The sound of the gunshot in the hall was tremendous. There was a moment of silence, and then all hell broke loose. Flynn’s body hit the hardwood with a mighty thud. There were cries and wails. Tim, on the floor next to him, shouted orders. His hands were already streaked with blood such a vibrant shade of red it hurt my eyes.
Without thinking, I ran. Down the hall.
Out the front door.
Into the storm.
TWENTY-TWO
Flynn was dead, I was sure of it. I was trained to make a shot count. The bullet had ripped through the man’s thick chest, just as I’d intended.
Flynn’s a suspect, I told myself. He’s dangerous. I had no choice.
You have no proof he killed Jasper. You don’t even know if Jasper’s dead.
I had no destination. All I wanted was to escape from the house, and everyone in it. Outside, a row of exterior lights illuminated a winding pathway to the steep stairs that led down to the water, a vast black hole at the base of the hill. That’s where I headed, taking the slick steps two at a time and praying my boots would find traction on the rocky treads. Without my raincoat, which still hung in the mudroom, Camilla’s shirt was soaked through in seconds. The way it clung to my skin made me want to scream.
Far below me a wave crashed against the stone wall and exploded with a sound like thunder. McIntyre was wrong to trust me with this job. Why didn’t I just listen to Carson? I should have known I couldn’t trust myself after I drew my weapon on Ned. I saw a killer in every face, a motive in every story. I wasn’t just a mess, I was a menace. What made me think I could recover from what Bram did to me? He’d rearranged my instincts and emotions like a kid tossing a puzzle in the air and laughing as the pieces rained down around him. He might as well have killed me in that cellar. The person I used to be—competent, steadfast, true—was dead.
By the time I got to the boathouse, my face was numb and the bandage on my hand was drenched. I stopped to unwrap the gauze. The last layer had fused itself to my seeping skin, but I ripped it off anyway. Savored the intensity of the pain.
The shirt came off next. I tore it open, struggled out, and threw the ball of wet fabric onto the rocks. I wanted to rid myself of everything belonging to the Sinclairs, but it wasn’t as easy as ditching Norton’s bandage and Camilla’s borrowed clothes. Just like Bram, they’d found a way inside my head. My only escape from the madness was to get off Tern Island.
The boathouse was dark. Even through the rain I picked up the rank smell of rotted fish abandoned by minks that couldn’t be trapped. I didn’t have the keys to the police boat and couldn’t have driven it if I did, but I didn’t think about any of that when, standing in my wet bra, I groped at the rough interior wall for the light.
“Shana!”
Tim’s voice was barely audible over the rumble of the river and torrential rain. He moved faster than he should have been able to on those irregular, rainwashed steps. How had he caught up with me so quickly? Tim didn’t have his jacket either. His wet shirt was molded to the contours of his chest.
When he reached me he planted his hands on his knees and took a series of long, wheezy breaths. “What the hell, Shana?” he gasped. “What the fuck?”
“You have to take me back to the mainland.” It didn’t seem like an unreasonable request. Whatever Tim’s association with the family, he should want me gone as much as the others. It was leave now or wait for backup to haul me away in cuffs. Tim would have to answer for his offenses—whatever arrangement he had with the family would come out in the end—but it was me who’d take the heat for this case going to shit. The Sinclairs would sue. No paid desk duty for me; I’d be charged with involuntary manslaughter. Would Carson wait for me while I was in prison? All he’d asked was that I leave police work behind so we could be a normal, happy couple like everyone else. Well, he didn’t have to worry about me working ever again, and I’d have plenty of free time to plan the wedding. The irony of the situation was almost enough to make me laugh.
“I’ll turn myself in when we get there. Just take me back.” My voice was steadier than I’d expected. I took some comfort in that.
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“I killed a witness. Was he your friend? Did I kill your friend, Tim?”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Tim looked down at my chest and saw the rain coursing over my near-naked breasts. His eyes got very round. “Where the hell is your shirt?”
“You were right. There isn’t a shred of proof out here that Jasper Sinclair was murdered. But you knew that from the start, didn’t you? I bet you know exactly where he is.”
Tim reached for my bare arm, but I yanked it away. “What’s wrong with you?” he said, voice rising. “Can’t you see I’m trying to help?”
“You can help by getting me out of here. Nothing’s wrong,” I said. “I finally get it.”
“No, you don’t. For starters, Flynn’s not dead.”
“What?”
“Lucky for you, your burn fucked up your aim.”
No. I’d seen the blood. The shot was true. “You’re lying.”
“You grazed his shoulder. He’ll be fine.” He paused and gave me a hard look. “It was self-defense.”
Flynn was angry and verbally abusive, but I didn’t remember him threatening me. I’d had no cause to draw my weapon, none at all. “But—”
“I’ll testify to that.”
Why would Tim defend me? It was a trap, it had to be. “Is this the part where you throw me in the river? How much are they paying you to cover up their crimes?”
“Shana,” said Tim, sounding exhausted. “Please.”
“Carson tried to warn me about you. God, I wish I’d listened.”
“Carson what?” Tim’s tone changed then. I couldn’t discern what that meant. “That makes perfect sense, actually.” He said it with a bitter laugh. “How does he manage to fuck me over even when he’s not around?”
“Carson’s just the messenger. You brought this on yourself.”
“For the love of Pete, Shana, help me understand. What is it that you think I did?”
My mouth worked ineffectually. “The Sinclairs,” I stammered. “You know them. They trust you.”
“I know of them,” said Tim. “Everybody around here does. And if they trust me, then I did my job. Earlier, while you were interviewing Bebe and Miles? Jade told me her grandmother lived here—right here, in A-Bay—before moving to New York. Doesn’t that strike you as a weird coincidence? And while you were talking to Ned, Bebe said Jasper used to beg to go to Antigua with his dad but he always refused to take the kids. Baldwin never even took Rachel until their last trip, the one they didn’t make it home from alive.”