The woman’s face was clear as day. What seemed like the only face I’d painted for the last month. The same woman who had bolted from my studio when I kissed her. The one who’d been avoiding me for days. But that all stopped this morning.
The sound of a boat’s motor had me looking towards the water. I grinned when I saw it heading straight for my dock, Shay behind the wheel. She’d likely try to give me the brush-off, but we were going to talk if I had to chase her all over this island.
I took my time setting aside my sketchpad and getting up as Shay tied off the boat. I strolled down the dock, just in time for her to swing a leg over the side. But as she did so, my grin slipped. Her limbs seemed to tremble as she moved. I picked up my pace, taking her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I…” Her mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to get the words out but failing with each attempt.
“Is it Michael?” Hell, what if he’d shown up on Anchor, and she’d been alone? Maybe she’d gotten another letter.
Shay shook her head. “There was—someone was murdered. There was a body. At the park by the docks. He was dead. On the bench.”
Her explanation kept coming in that nonsensical pattern, in fits and starts. I guided her towards the bench at the base of the dock. “Sit down. Just breathe.”
Shay lowered herself to the seat and took a couple of steadying breaths. When she finally met my gaze, I saw so much pain there. And maybe a little fear. “Brody. The body. It looked like the painting on your website. The one of the boy with the broken heart and the drugs all around him. It looked just like that. But he was sitting, not standing.”
My blood turned to ice. “Are you—how can you be sure? Were you close enough to really see?”
Her fingers linked with mine. “I’ll never forget that image as long as I live. There were even words spray painted on the bench.”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, but the action felt like razor blades grating against my flesh. How was this happening? Again. My mind whirled, trying to put the pieces together. A million different possibilities circled each other. Had they caught the wrong person? Had a murderer followed me from New York? Was there some sort of sick copycat killer at work?
No one knew where I was. Not really. Not until Lara did her precious little interview. Sure, she hadn’t given my exact location, but she had given enough for someone even halfway proficient with a search engine to put the pieces together.
Shay’s arms slipped around me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m so damn sorry. I wish I could take it all away. For you. For that man who lost his life. For this community.”
I pulled Shay closer to me, swinging her legs so they were draped across my lap. I needed every point of contact she’d give me. The pressure and weight. The warmth. The undeniable pull that was only Shay’s.
We stayed like that for a while. I wasn’t sure how long. Minutes? Hours? The only thing I was certain of was that Shay had stayed. She poured every bit of her strength into me.
I pressed my lips to the side of her head. “I guess we should go up to the house. I need to call the sheriff and—”
Shay squeezed my knee. “I don’t think you need to call him.”
She inclined her head towards the water, and I saw an approaching boat. I could just make out the sheriff’s star on the side of it. Hell. I wasn’t ready for this. The questions. To have this little haven I’d built for myself invaded.
Shay straightened and pushed to her feet. I felt the loss instantly and down to my very marrow. But she kept hold of my hand, her fingers still twined with mine. I stood and followed her towards the boat.
The man, who I assumed was the sheriff, disembarked. “Morning, Shay.”
“Morning, Sheriff.”
He gave her a small smile, but it was strained around the edges. “I’ve told you time and again, call me Parker.”
I studied the man a little more intently with the voicing of that statement. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall and broad as if he might have been a linebacker in high school. Parker turned his attention to me and extended a hand. “Sheriff Parker Raines, but you can call me Parker. I’ve been meaning to stop by and introduce myself, but time got away from me. I’m sorry I’m doing it now under less than stellar circumstances.”
Something about Parker’s demeanor eased a bit of the tension thrumming through me. “Brody James. Why don’t we head up to the house and talk there? I’ve got coffee.”
Parker nodded. “Never turn down a cup. Lead the way.”
Shay had to let go of my hand as we made our way up the path, but she stayed close, lending me her silent support. I could feel the crew’s eyes as we made our way past the studio site, and I gave Hunter a small shake of my head when he raised his brows in question.
“Looks like an impressive project,” Parker said.
“Art studio. Hunter and his team have done an incredible job.” I just didn’t know if I’d ever be able to use it after this.
“They do some of the best work on the islands, that’s for sure.”
I pulled open the door to the main house and ushered Shay and Parker inside. Shay made a beeline for the kitchen, busying herself with preparing the coffee. “Do you guys want anything besides coffee? I could make you an early lunch. Sandwiches or a salad—”
I gave Shay’s arm a squeeze. “I think coffee is fine.”
“Sure is,” Parker echoed.
“Do you want me to leave?” Shay asked.
Parker glanced in my direction. “It’s up to you.”
“Stay.”
With that single word, she slid into the breakfast nook, leaving a spot just big enough for me. Parker eased into the opposite side. It took a moment for me to force myself down. Because I knew the moment I did, the questions would start. I kept my gaze on Shay as I finally sat, as though she could lessen what was to come.
Parker cleared his throat. “I take it Shay filled you in on what happened on Anchor.”
“She did. We were just about to head up to the house to give you a call when she saw your boat.”
Parker took a sip of his coffee. “I remembered reading about the case back in New York. Followed the news coverage here and there. And when I got to the scene today, something scratched at the back of my mind. I didn’t put it all together until I ran a search.”
He paused for a moment before continuing. “There was a printout of a painting at the crime scene. When I did a reverse image search, your website popped up.”
My jaw worked back and forth before I said anything. Not that Parker had asked a question, but his silence told me that he wanted me to offer something. “There were never copies of my art at the other crime scenes. Have you talked to the detectives in New York? The FBI? He crossed state lines back east, so they were involved.”
“I’ve got a call in to the FBI and spoke briefly with a Detective Chen at the NYPD.”
I nodded. “Chen is good people. He saw me through this whole nightmare before.”
“Seems like it. He’s gathering copies of their files and faxing them to me. But they seem pretty certain they’ve got their guy.”