Nicole was missing.

  “I don’t want you running around the lake drunk without your father or someone to keep an eye on you,” Mia warned, shooting her daughter a stern look. “Please, babe, be careful.”

  “I always am, weirdo.” Throwing a charming wink over her shoulder, Gwen started back towards her room.

  Only a few cars were camped outside of the Tribeau residence when Mia parked down the block. Most importantly, there weren’t any deputies’ cruisers nearby. She prayed one didn’t materialize to tell the family it was in fact Nicole’s body that had washed up on shore.

  An hour or so later, Madolyn and her younger sister, Brittany, emerged from the house with three of their girlfriends. In black athletic shorts and a black tank top, platinum hair in a nest of curls on top of her head, Madolyn appeared sickly gray and haggard, as if she was on her way to a funeral. One of the other girls gripped Madolyn’s elbow, seemingly holding Madolyn upright. Nicole’s 13-year-old daughter didn’t look any better.

  The chilling tendrils of paranoia took hold of Mia’s spine. Had they been informed the body was in fact their mom’s? Maybe law enforcement had already stopped by with the news. For all she knew, Tom was at the morgue identifying the body, and had called his daughters to join him. Mia was convinced it’d be the death of her if she waited any longer to find out what Nicole’s family knew.

  Once Madolyn and her friends left, Mia grabbed the pan of scotcharoos she’d made fresh that morning, and headed toward the massive glass plate door beneath a concrete arch. Before she had a chance to ring the doorbell, she spotted Tom pacing the polished gray marble floor. Barefoot in gray joggers and a black t-shirt, he gripped the back of his head. A distressed expression worried his strong jawline. The way his dark hair stuck out in tufts, it appeared he’d been tugging on it for hours.

  Two elderly white-haired couples and a middle-aged woman with the same narrow features and hair color as Tom’s sat around a long concrete table behind him, their faces pinched in similar degrees of concern. Beyond them was a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a small in-ground pool in the backyard. Tom and Nicole’s two adult sons lingered with body language similar to their father's—arms crossed, jaws hard, gazes fixed on the ground.

  It seemed the entire family was grieving.

  Deciding she’d made a mistake thinking she could waltz right in and ask prying questions, Mia abruptly spun around. She only made it a few steps before she heard the whoosh of the massive front door’s rubber seal opening.

  “Mia?” Tom’s deep voice boomed. It sounded like an accusation of sorts.

  Stomach roiling, she turned to him. “Tom…hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, crossing his long arms and pinching his pale lips together. His icy stare made her stomach dip and bend.

  “I, uh, stopped by to see if there’s anything I could do to help. I’m sure it’s not easy going through this with four kids—”

  “Because you and Nicole are such close friends?” A cold scowl spread across his pale lips. “You’re lucky my daughter isn’t home to see you gloat.”

  “I’m not—”

  “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, Mia. Truly, I am. But kindly get the fuck off my property,” he snarled. His long face turned a deep shade of scarlet. “Come here again, and I’ll call the cops.”

  Tears of embarrassment stung Mia’s eyes as she stumbled off the front step. When she turned back toward her car, sunlit glass caught the corner of her eye. She turned to the glass wall on the side of the garage, eyes drawn to a set of shiny rims.

  She covered her mouth.

  A classic black Impala was parked in the first stall.

  Just like the one she’d seen the night Nicole went missing.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Once safely inside her cottage, Mia was still unable to stop her hands from trembling. Had that been Tom she’d seen with Nicole on Pelican’s Pass? Had he fought with his wife, and forced her over the cliff? The most disturbing question she couldn’t shake was: had Tom been behind Bella’s disappearance too? Was he the one who’d emailed her all those years ago, taunting her over the abduction of the other two women?

  Although forty-five minutes short of noon, she put a record on the turntable and opened a bottle of sparkling white wine, hoping to soothe her nerves. She’d downed three-quarters of the one and a half liter bottle when the doorbell chimed. Since she wasn’t expecting anyone, she had every intention of ignoring it—until it chimed again. And again. Grumbling, she shuffled over to the door’s peephole.

  A brawny, blonde man with his head bent rang the doorbell again. Behind him, a black SUV with Arizona license plates was parked in the driveway. Though it was one of the warmest days of the year, he wore a navy blue suit and light blue tie over a white Oxford. Between his clothing and rigid posture, Mia suspected he was with law enforcement—most likely a detective.

  She’d lived in the area for a combined total of thirty years. The only encounters she’d had with local officers and deputies other than after the accident and Bella’s disappearance had been for community fundraisers, and a few dozen small incidents at the resort involving petty crimes like theft and disorderly conduct. If the town even had a homicide department, she’d been blissfully unaware.

  Had Tom called the sheriff like he’d threatened? Bile seared her throat as she reluctantly opened the door. “Can I help you?”

  The man looked up. Wide and smooth lips curved with a bright smile. As he studied her, his friendly sky-blue eyes danced in a mischievous way that reminded Mia of happier times. Extraordinarily thick, ash blond hair covered his head in a fashionable sweep to one side with a razor part, trimmed down to less than an inch on the sides, and faintly speckled with gray. More gray hairs intertwined with blond on the couple-day-old beard framing the sides of his broad face and square jaw.

  Struck with a strong bolt of nostalgia, Mia stumbled back, gasping.

  “Mia.” His voice was low. Soothing. “It’s so good to see you again. I wish it was under different circumstances.”

  “Ben,” she breathed out, feeling all at once weak. Then a bolt of anger licked her backside. “I thought I told you—”

  “I’m a Special Agent with the FBI now.” He briefly held up a gold badge and picture ID inside a bi-fold leather wallet. “My partner and I were informed we’d be sent here on assignment because of my prior connections to the community. When your name was mentioned…” He returned his wallet to his pocket and wiped at a small line of sweat lining his brow. “I decided to come right away, before my partner arrives. So I’m here in an unofficial capacity. At least for now.” Perfectly straight, snow-white teeth flashed beneath a terse smile. “You look amazing. I liked your hair dark, but…” His smile faded. “Mind if I come inside to ask you a few questions?”

  Her fingernails gripped the wood grain on the other side of the door. He was with the FBI. If he had been there in a different capacity, she might’ve been tempted to break his perfect nose. “What about?”

  “I know this is going to be upsetting, but one woman in the area has disappeared, and another has died. I’m assuming you’ve heard about them?”

  With a sharp breath, Mia held a hand over her chest. “Does that mean the body they found wasn’t Nicole’s?”

  He offered a slight nod.

  Relief crashed into her so abruptly that she almost cried out. “Thank God,” she muttered.

  Nicole was missing

  But she wasn’t necessarily dead.

  When he shot her an apologetic look, she felt an unwanted pang that shimmered even lower than her belly. Damn him for being more attractive than ever, she thought. Worst of all, he still wasn’t wearing a wedding band. She hadn’t felt the slightest desire to stick her toes into the dating pool since divorcing Matt. After sixteen years of being with the same cheating scumbag, she couldn’t even remember how to properly flirt.

  “Are you alright?” he asked, fingertips grazing over her elbow.

  She recoiled from his touch. Had his fingers tangled in her hair, or was it her imagination? “I’m good.”

  Ben motioned toward the door. “If you’d let me come in, I’d be happy to share the details of what’s known at this point.”

  Mia wasn’t going to invite someone she hadn’t seen in sixteen years into her home. Especially one she’d engaged in a romantic relationship with, had loved, before being unceremoniously dumped like a bag of trash. Still, she experienced an unmistakeable pull of longing deep down when she looked into his beautiful eyes. “I’d rather you stay out there. My husband is sleeping inside.”

  His expression turned solemn. “Is this the same high school crush you recently divorced, or have you remarried in the past twenty-four hours?”

  “Congratulations, Special Agent,” she deadpanned. “You’ve done your homework.” She brushed aside the irritation that came with the tangled mess she’d created. The last time she’d seen Ben, they’d argued over her feelings for Matt before he’d left her alone to deal with her mom’s death. At the time, she’d meant it when she’d told Ben she loved him, and no longer cared for Matt. Looking into the eyes of the fierce professional he’d become, she simply wanted him to go away. “Maybe I don’t want you inside for personal reasons."

  “I deserve that.” He dipped his chin, holding her stare. “You’ve already answered the first question I was planning to ask—you’re still in touch with Nicole Tribeau.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “Only because our daughters are classmates. We’re not any friendlier than we were in high school.”

  “A witness observed the two of you arguing in the supermarket parking lot hours before she went missing.”

  She warned herself to keep a neutral expression. A part of her knew Farah Hanson would go running to the sheriff with that bit of information anyway. “So that makes me a suspect in her disappearance?”

  “Not necessarily. We’re trying to piece together what happened the day Nicole went missing. There’s a gap of time unaccounted for between that morning and when a neighbor last saw her that afternoon. If something significant happened that could explain her whereabouts, we need to know. What did you argue about?”

  “She was sticking her nose in my daughter’s business. I told her to knock it off.”

  “Have you two argued in the past? I mean…aside from in high school.”

  Sucking her lips into her mouth, she studied him. How much did he know? “Should I be having this conversation with my attorney present, Special Agent?”

  Ben dipped his chin with a stern look. “Not unless you’re guilty of something.”

  She released a tired sigh. “Last year, Nicole and her devil of a daughter went out of their way to make my daughter’s life miserable. But it’s not serious enough that I would want either of them dead. For whatever reason Nicole went missing, I had nothing to do with it. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Where were you on Friday night?”

  Her throat dried. “I was with my daughter. You can administer a lie detector test if that’s really a thing.”

  Amusement lit his expression. “You haven’t changed much.” He relaxed his posture and stuck his hands inside his pants pockets. “What about Alyssa Scriber? Do you know her?”

  “Is that the woman they found?”

  “It is. She was twenty, raised just ten miles down the road from here. Attended the U of M, majored in early education.”

  Nausea rippled through her. “The name’s not familiar. I don’t know a lot of kids in the area unless they were in the same grade as one of mine.” She curled her shoulders inward and hugged herself. “They said on the news she was blonde, blue-eyed.” She swallowed the unease slinking up her throat as she recalled the contents of the mysterious email she’d received the night her mom died. Goodbye…for now. “It’s happening again…isn’t it?”

  His beautiful eyes drifted over her with heightened awareness. She couldn’t decide if it was a look of sympathy, or if he was trying to understand her. “No one can say for sure, Mia. Perpetrators tend to favor a certain type. Although the women share physical resemblances, Nicole is more than twice Miss Scriber’s age. Bella’s too.” He rubbed his broad chin in an enduring manner. How many women had he romanced since they’d been together? “However, there is a correlation between Nicole and the young woman as Alyssa’s body washed up on the shores of Shady Oaks, and Nicole’s cell phone last sent a signal from less than a mile away.” He paused to wet his lips. “I understand you’re no longer the owner of the resort. I was sorry to hear that.”

  She tried to swallow another lump in her throat, debating if she should tell him what she’d seen—or least what she thought she’d seen. Ben seemed to still be reasonable enough, but it could’ve merely been an act to make her feel comfortable, hoping she’d confess anything else she might be holding back. Like the fact that she may have witnessed Nicole’s murder, and saw Tom’s car parked alongside the road. Would Ben question her intentions if she admitted to spying on Tom?

  “Do you know if there was a relationship between Nicole and your ex-husband?”

  Unease caught her by surprise. Was Matt a suspect? Had he included both Nicole and the young woman in his long list of affairs? She’d watched Matt flirt with Nicole a time or two at their daughters’ school functions. “Tom and my ex are still good friends. But I don’t know that Nicole and Matt ever spent any time together, except in passing. But what do I know? He cheated on me countless times, so I guess it’s possible.”

  Shifting his weight, Ben glanced over her shoulder. “This is a beautiful place—prime location. I don’t remember seeing it as a kid. Have you lived here long?”

  “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that question, Special Agent?”

  His sensual lips parted with a wide smile. “I’d rather you call me Ben.”

  With a snort, she shook her head. She’d fallen for the utterly handsome, charming man once before. She wouldn’t make that mistake twice. “If we’re done here, I have things to do.”

  One of his eyebrows arched up to his hairline. “Does it involve more wine?”

  Damn him, she thought. He was way too observant. She crossed her arms over her belly, trying not to smirk. “Is there a crime against day drinking?”

  He flashed the palms of his hands. “Hey, no judgments on my end. If I weren’t still officially on the clock, I’d ask if I could join you for one. Outside, of course, since you don’t want me inside.”

  Her lips gave up the fight, quirking with a crooked smile. A part of her truly missed him and the ease of their friendship. “When’s quitting time?”

  “The way things are going, I’m not sure. But I do have to take a break for dinner.” He leaned his hand against the doorframe. “Interested in meeting me somewhere for a bite? Say around eight?”

  “I hate to disappoint you, Special Agent, but I’ve told you everything there is to know about my relationship with Nicole,” she insisted. “There’s nothing more to ‘get’ out of me.”

  “Maybe I’m interested in getting to know you again.” He wet his lip and lowered his voice. “It looks like I might be sticking around for a while.”

  She gnawed on her bottom lip. Meeting with an old boyfriend turned FBI agent somewhere for all of Shady Oaks to witness and gossip about would’ve been social suicide. She could only imagine what Matt would say. “Do you still like pasta?” she asked.

  Tilting his head, he grinned. “It’s still my favorite.”

  “Come back here at eight.” She turned and shut the door in his face.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ben rang Mia’s doorbell precisely at 8:00 pm. She nudged the volume down a few notches on the Bush album and ran her hands over the cobalt maxi dress she’d last worn to Gavin’s sixteenth birthday party. Her breath caught when she opened the door. Ben had ditched the suit and tie for khaki shorts and a navy blue button-down that brought out the golden specks in his eyes, and revealed a little of his tan, broad chest. He was even more attractive in a relaxed state. His sky-blue gaze swept up and down her body. “Mia, you look—”

  She motioned for him to stop. “I didn’t wear this for you. I have a date coming after your dinner break.”

  “A date, huh?” Breezing past her, he let out a short chuckle. “Too bad for him, I have the rest of the night off.”

  Unable to tell if he was being facetious in return, she snorted and followed him inside. With his gaze skimming over every last detail of the two visible rooms, he smiled at the sight of her makeshift art studio. He then regarded the wall displaying her work, and moved in closer to study the large painting of the cliffs in Positano, Italy. It was her favorite piece, mostly because it held fond memories of her 30th birthday trip she’d taken with Liz. It was also the first time she’d used aluminum.

  Ben then turned to the portraits she’d created of her children as babies and toddlers. “Beautiful kids,” he commented, folding his arms and turning to her. “I browsed through your gallery online. You’re exceptionally talented, Mia. I understand your process with aluminum is complicated, and you’re an alchemist of sorts.”

  Her cheeks warmed as she smiled. Exactly how much did he know about her? “It’s a delicate balance of fire and chemicals.”

  “I’d love to watch you create something.”

  She leaned her head to one side. “You’ve become an art enthusiast?”

  He jutted his chin and flashed a cocky grin. “I’ve picked up a thing or two on the job.”

  “Well, you’re right, my process is rather complicated,” she told him, lifting a brow. “It’s also top secret. My children are the only two souls privy to my method.”