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I catch her by the waist and pull her in. “Princess, you’re the only woman I’ve ever let this close. Closer than Maisie, in some ways.”

“I’d hope so.” She bites her bottom lip, eyes dancing.

“Stay on target.”

“Right, right.” Her palms settle on my chest. “I’m listening. I’m here, Gage.”

I lead her to the dock, my focus on the water. “If it weren’t for Maisie, I honestly don’t know what would have become of us. Any of us.”

Jubilee waits.

“On day thirty-two, she came back with a spiral notebook. Every registered offender within twenty miles. Names, addresses, vehicles, work schedules, who had alibis. She’d turned fourteen in September, and she’d done more in one night than the sheriff’s department managed in a week.” My jaw tightens. “She’d crossed off everyone but three. Set the notebook on my bed and said, I can do the rest.”

Jubilee’s fingers curl into my shirt.

“And she meant it. She wouldn’t have enjoyed it, but she’d never have lost a minute of sleep.” I shake my head slowly. “One person in her whole life loved her unconditionally, and he was gone. I wasn’t about to let her lose herself too. I took the notebook, and I told her I’d handle it.” I exhale. “I took the dark so she didn’t have to.”

“Gage…”

“None of those three were him. Police cleared them. But I kept the notebook.” The farmhouse lights flicker through the trees. “Maisie found the cats. Mom found her work. Nana found her kitchen. Grandpa’s heart found its limit two years later. And I found out there are a lot of men like the one who took Grady.” I meet her gaze. “Maybe I’ll never find him. But I find the others. Every one I take off the board is one less family setting out an empty chair.”

She says nothing. I brace for the platitudes. It wasn’t your fault. He’d want you to be happy. You were just a kid.

“You’ll get the story of my first kill someday,” I tell her quietly. “Just not tonight.”

“Okay.” She takes my hand and sits on the edge of the dock, tugging until I sit beside her. Our boots hang over the dark water.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she confirms. “And I won’t tell you it wasn’t your fault.”

A breath leaves me. “Good.”

“You wouldn’t believe me. You’d be polite about it, and I’d hate that.” She leans her head against my shoulder. “I’m just going to stay. Whatever you need, Cannon. Whatever you want.”

The last of the light slides off the pond. The gold goes gray, then blue, then black. She doesn’t urge me toward the glowing windows. She doesn’t try to lead me anywhere. She just sits in the dark with me, not flinching, not fixing, not going anywhere.

After a long moment, her voice drifts up, barely a whisper. “Three. Fifty-nine. Seven. Eighty-three. Eleven.”

A sound breaks out of me, half laugh, half something else. “Where do you think I learned those?”

She lifts her head.

“The grief counselor Mom dragged me to that winter. It’s the only thing I kept from her.”

Jubilee is quiet for a long time. Then, she kisses my shoulder through my shirt. “Then I’m just giving them back.” Her fingers tighten around mine. “And someday, when I open that letter, you’re sitting right here with me.”

“Every time, Princess.”

Jubilee has an unopened letter. I have an empty chair.

And for the first time since that night, I’m not the only one keeping watch.

CHAPTER 31

Jubilee

A few days after Gage told me about the empty chair, I started hunting a ghost from Halloween night.