I glance down, kicking a rock with my cleat. “I just think you might be…um…having some things going on in your head.”

  “You mean she’s a psycho!” a voice cuts through the darkness. Tara Harrison steps into the light behind the field house. Arms folded, she flashes a triumphant smile. “I can’t believe you blew me off to go out with a total head-case!”

  Max’s mouth drops open with a quiet gasp.

  “Get the hell outta here, Tara,” I warn in a growl. “This conversation has nothing to do with you.”

  Max turns to run. I sprint after her, calling her name.

  Tara releases a wicked laugh into the cold air behind us. “Just wait until everyone hears you’re dating a certified psycho! They’re gonna eat you both alive!”

  “Max, don’t listen to her!” I plead when I’m close enough to touch her. “Let’s talk about this!”

  She stops so suddenly that I’m forced to jump aside to avoid running her over.

  “Leave me alone, Noah!” she cries, spinning around. My heart breaks in two from the pain reflected in her eyes and the rush of tears streaking down her face. “I don’t ever want to see you again!”

  Early the next morning, I stop by Max’s grandmother’s place. I gave Max the night to cool down. I’m hoping she’ll talk to me before school starts.

  The little old woman beams happily when she sees me. She was probably once beautiful like her granddaughters because she has the same sharp cheekbones and Britta’s blue eyes. She once told me she’s “extra wrinkly” because she didn’t believe in suntan lotion, and it’s probably the reason she developed melanoma cancer, too. Since she lost most of her hair from chemo, she usually has a bright scarf around her head. Today, her red scarf matches the polyester pantsuit she’s wearing. I bend to give her a careful hug. She’s lost weight since her treatments started and can’t weigh more than 100 pounds.

  “Good morning, Noah!” she greets me, patting my back. “What a nice surprise! I miss seeing you now that you’re back in school!”

  I draw back with a smile. “Good morning, Becky. Is Max up yet?”

  “She called last night and said she was staying with your sister,” she says, scratching a gnarled finger over the scarf. “She wanted to help her with a difficult homework assignment.” Confusion fills her gaze. “Isn’t she there?”

  The ground drops out from beneath my feet.

  Somehow, I already know.

  She’s gone back to her mother’s in Georgia.

  22

  PRESENT DAY

  Detective Josephine Kelly

  Sitting across from Sheriff Jaros inside his office, I recount what I know about Gabby Gallo and her two dead husbands. While both of their deaths were deemed suspicious, the detectives in charge of each case ruled out any participation by Gabby. They sounded exceptionally unamused when I spoke with them. One of them went so far as to suggest suspecting Gabby Gallo of foul play was a waste of my time.

  “I think there’s something to be said about her track record,” I tell the sheriff. “I get the feeling Gabby Gallo may either have been involved with Noah Huisman, and she became jealous of his two most recent affairs, or she’s protecting her friend, Maxine Huisman, by taking out any threats to the Huismans’ marriage. Everything she said when I interviewed her felt well-rehearsed—especially her reaction to Linda Boese’s death. I’m sure of it.”

  “From what I’ve heard, that Gallo woman is pretty out there and tends to overreact to the smallest things.” He runs both hands over his long, lean face. “Besides, that seems like a far stretch of the imagination. Not only that, but those men died in a completely different manner than our two victims. It doesn’t track well.”

  “I agree, but hear me out. In all my years as a homicide detective, I’ve only been wrong on one occasion, and that’s because the killer we arrested had a silent partner. I obviously can’t make an arrest based on a feeling, but I hope to obtain a warrant for Ms. Gallo’s cellphone records. If I can somehow track her activity around the time of the women’s deaths, I’m confident I can prove she was involved.”

  “What did those detectives in California have to say when you brought them up to speed?”

  “One of them said they’d take a second look at the file and get back to me. The other laughed and said if Ms. Gallo had killed her second husband, the mafia would’ve figured it out by now, and she would’ve disappeared.”

  Sheriff Jaros sniffs, then wipes at his nose with the back of his arm. “I’m starting to think what you said the other day might be true. Noah Huisman might be good for both murders.”

  “I’m not as sure anymore. He returned my call this morning, said he’s returning home tonight and would be more than happy to meet with me in the morning. He must’ve caught on to the fact that he’s a potential suspect because he also provided me with a long list of witnesses that can place him out of town on the nights in which both murders took place.”

  “A man with his kind of money can afford to buy a whole army of witnesses.”

  “True, but they’re worth looking into. It will help if we can verify them and cross him off our list of perps.”

  He leans back, crossing his legs and resting the heels of his combat boots on the edge of his bulky metal desk. “Do we have any other viable suspects at this point?”

  “Not until the B.C.A. submits their report on Britta Baxter’s body,” I admit. “Your M.E. called yesterday to tell me they finally had a chance to examine her.”

  “Hopefully, they’ll provide us with something helpful to make a break in both cases. The locals are getting nervous. Word’s out we have a serial killer on the loose, looking for a third victim.”

  I throw him an uneasy look. “At this point, I’m not convinced they’re wrong.”

  When the receptionist announces the sheriff has a phone call from the city administrator, I excuse myself from the room.

  For the remainder of the afternoon, I camp out on an empty desk in the rear of the building and reach out to the list of contacts provided by Mr. Huisman. All but one, a restaurant in Manhattan, answer my call. I leave my contact information on a voicemail for the restaurant’s manager.

  So far, Noah’s alibis for the two nights check out. It seems he was in Manhattan the night Britta Baxter was murdered and in St. Paul the night of Linda Boese’s. His witnesses include a bevy of credible witnesses, including his company’s owner—a man I recognize from a past cover of Forbes magazine.

  Two hours later, as I power down my laptop and prepare to head back to my rental, I receive a call from the B.C.A. As the officer explains their official findings on Britta Baxter, my phone pings with an email from the restaurant manager.

  The large file attached to the email changes everything.

  It’s dark when I leave the sheriff’s office and head to the twin restaurants on the north side of Britta Baxter’s bay. At this point, I have enough evidence to rule out both Noah Huisman and Oliver Baxter as suspects. Though I’m not quite having to start from scratch, the investigations have only become more complicated.

  With any luck, one of the employees will remember seeing Linda with a man in the past couple of months.

  My plan to interview staff changes when I notice the red compact car with an “Aussie mom” sticker on the back window parked directly in front of Key Largo. The sole Tesla known to be in the community is the only other car parked beside it.

  Both Molly Boese and Noah Huisman are inside. From the proximity of their cars, I suspect it’s no accident.

  What in the fresh hell is that about? At least I’ll no longer have to wonder if he knew Linda if, in fact, he is here with her sister. But why would they be meeting?

  “Just when I was sure he could be cleared as a suspect,” I grumble.

  I find an open spot in the lot behind them and head inside.

  The restaurant side of the establishment is packed with rowdy college kids home on summer break. The twang of country music blares from the digital jukebox as I elbow through the crowd. The thirty-something bartender behind the boat-shaped bar throws me a friendly smile and waves as I approach. “Hey, Detective!”

  Wedging myself between two leering men, I return her smile. “Christa, right?”

  “The one and only.” The woman winks playfully. “What can I get you? A diet soda?”

  “You can add a splash of whiskey this time. I’m off duty for the night.”

  Christa grins as she reaches for an empty glass beneath the bar top. “I’m on it!”

  While Christa prepares my drink, I carefully survey my surroundings. It’s impossible to see beyond the mass of customers milling about in the immediate section. A pass through the second section and out to the bustling backyard will be necessary to do a thorough job.

  “Have you seen Noah Huisman tonight?” I ask Christa.

  She shrugs as she gives my drink the last squirt of soda. “No, but this place has been a total zoo since I clocked in at three. Apparently, there’s a five-year-class reunion and a twenty-first birthday party.”

  Just my luck.

  Christa drops a straw into the drink. “I’ve been too busy to notice everyone who enters. Plus, sometimes customers come in through the back door by the tiki bar.” With a frown, she places the drink in front of me. “If you’re thinking of ordering food, I should warn you the kitchen is backed up by at least an hour and a half.”

  Although my stomach rumbles with the thought of food, I shake my head while tossing a $10 bill out. “I just stopped for a drink.”

  “Hold on, I’ll get your change.”

  “Keep it,” I tell her, already shuffling away.

  “Thank you!” Christa calls over the ruckus.

  Zig-zagging through the packed crowd, I long to reach for my weapons every time I’m either “accidentally” bumped into by a man or hear a lewd comment directed my way.

  Multiple times, I spot a blonde who resembles Molly Boese and a dark-haired man with the potential to be Noah Huisman. The building is so chaotic that I can hardly blame myself for desperately wanting to locate them.

  My phone buzzes with an incoming call from the holster on my hip. I retrieve it to find a 408 number. California. Locating a quieter corner, I push against one ear to block the excessive noise before answering. “Detective Kelly.”

  “It’s Detective Wendorf,” a gruff voice answers in a hint of an accent straight out of the Bronx. I picture a heavy-set man with a thick mustache and a stain from lunch on his obnoxious tie. “I’m calling back in regards to Gabby Gallo.”

  “Did you find something suspicious?”

  Detective Wendorf lets out a slow, noisy breath. “You could say that.”

  23

  PRESENT DAY

  Beth

  Concealed in a dark corner of the tiki bar behind Key Largo, I watch with disdain as the nosy detective exits back through the restaurant’s front door. Good riddance. God knows what she thought she’d discover by comin’ here tonight.

  The live band playin' hillbilly music on a semi-trailer overlookin' the water has provided enough of a distraction that no one has paid me any attention. I swing my gaze back to the first table right inside the doors where the dead bartender’s twin and Noah sit across from each other. Although I’d missed their initial meetin', Noah appeared twitchy enough by the time I arrived that I was certain she was makin' him uncomfortable.

  By the time his glass of amber liquid becomes empty, he’s swayin' and occasionally closin' his eyes. He’s on the verge of passin' out at the table. Molly takes his arm and guides him through the door leadin' outside in my direction.

  The feral side of me wants to scream. Molly’s too young and too damn pretty, just like her bitch of a sister.

  I don’t know what Gabby and Maxine could’ve possibly been thinkin' when they brought her into their plan, but they’re idiots.

  I, for one, don’t trust her or her intentions.

  Who’s to say she won’t call the police? She could ruin my plan to make Noah pay for his infidelities.

  What’s stoppin' this girl from becomin' Noah’s next affair?

  I hustle around the end of tiki bar shaped like a boat and nestle in on Noah’s other side. “Easy, big fella,” I coo, wedgin' my shoulder under his armpit and wrappin' my arm around his thick waist. “I got you.”

  Givin' me a double-take, Molly flinches. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes flicker over my hair. “You’re still recognizable, you know. And this wasn’t part of the plan.”

  “It’s okay,” I answer through gritted teeth. “I’ll take over from here.”

  Noah’s unfocused gaze lands on me before his mouth tilts with a smolderin' grin. “Hey, sexy.”

  “Hey there, darlin’,” I reply. “Miss me?”

  He nudges his nose against my cheek. “Always, baby.”

  “You can leave now, Molly,” I say, ensurin' my voice is firm enough to convey a threat. “I brought his boat over. We’ll be fine without on our own.”

  Wisely, Molly releases her hold on Noah. “But⁠—”

  “Do not make me repeat myself,” I seethe with a final warnin' glare aimed in her direction. “Everythin’ will still work out. I’ll fill you in on the details in the mornin’.”

  Wisely, she doesn’t attempt to stop me.

  Noah groans in a non-sexual way. It still stirs up the dark desires I feel whenever he’s around—especially since I’ve secured him to a chair and have the freedom to do whatever I want. The way the deep shadows from the construction lightbulbs illuminate his handsome face and full lips makes it harder to keep my hands to myself.

  His heavy lids lift slightly. “Where‘m I?” he slurs. “What’s goin’ on?”

  “Shhh, don’t hurt yourself, darlin’.” I lodge my foot on the chair between his legs and brandish the bonin' knife I’d grabbed from the kitchen, holdin' it near his throat. “This will all be over soon.”

  “Beth?” He blinks rapidly until his pupils come into focus. All at once, he sits a little taller, seemingly more alert, and cautiously eyes the knife. “What’re you doin’? What’s this? Why’re we in the basement?”

  “You’re goin’ down for Britta and Linda’s murders. It’s time for you to pay the price for bein’ an unfaithful bastard.”

  “Unfaithful? Are you insane?” With a cold, harsh bark of a laugh, he twists around, testin' the rope’s strength. “I don’t care what kind of sick game you’re playing this time, Beth. I’m done. I refuse to play anymore. I wanna talk to Max.”

  “Maxine is too vulnerable around you—just like she was with her cousin. She actually believes you’re a good man. She was somehow convinced Britta was good to her, too. She obviously needed my protection from both of you.”

  “I want to talk to Max,” he repeats, his face stony.

  “You don’t deserve to talk to your wife!” I roar. “She’s too innocent—too wholesome for a deceitful son-of-a-bitch like you!”

  Eyes closed, he gives a slight shake of his head. “What did I do this time?”

  “Do you seriously need me to spell it out for you? First, you impregnated her cousin⁠—”

  The hateful look he casts makes me grateful he’s incapacitated. “Max is well aware of everything that happened between Britta and me!”

  “Does she know you’re still sleepin’ with her?”

  “‘Still’? Don’t be ridiculous! It’s been twenty-two years since I’ve been with Britta!” Spittle flies from his lips with every ’t.’ “She wanted to pick up where we left off when she moved here, but I told her it was over! I love Max! I’d never let another woman come between us!”

  I let his “confession” soak in. Either he’s tellin' the truth, or he’s become delusional enough to believe what he’s sayin' is true. Is it possible I misread the situation between them? There’s no way I’m wrong about them. Is there? “What about that bartender?”

  “Like I told her sister, I never slept with Linda.” His eyes flicker to the stairway. “Hold on. What happened to Molly? I only agreed to meet with her because she said she had concerns about my wife. Next thing I knew⁠—”

  “Why did you have a picture of Linda’s tits on your phone?” I demand, pressin' the knife’s edge against his Adam’s apple.

  “How the—” He lets out a roar of fury. “Damn it, Beth, I’m done talking to you! You’re out of control!”

  I push the knife a little harder, piercin' his skin. Seein' blood against the blade makes my heart pump a little faster. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Maxine, even if it means eliminatin' the love of her life.

  “Why did Linda send you that picture?” I yell.

  “She didn’t! Oliver sent it to me at Britta’s visitation!” he shouts back, his voice boomin' through the concrete space. With a shake of his head, he regains control of his rage. “That prick wanted to prove that he didn’t give a damn about what happened between me and his wife. He told me he was leaving the service early to bang some local girl he’d been seeing. He’s had it out for me since he learned the truth about Taylor.”

  Doubt niggles at my mind. Eyein' him skeptically, I loosen my grip on the knife. “You’re becomin’ a brilliant liar, Noah.”

  “It’s the fucking truth!” Any hint of color drains from his face as his spine becomes ramrod straight. “Wait a minute. Is that why you killed Britta and Linda? Because you thought I was cheating on Max?”

  Jilted laughter spills from my lips. “What makes you think I killed them?”

  “I found the knife you used, Beth. The one you stole from Britta’s kitchen. I know it was you. There’s no way Max would’ve hurt her cousin. I stashed it down here to protect you…and Max. I worried Detective Kelly would eventually catch on to what happened. I planned to hide it until the heat was off us, and it was safe to discard it elsewhere.”