Chapter Nine
Secrets and Bonds
The Marlin breathed like the island itself—slow, steady, and just dangerous enough to make the air hum.
Fan blades stirred the thick evening warmth as the door swung open and closed, letting in bursts of laughter, gossip, and salt wind.
The carved mermaid above the bar watched it all with a knowing, wicked smirk—as if she’d witnessed a thousand confessions and expected a thousand more.
Not too many people knew that Sue had been the one who perfected the art, giving it brilliant color and eyes that seemed to know more than you did.
Behind the counter, Lorenzo ruled his domain in shirtsleeves and rolled cuffs, pouring drinks with the precision of a priest and the grin of a man who enjoyed other people’s chaos.
“With this group walking in,” he said, sliding a row of glasses into place, “the night just got interesting.”
Near the far end of the bar, Deputy Ciscel stood with one elbow on the wood, a sweating club soda in front of him—the kind of drink you ordered when you wanted a clear head, not a good time.
No uniformed partner tonight, no loud presence—just a quiet, steady gaze that swept the room in slow, methodical passes.
He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking, just watching the way people folded toward one another, how their laughter rose a little too sharply. His eyes lingered for a beat on Harmony and Cass’s corner, then slid to the mirror behind the bottles, as if he preferred to see everyone in reverse.
“Walk-through,” Lorenzo had called it earlier. “After a murder, the deputies like to be seen.” This one looked like he preferred seeing to being seen.
Tosh dropped into a chair like he owned it, a picture of casual sin.
Candy slid in next to him, hair damp from the ocean, her smile too loose to be safe.
Torie hovered behind them—taut, watchful, and not nearly drunk enough.
Zach took the end seat, angled so he could see both the door and the entire bar.
Harmony and Cass claimed their usual corner beneath a sun-bleached map of Catalina.
“Hydrate or lie,” Lorenzo announced. He set down waters and a round of tequila, nudging Harmony’s glass toward her with the tip of his finger. “You look like sin dressed as innocence.”
“She is,” Cass said. “She’ll make you dance in her book until you dance no more.”
“Dangerous and polite,” Lorenzo mused. “My favorite kind of woman.”
Tosh tapped the table. “We need a game.” His grin held way too much anticipation. He liked trouble. “Never Have I Ever.”
Lorenzo’s brows arched. “Confession hour? Excellent. I’ll pour honesty.”
He poured shots with the loose rhythm of a man who was measuring moods, not liquor.
The room settled. The island leaned in.
“Never have I ever,” Candy started, raising her glass, “lied about who I’ve wanted.”
She drank.
Tosh drank too—slow, unashamed.
Torie didn’t. Her jaw worked as she stared at Candy.
Harmony watched the tension catch like flint. A tiny spark ran along her ribs, the kind her writer’s brain tagged as important.
“Never have I ever,” Torie shot back, “pretended someone was special when they were simply convenient.”
“Poetry,” Lorenzo murmured, sliding two more shots down the bar. “The kind that ruins people.”
Zach lifted his beer but didn’t drink. Harmony caught the flicker in his eyes—something withheld, something carefully measured. The air around the table went warm and wire-tight.
Tosh smirked. “Never have I ever stolen someone else’s story.” His gaze cut to Harmony.
She lifted her water. “Hydration.”
“Boring,” Candy teased.
“Alive,” Harmony corrected. Inside, a slight tremor pressed against the edges of her calm—part dread, part thrill. The island loved moments like this.
Lorenzo pushed a lime toward Torie. “Sour for the truth.”
Torie plucked it up like a challenge. “Never have I ever read someone’s phone while they were in the shower.”
Candy drank without shame.
Tosh didn’t.
Zach’s voice came low. “Never have I ever stayed when I should’ve walked away.”
Unexpectedly, Lorenzo poured himself a drink and took a slow, deliberate sip.
“Too philosophical,” Tosh said, though a shadow slid behind his grin.
“Too true,” Mary said.
She approached their table with a glass of white wine, sliding in like a ghost taking a seat. Her grief followed her like a second body.
She lifted her glass. “Never have I ever watched justice and called it a coincidence.”
Lorenzo’s brows rose, but he said nothing. He didn’t have to.
“What?” Mary asked sweetly. “It’s just a game.”
Candy lifted her glass and didn’t drink. Her smile trembled, then steadied. Torie noticed.
“Let the lady with the notebook ask one,” Lorenzo said, nodding at Harmony. “Restrained ones make the best sinners.”
Harmony felt the table’s attention settle on her—an audience she didn’t want but wasn’t willing to refuse.
Something else pressed in from farther away, sharper.
In the corner of her eye, she caught Ciscel’s profile, head tipped just enough to show he was listening without wanting anyone to know he was.
He didn’t look at her directly. People like him were used to catching the important pieces from the edge of the frame.
“Never have I ever used someone else’s pain as entertainment,” she said in a low voice.
Cass gasped.
Candy’s smile faltered.
Tosh’s grin thinned.
Zach watched Harmony with an unreadable expression, some strange mix of curiosity, concern, and warning.
Lorenzo’s eyes warmed in approval.
For a breath, it felt like the island itself paused. None of them were ready to end the game, though. They all seemed built for this line, where danger and performance blurred together.
“Your turn, maestro,” Tosh told Lorenzo.
Lorenzo leaned in on his forearms, the bar becoming a prayer rail. “Never have I ever kissed someone to make another bleed.”
A small, rough laugh escaped Candy. It wasn’t joy. “That’s not fair. It’s Catalina. Everyone needs to let go and have a little fun.”
Several glasses rose.
Torie didn’t drink. She looked at Candy like she could peel her.
“Round two,” Lorenzo said.
“Never have I ever,” Candy purred, eyes on Tosh, “wanted something I couldn’t keep.”
“Things aren’t meant to be kept,” Tosh said. “They’re meant to be enjoyed.”
“Objects are,” Torie hissed. “People aren’t things.”
“You keep trying to be both,” Candy replied, sweet as poison.
The laughter that followed had an edge. Lorenzo cut it off with a small bell tap that only the regulars recognized—a sound that said the captain had stepped onto the deck, and the sea just got interesting.
“Door,” he said.
Every head turned.
Perfume and sharpened intent entered the room.
Janie swept in like trouble dressed in lipstick and silk, scanning the room with predatory precision.
“Zach,” she purred, walking straight toward him.
Before anyone could blink, she slid onto his lap and kissed him—slow, public, deliberate.
Zach didn’t touch her. He didn’t pull her closer or push her away. His hands stayed flat on the table, knuckles pale.
Harmony watched, her stomach dropping, sharp and unexpected.
It wasn’t quite jealousy. That didn’t even make sense enough to name.
But something in her was screaming notice this, pinning the moment to a bulletin board in her mind.
Was he a man very practiced at not revealing what he felt—or someone who lived his life in restraint?
Janie pulled back, eyes bright. “Miss me?”
“You’re heavy,” Zach answered calmly. It might’ve been the gentlest rejection Janie had ever received.
She laughed, unfazed, and turned her head toward Tosh. “Did you miss me?”
“Not even a little,” Torie answered for him, voice tight as barbed wire.
“Oh, hello, Torie,” Janie said brightly. “You look . . . devoted.”
“Get off him,” Torie said. Her hand tightened around her glass until the ice cracked. It wasn’t fear shaking her fingers. It was something hotter, coiled and wild, looking for a place to land.
Janie shifted deliberately on Zach’s lap. “Are you trying to claim this one since you can’t have the one you want?” she asked. Her fingers trailed down Zach’s neck. “Zach doesn’t seem to mind me being here. As a matter of fact, I think he likes it.”
“He doesn’t seem to feel anything,” Candy murmured.
Lorenzo hid his delight with a cough into his hand. The bar crackled with quiet cruelty.
Tosh toyed with his lime. “You’re blocking my view, Janie,” he said, lazy as Sunday.
“Of what?” she teased.
“Consequences,” Lorenzo answered for him.
Janie stretched like a cat, then finally slid off Zach’s lap and smoothed her dress with slow hands. As she passed Tosh, she brushed his shoulder—just a whisper of skin. Tosh didn’t flinch. Torie watched every inch of the exchange with a precision that promised someone was going to get hurt.
Harmony felt her pulse tap once, low and cold. Moments like this were how people broke.
Moments like this were how killers were born.
Her fingers itched for her computer.
“Never have I ever,” Janie said, “fantasized about someone who’d ruin me.”
“Drink,” Candy suggested. “All of you.”
Everyone drank.
Harmony included.
Even Zach.
The table exhaled—one collective, dangerous breath.
“Another round,” Lorenzo coaxed, voice warm and wicked. “Confession keeps the demons docile.”
“Yours?” Mary asked.
“I feed mine,” he said. “They behave if I keep them interesting.”
Harmony smiled before throwing out a new one. “Never have I ever wished someone would say the quiet part out loud.”
“What quiet part?” Lorenzo asked.
“That they’re obeying the whispering demons they pretend not to hear.”
Janie clapped, delighted. “She’s fun.”
The tequila warmed Harmony’s stomach, loosening her ribs. She laughed easier than she meant to, felt herself shifting from observer to participant. The realization slid cold down her spine. Getting stitched into this town was risky. When a place like this bled, so did the people inside it.