Chapter One
He hadn’t managed to outrun the past yet. But he kept trying anyway.
The rhythmic slap of his shoes against the cool pavement settled into a monotonous background noise as Bowie jogged up the quiet residential street. All the houses he passed were dark, no one else stirring yet in his neighborhood. Ahead of him, the eastern sky was aglow with the approaching dawn. The early May morning air was cool against his skin, carrying the briny scent of the sound behind him.
Last night his demons had taunted him mercilessly. When the weight of the memories became too much, this was the only way he knew how to chase them away.
Maintaining his pace, he cleared his mind of everything, exhaustion bringing the numbness that finally allowed him to sink into the closest thing to peace he could reach these days. At the top of the hill he circled back along the footpath that skirted the canal as the birds began to sing, the marsh and inlets glowing with the orange and gold of dawn.
His two-story house stood at the bottom of the hill, backing onto the sound. He bent over in front of it to catch his breath while the cool breeze washed over his sweaty skin, staring at the house. Ghosts were waiting inside for him. But at least now he could handle confronting them again.
The quiet of the empty house surrounded him as he entered the small, spotless kitchen. Through the window above the sink, the surface of the canal rippled in the breeze as it flowed past at the end of the dock where his Hurricane sport boat was moored.
It was his baby and he loved being out on the water, but he barely took it out anymore. Going out there alone just made him miss his family more, and the good times they’d had together fishing or racing across the water.
He grabbed a cold bottle of water from the fridge and stood there while the stillness settled around him. It suited him. The solitude. He was meant to be alone. And if he ever needed a reminder of that, all he had to do was glance over at the stained-glass panel hanging in the window beside the French door leading outside.
Against his will, his gaze shifted to it. To the familiar patterns of blues, greens and purples locked together forever between lead lines, the morning light making the pieces glow like jewels and reflecting on the floor and walls.
That all-too familiar hollow feeling filled his gut. So constant he barely took notice of it anymore.
Tearing his gaze away from it, he walked to the French door and stepped outside into the backyard. Immediately it was easier to breathe, the salty scent of the water soothing him as he crossed the back lawn, the dew cool under his bare feet. His steps echoed slightly on the wooden planks of the dock, mixing with birdsong as he walked to the end of it, then sank down to dangle his legs over the edge next to his boat.
A cool breath of air rose from the water, the surface so calm it looked like a mirror. He sipped his chilled water, absorbing the fragile sense of peace, knowing it wouldn’t last. It never did. And soon other thoughts and worries began to intrude. Like his sister, Harper. She was still up north in Boston. He hadn’t heard from her in over a week, even though he’d called and texted. That was unusual, and he couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong.
Gradually, the neighborhood began to wake around him, signaling the end of his solitude. He got up and returned to his empty house, the invisible weight settling back in his chest. He still loved this place. Even if the memories it held were bittersweet.
After a long, hot shower, he got ready and drove up the winding road to work. He parked out back of the garage, climbed out of his ’69 Challenger and took a deep breath of the spring air. The warmer weather meant the town of Kill Devil Hills was enjoying the last few days of quiet before the hordes of tourists descended on the Outer Banks for the summer.
It also signaled the imminent approach of a painful anniversary he was dreading.
Pushing the past from his mind, he walked into the garage he owned, sliding his sunglasses up on top of his ball cap. The moment he stepped inside, a cool blast of air from the A/C hit him, bringing with it the comforting smells of motor oil and rubber.
Barb, his twenty-year-old receptionist looked up from her phone at the front desk and put on a sunny smile for him. “Morning.”
He’d hired her at the end of the college semester to take care of the phone and scheduling, both of which he hated. She’d work through the summer until school started back at the end of August. Then he’d have to either handle it himself or find someone else again. “Morning. Did that supplier call with the delivery date yet on that part I need for the Vette?”
“Not yet.”
Figured. And he couldn’t do anything else with it until the part arrived. “What’s the schedule like for today?”
“Umm…” She set her phone down and pulled up the appointment program on the computer. “You’re fully booked until noon tomorrow, and only one slot left tomorrow afternoon.”
At least business was steady. “Brian in yet?” His other full-time mechanic, and the only other employee he trusted to do body work besides him.
“Not until ten.”
“All right. Let me know if that supplier calls.”
“Will do.” She picked up her phone before he’d even turned away and started scrolling through whatever she was looking at. But the place was clean and the phone was quiet, so he didn’t say anything.
The garage area was still dark when he walked through the door. He flipped on the lights and turned on the stereo. Classic rock filled the space as he put on his coveralls and gathered his tools for his first project of the day—finishing up an upgraded rebuild on the carburetor of a ’67 Camaro.
He worked on vehicles of all types, but his first love was muscle and classic cars, and over the years he’d built a solid reputation for it. People from up and down the Outer Banks and beyond brought their classic cars to him.
An hour later, he stood at his workbench, wrestling with a stubborn, rusted bolt when a familiar voice spoke from behind him.
“Damn, how’s a man supposed to hear himself think with all this racket going on back here?”
He straightened in surprise and turned to find his brother standing in the doorway. A grin immediately spread over his face, the lingering heaviness in his chest lifting. It had been a damn long time since they’d seen each other in person. Too long.
He set down his wrench. Chase wore his usual outfit of jeans, a T-shirt and boots, and yet still managed to look like he’d just stepped off a Hollywood movie set. “What the hell are you doing in town?” Last he’d heard, Chase had been on location in L.A. working on a big-budget action movie. He hurriedly wiped his hands on a rag from his hip pocket as his brother crossed to him.
“Wanted to surprise you. Surprise.” Chase gave him a tight, back-slapping hug that Bowie had needed far more than he’d realized, then stepped back to grin at him, the glare of the overhead lights glinting on the golden-brown stubble on his jaw. He shook his head. “Wow. You should talk to management, because I think the boss has been working you too hard. You look like hell, man.”
“I appreciate that, thanks,” he said dryly. “You just come by to hassle me?”
“Pretty much, yeah. I’m in between shoots, so I thought I’d come annoy you for a while during my downtime.”
“Lucky me.” Bowie was damn glad to see him. After leaving the Marine Corps with an honorable discharge, solid skill set and combat experience, Chase was now an up and coming stuntman in increasingly high demand and didn’t get a lot of downtime these days. As a result, he rarely came home anymore.