“No,” Ryan answered, thoughts of the young man he’d followed entering his mind. “It’s odd that it happened so close to the anniversary of his sister’s death, but at the moment, I haven’t got much to go on.” He lied, deciding to keep the information about the young kid quiet. “It’s just difficult to reopen that box, the one you’ve spent so long making sure was airtight in the back of your mind, the one that hides all of your secrets so they can’t hurt you. Unpacking it and bringing it into the light is something I really wasn’t prepared to do.”

  “I know what you mean.” Rufus looked to the floor, his eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I can’t help but think about my daughter now, about what she’d look like today. I wonder if she’d like country music, if she’d prefer seafood above steak . . . simple things.”

  “Yes,” Ryan said. “It can be hard.”

  The truth was, Ryan had completely forgotten about his former professor’s wife and daughter. He’d only mentioned them once or twice in the entire time they’d known one another, and even then, it was only for a second or two. He understood, though. Memories like those become more painful with each spoken word.

  “They never caught the guy?” Ryan asked. “Right?”

  “Never,” Mr. Abernathy answered. “The case remains unsolved.”

  “Just like Haley.” Ryan looked to him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I guess so.”

  Sadness is a terrible thing, but grief is the worst of things, at least to Ryan. Plain sadness can be alleviated with something as simple as a visit from a friend. Grief, on the other hand, has no relief. There’s no magic pill, no classic movie, nothing but time and painful introspection that can relive the trauma of losing someone.

  “I miss her every day,” Rufus said. “I miss them both. If I’d have just been there. If I’d have gotten home earlier, then maybe they would have gone for that walk. Maybe they’d still be alive today.”

  Ryan was much too young to remember what had happened to his family, much too preoccupied with toys and board games to ever care about the news or the stories it contained. He was happy in his childish ignorance, and knowing what he knew now, he wished he could have found a way to stay in that bubble.

  “There were no witnesses.” Rufus sighed. “No one saw anything. How can that be?”

  “That doesn’t mean the case would have been solved,” Ryan replied. “Just look at what happened to me with Foggy. I have a witness. She saw the murderer and I still don’t know anything.”

  “Witness?” Rufus tilted his head.

  “Yeah,” Ryan replied. “There was a woman there. She was on a date with Foggy. She said—”

  “Ryan?” Kit’s voice called out from the doorway. “Are you awake?

  “Yeah” he replied. “Come on in.”

  Mr. Abernathy stood from his chair, staring at his former student for a long minute. “I’ll go,” he said finally. “I just wanted to bring the chicken. We’ll have dinner once you’re out.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Kit Walker entered the room, slowly at first. It was almost as if she was expecting some sort of response from her partner, as if he’d been waiting for her return so he could give her a piece of his mind or something. But after a moment, she seemed to ease up a bit, shaking off the tension in her bones.

  “I’ve come to take you home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “You sure you don’t need me to come in?” Kit asked.

  “No,” Ryan assured her. “I’m good. A few Advil and a good night’s sleep in my own bed and I’ll be fine. Thanks for the offer, though, and thanks for driving me home.”

  “No problem,” she answered, watching him open the door.

  Kit wanted to say so much, to tell him that if she were being honest with him, and more importantly, herself, she thought he shouldn’t have been suspended. That wasn’t her battle, though, not her mountain to climb or her war to wage. But that didn’t mean she was without opinion. Ryan had come to mean a lot to her. It was he who’d first introduced her to sweet tea. Real sweet tea, that is, the kind you can only get in the South. Not like that canned crap they had up north where she was from.

  It was Ryan who’d slowly taught her how to relax on the beach and not feel guilty about it. He taught her how to shuck an oyster and how to slow down and appreciate time before it managed to pass her by. He’d taught her what it was like to live in and be part of the South, and for that, she would be forever thankful.

  “Are you sure?” she repeated, then stopped short. “I could just—”

  There, on the docks, stood Michelle Myers, the object of Ryan’s on-again, off-again romance. Her short yellow hair glistened in the evening sky, catching what looked like every ray of sunlight and reflecting it back across the water. With the ocean at her back and Ryan Devereux walking toward her, Kit couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous.

  It wasn’t everyday she felt envious of another woman. She usually thought of that kind of thing as beneath her. But after knowing Ryan, after seeing the softer, quieter side of him, she began to feel something swell inside her. It wasn’t love, that much she knew. Love was for children. It was something else. There was a safety in Ryan, a comfort she hadn’t felt in some time, and as she watched him wrap his arms around Michelle, she slowly began to realize maybe she was ready to find that comfort again.

  “Goodnight, Kit,” he called.

  “Goodnight, Ryan,” she answered, watching him disappear in her rearview mirror.

  Not quite ready to head home, Kit decided to make a stop at a small bar along the way to her house. Sure, the Lowcountry bar scene was a bit different from the one back home in New Jersey, but at least the drinks were cheap. There, she’d never managed to know the bartender’s name, even though the same overweight bald guy had been pouring her drinks since moving to the small neighborhood she’d called home.

  In the South, though, it was a whole different story. Since the first moment she’d stepped foot in Charley’s Hideaway, she’d had an open tab and a room full of people willing to get to know her. It took a while to get used to, and in the beginning, talking so openly to people she’d just met made her a little uncomfortable. But after living in Charleston County for a few months, she began to appreciate the chatty locals and their easygoing nature.

  “Kit,” Charley said from behind the bar. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “So I hear . . .” Charley answered, sliding an ice-cold Corona her way. “I read about Ryan crashing that boat. They said it could be heard two miles away.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Kit smiled. “Did you hear it?”

  “I live three miles from shore . . .”

  “So close.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Story of my life.”

  Charley Charles was a kind man with a deep voice and a big bear-like presence about him. She’d always found him warm and inviting, and just like almost everyone else in Lowcountry, he was ready and willing to listen to anything Kit had to say. In Jersey, she’d have never let her guard down enough to even think she was feeling lonely, let alone say it out loud. But here in the damp heat of South Carolina, the words just seemed to want to spill out.

  “Kit,” Jackson said, plopping himself down at the bar before she had a chance to speak.

  “Jackson.” She turned to him. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “I feel like that’s a running theme around here the last few days,” Jackson answered, running a hand through his thick, lustrous hair. “I went almost an entire day without seeing my sister earlier this week. Then, yesterday, I realized I hadn’t seen Ryan in two days. It’s crazy.”

  “Yeah,” Kit replied, trying her best to sound genuine. “That’s . . . a long time.”

  In New Jersey, not seeing someone you know, family or otherwise, for a week or two was perfectly normal. But here, just a day without a phone call or a stop-by from your friend and people began to panic. It was at once lovely and odd.

  “Right?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s good to see you though. How have you been?”

  “Good,” she replied, managing to hold back the world of emotion trying its best to spill out from her. “I’ve been good.”

  “What about Ryan?” he asked. “I meant to get up to the hospital yesterday to see him, but I got caught up helping Patty Parker. Poor thing got her car stuck in the marsh. Took me nearly all day to get the thing free.”

  “Patty Parker?” Kit asked, feeling a little unfamiliar with the name.

  “Yeah,” Jackson answered, pointing toward the coast. “She lives out on Old Mill Road. She’s got them two kids from that fella from Hilton Head. The one with the new red SUV.”

  “Right,” she said, pretending to know.

  Jackson Bennett was, for all intents and purposes, a nice guy, not to mention just about as easy on the eyes as anyone Kit had ever seen. Sitting across from him and watching his full lips ramble on about the people of Charleston, she felt that wave of loneliness rise up inside her once again. But she’d heard about Jackson, about the many girls his good looks and winning smile had afforded him, so with a deep breath, she managed to dispel that wave once again, choosing to stand, thank him for the lovely conversation, and head home.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It’s often said that you can’t leave Charleston without visiting Battery Park, and having grown up just a mile from its picturesque breezy shores, Ryan Devereux understood that statement completely. A fantastic stretch along the city's southern tip, the row of antebellum-style mansions overlooking Charleston Harbor was once the heart and soul of the city's maritime activity. But as time went on and the world began to change around it, Battery Park drew more tourists than shrimp boats.

  Bordered by the Ashley and Cooper Rivers, it was one of the detective’s favorite places in all the city. As a child, he’d loved hearing his uncle tell him vibrant tales of the historic battles that once took place along its harbors. For the people of Lowcountry, it was known as White Point Gardens due to the bleached white oyster shells that gathered along its shores every morning. They’d always reminded him of his mother due to her affinity for jewelry making. Each time he’d come home with a baseball cap full of shells, she’d wrap her arms around him and kiss his head. Those days were among his favorite childhood memories. He was so happy then, so innocent and green to the harsh ways of humanity.

  Slowly sipping a glass of whiskey and listening to the call of the ocean, Ryan wondered just how he’d gone from that innocent little boy to the jaded man he was now. The world was a tough place, sure . . . but did that really mean he had to let it change him so fundamentally? Did he have to give in to its whims the way he had?

  He wasn’t sure. Though with his mind as chaotic as it was, he really wasn’t sure of much else either. All Ryan knew was that unless he got to the bottom of this thing, unless he figured out who was responsible for the murders of two innocent people, he’d never have another restful night’s sleep. He owed it to Foggy and Haley. He owed it to his Lowcountry home.

  “You haven’t said a word,” Michelle said, gently nudging his hand with hers.

  “Oh,” Ryan replied. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been thinking about Battery Park.”

  “Battery Park?” Michelle asked. “Why?”

  In truth, Ryan wasn’t sure what had spurred the thoughts of his childhood. Perhaps it was his mind’s way of trying to keep the investigation away from him. He couldn’t help it, though. He couldn’t help thinking about her and about the case. Pictures of her face, memories from that past . . . they were like sharks in the water, circling his mind with the crest of every new wave, just waiting for the boat to tip, letting them devour him. He had to do something.

  “I’m going to the station,” he said to Michelle.

  “What?” she asked. “Do you really think that’s wise?”

  “I have to,” he answered. “I’ve been thinking about it. Something just doesn’t make sense. Haley was seeing Thomas Kent around the same time she was seeing me. But he was out of town that week. He missed prom.”

  “What are you saying?” Michelle asked.

  “I’m saying she must have been seeing more than just me and Thomas.”

  “Wow,” Michelle said. “She got around.”

  “It was complicated.” Ryan sighed. “We were on and off with every turn of the tide. As soon as news got out that we broke up, guys would swoop in, giving her a shoulder to cry on. She was young and didn’t know any better.”

  “So you think she was seeing multiple guys?”

  “That’s the thing. We were broken up for almost a month before prom. I was dating Katy Harren. It stands to reason that she’d have been seeing someone too,” Ryan said. “I just don’t know who.”

  “What good is going to the station gonna do?” Michelle asked.

  “I’m not sure, but Chief Evans said something the other day that stuck with me. He mentioned my not knowing what the investigation has turned up. I need to see those files.”

  “Do you need me to come with you?” she asked, a sweet mix of concern and hesitation in her voice.

  Not that the detective wanted or needed company while sneaking into his workplace, but even if he had, Michelle wouldn’t have been his first choice to come along. She had medical training, yes, but he doubted she had much in the way of investigative chops.

  “No. I need to go this alone,” Ryan answered as the two shared a drink before going their separate ways.

  Stepping out of his car, Ryan took note of the unusually cool Carolina evening. His mother used to call them ‘barefoot days’. They came a couple of times a month, always out of the blue. It was like mother nature’s gift to the Lowcountry, just a simple way to remind people to go outside and have a walk around town, to feel the sand and the grass under their feet and just enjoy God’s gift of good food, kind people, and ocean views.

  The Charleston County Police Department sat perched near the water at the corner of Lockwood Drive and Fishburne Street with wonderful views of both the Ashley River and the city’s beautiful and historic downtown area. From his office window, Ryan could even catch a view of the ocean at high tide. He just never imagined he’d be sneaking into that office in the middle of the night, that’s all.

  The evidence locker was a big place, but thanks to Chief Evans’s almost OCD-like way of handling things, Ryan knew finding the evidence wouldn’t be difficult. Just a few minutes after getting in the building, he was standing face to face with a small brown box labeled Case 17378/King. He opened the box and sorted through its contents until finding the letters, and there it was, the proof he’d been looking for, only it hadn’t been in the letters at all.

  In the box was a textbook with Haley’s name on it. He recognized her handwriting immediately. The young woman always finished her name with a heart where a ‘y’ should have been. And on the front of the book was a Post-It note with the word Margins written across it. His eyes grew wide when he began flipping through the pages. The proof of Haley’s killer would be in the book. He just needed a little time to read it.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Find what you’re looking for?” Kit asked.

  “Kit!” He turned, nearly frightened out of his skin. “How did—”

  “I followed you,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to let this go, so I hung around outside the docks. And would you look at that? I was right.”

  Ryan had known most of Charleston’s residents his whole life. He knew their mannerisms, their thought processes, and their instincts. But with Kit Walker, it was a different story. She hadn’t been raised in the South. She didn’t come from the same Lowcountry stock as everyone else around town, and as a result, he still hadn’t learned to completely read her, though he did trust her.

  “I have to do this,” he answered.

  “I’m working on it,” she said flatly. “I told you I’d keep the case going, and I have.”

  “The book.” He held out the textbook. “Where did this come from?”

  “I found it in the house,” Kit answered. “While you were out blowing up boats.”

  “We searched her room,” Ryan answered.

  “It wasn’t in her room. It was just lying on the living room floor.”

  “Damn. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You’re off the case,” she answered. “And it didn’t pertain to Foggy, whose case I have no information on, by the way. Thank you for that.”

  “I’m going to solve this,” he said.

  “No!” she snapped. “You need to stop this. You need to let it go.”

  “I can’t do this . . .”

  “The case?”

  “No,” Ryan said. “This. I can’t argue with you again. I can’t keep swimming against the current like this, but I can’t let it go. I have to solve this thing. I just won’t argue about it anymore.”

  The purse of her lips slowly began to lessen and her features softened a little bit. It seemed the anger pulsing through her veins was finally dissipating, that she finally, after all this time, understood she wouldn’t be able to stop him. Or maybe the Lowcountry air had finally done its job in helping her to understand her partner.

  “Let me come with you,” she said after a few minutes.

  “No,” Ryan answered. “I’m in enough trouble with the department now. There’s no need in pulling you down with me. You need to keep your distance.”

  “I’m already an accomplice,” she answered. “I’m watching you take evidence.”

  “Not if you leave. Just walk out that door and pretend you never saw anything.”

  “I can’t do that,” she replied. “I’m in this now. I—”

  “What?” Ryan’s eyes widened.

  “There’s someone coming,” she said, pulling her partner closer and pressing her lips against his.

 

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