post and corner looks capable of hiding a person. The outdoor shower curtain moves in the breeze, and my pulse jumps so hard I hate myself for it.
Cole notices.
“It’s wind,” he says.
“I know.”
But knowing does not calm my body.
He goes up the stairs ahead of me and unlocks the door. I wait on the landing with my tote pressed against my side.
Once we are inside, Cole keeps me near the kitchen while he moves through the cottage. Not a full dramatic sweep. Not the way people do it in movies with guns and shouted warnings. Just a fast, controlled confirmation of what should be empty.
Bedroom.
Bath.
Porch.
Closets.
When he returns, he says, “Clear.”
I believe him.
“I need to rinse off,” I say.
He looks like he wants to argue with the concept of a shower, which is ridiculous and somehow sweet.
“Five minutes,” I add. “Door unlocked. I’ll talk the whole time if that keeps you from kicking it down.”
“I wasn’t going to kick it down.”
“Cole.”
