Chapter 30
Remi was going to lose her mind.
She paced the bedroom for the tenth time, bare feet dragging over the worn plank floor as the bungalow trapped the heat, the silence, and every useless thought inside with her.
Outside, the Tango Lowlands stretched in lush green, humid stillness.
Palm fronds shifted beyond the open slats.
Water rushed over stone in a narrow creek hidden by the trees. Everything out there was alive.
She was stuck in here doing nothing.
Everett had left before midmorning to start digging into Bobby’s murder, which meant she was supposed to stay hidden, stay quiet, and wait. Three things Remi had never been good at separately, much less all at once.
At Black Spade Ranch, her days started before the sun had fully cleared the Basil Mountains and rarely slowed until night swallowed the pastures.
Goats needed checking. Staff needed direction.
Feed deliveries needed sorting. Customers needed charming.
She spent most days moving up and down the mountain until her legs ached and her clothes smelled like hay, sweat, and animal hide.
Here, the most productive thing she had done all morning was rearrange the same two pillows on the bed and glare at the door like it had personally offended her.
She stopped at the edge of the mattress and gathered her thick braid over one shoulder.
Everett had promised he’d be back around lunch. It was just past noon. Close enough. And if he came back to a hot meal instead of finding her climbing the walls, maybe they would both be better for it.
The outdoor kitchen sat beneath the awning off the deck, tucked into the side of the bungalow, the way everything here had been built around the land instead of against it. Simple counters. Broad sink. A refrigerator. A freezer. The big grill at the far edge of the deck, facing the trees.
Remi opened the freezer and found goat steaks wrapped in butcher paper, along with a bag of root vegetables that looked like they’d survive the apocalypse. Good enough.
The smell of charcoal and smoke hit her as soon as she got the grill going.
It eased something in her chest before she could stop it.
For the first time all morning, she had something in front of her that responded to effort.
Seasoning meat, cutting vegetables, and working with her hands were things she could control.
The worst part was that hope had made the waiting harder, not easier.
Yesterday, she’d been a woman with no choices.
Today, she could almost see the life she wanted still sitting there, stubborn and beautiful, waiting for her to fight her way back to it.
She was innocent. But none of that mattered if they couldn’t prove it.
A branch snapped somewhere below the deck, too sharp and heavy to be a bird settling in the trees.
Remi froze, one hand hovering over the tray.
Smoke curled lazily above the grill and drifted through the trees.
What the hell was she doing?
Cooking outside in broad daylight. Sending smoke into the Lowlands like a signal.
Letting the scent of grilled meat carry through the trees where anyone could notice, get curious, lift binoculars, call someone.
A neighbor. An undercover officer watching every road and trail that could lead to her hideout.
Or worse.
Bobby’s real killer.
The thought made her cold enough to wipe out the heat from the grill.
Remi looked toward the garden below the deck. The bungalow sat tucked into the slope, half-hidden by palms and low tropical growth, but hidden was not invisible. A flash of movement slipped between the leaves near the lower path. A shadow. Her breath stopped.
For one second, she stared at the spot, waiting for reason to catch up and explain it away. But the answers coming to her mind only urged her to move. Now.
She abandoned the tray and backed toward the door, every instinct in her body screaming not to run and not to make a sound. The grill hissed behind her as fat sizzled.
Remi eased the door shut, careful with the latch, then turned.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, slow and heavy.
Definitely not Everett. He moved through this place like he belonged to it, quiet and never hesitant, and he’d made a habit of calling out to her when he was back.
Whoever had descended on the bungalow moved like someone trying not to be heard. The person was trying to catch her.
Panic clawed up her throat.
She spun toward the bedroom. There were no good hiding places. No real ones. The bed was too low. The bathroom too exposed. The closet door came into focus. It was the only real option.
Remi crossed the room fast, dropped to the floor inside the closet, and pulled the door almost closed, leaving the thinnest sliver of light. The smell of cedar, dust, and old cotton wrapped around her. Her breathing thundered in her ears.
The door opened.
She squeezed both hands over her mouth.
The intruder moved through the bungalow with quiet purpose, pausing, checking, assessing.
A drawer opened, then closed. A chair scraped across the floor.
The steps moved across the room, then another door opened.
The one leading to the outdoor bath. The sound of birds chirping and trees rustling floated in the room.
Remi’s stomach turned over.
Should she try to run while the intruder was searching outside? She hadn’t grabbed a knife. Hadn’t grabbed anything. She had been standing in an outdoor kitchen with half a dozen weapons within reach and had run inside empty-handed like an idiot.
The door closed with a thud. It was too late to escape.
The light beneath the closet door darkened.
Remi pressed back against the wall, her heart beating so hard it hurt.
The door swung open.
She screamed.
A large hand clamped over her mouth as another arm hooked around her and yanked her forward. Remi drove her elbow back, twisted hard, and kicked at a shin.
“Baby girl.”
She froze.
“Baby girl, stop. It’s me.”
Her eyes flew up.
Her dad crouched in front of her, one hand still over her mouth, his face drawn tight with concern and anger.
Remi shoved his hand away and sucked in a breath that almost broke apart. “Oh my God. Dad.” For half a second, all she could do was stare. Then anger rushed in to cover the fear.
“You scared the life out of me.”
Her dad sat back on his heels. “Good. Maybe that means you still have some sense left to scare.”
She swatted his shoulder, hard enough to make him blink. “Do not start with me after sneaking in like a serial killer.”
“If I’d been a serial killer, we’d be having a very different conversation.”
“Comforting.”
He stood and offered a hand.
Remi took it because her legs weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be. Once upright, she pulled free and looked toward the bedroom door, then back to him.
A colder worry slid under the relief.
“How worried should I be that you found me this easily?”
Ace’s mouth flattened. “Wasn’t easy.”
“You are standing in my bedroom.”
His eyes narrowed. “What made you think cooking outside in the open was safe?”
She folded her arms. “I was hungry.”
“Try again.”
“I was about to lose my mind sitting in here.”
“That one, I believe.”
“Everett is supposed to be back soon. I thought I’d make food.”
Ace stared at her.
Remi lifted her chin. “Do not look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re deciding whether I’m too old to ground.”
“You were outside, in daylight, with smoke rising through the trees and goat on the grill like you wanted every hungry person in the Tango Lowlands to follow their nose to a fugitive.”
When he put it that way, it sounded worse.
Remi exhaled and rubbed both hands over her face. “How did you figure out where I was?”
“Things I heard in the background when you called.”
She dropped her hands. “What things?”
“Things.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting.”
“I knew calling you was risky.” Her voice went tight despite every effort to keep it steady. “Is there any chance the cops or the island feds intercepted the call? Heard the same things you did?”
“No.”
“You sound very sure.”
“I am very sure.”
“Dad.”
He moved to the door, peering out through the window slats toward the deck. “Even if they had the call, they wouldn’t make the same connections I did.”
“Because?”
“Because I know these islands better than almost anyone breathing.”
Remi gave him a look.
He shrugged. “Josue Chartres might be an exception. The Francois family. Maybe Fury on a good day.”
“So as long as a notorious PC-5 assassin serving a life sentence in Tiverton, Palmchat’s resident royalty of detectives, or the most heinous serial killer these islands have ever seen don’t tap my phone, I’m safe.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s comforting.”
He chuckled. “It should be.”
“I’m sure there’s a Francois detective working Bobby’s murder.”
“Two,” he said. “Desmond and Tiago.”
The last thread of humor slipped from her.
“You sure I shouldn’t be worried?”
“I’m not in the cell next to Josue Chartres. That proves you shouldn’t be worried.”
Remi hated that he had a point.
Mr. Goodnight had become an urban legend in the Palmchat Islands, the name people whispered when bodies dropped, and no evidence ever surfaced.
The police suspected him of dozens of killings.
They had never proven his identity, never connected him directly to a single crime, and never put the smallest crack in the myth.
Her father had walked away from that life.
Mostly.
The past still moved around him like a shadow no amount of sunlight could kill.
Ace turned from the window, all humor gone. “But that phone call is not how the cops are going to find you.”
Remi braced herself.
“You’re not on some romantic getaway with the man of your dreams.” His voice sharpened.
“Every time you step into the open, you increase the chance someone sees something and calls it in. Didn’t Everett explain that to you?
Or is he too caught up in this reunion fantasy to think with the head attached to his neck? ”
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Do not blame this on Everett.”
Ace folded his arms.
“In his defense, before he left, he told me to stay inside.”
“And you decided not to.”
“I decided to cook.”
“Same thing.”
“I was about to go stir-crazy.”
“Then go stir-crazy quietly.”
Remi opened her mouth.
He pointed at her. “Do not argue with me on this. You keep the curtains positioned how they were. You stay away from the deck unless he is with you. No smoke. No music. No lights at night unless they’re shielded.
No standing in front of windows. No phone calls from inside this bungalow.
No wandering trails because you miss your goats.
If you hear anything, you do not investigate.
You hide first, think second, and only fight if the door opens. ”
Her jaw tightened.
He stepped closer. “You want to evade being caught by the cops and get off this island? Then act like someone is always watching.”
A shadow crossed the slats.
Remi saw it move across the bedroom wall, long and broken by the strips of light, and every bit of air left her lungs.
Ace turned first. His gun was in his hand before she fully processed the shape.
Something moved on the deck.
A measured step.
Then another.
Ace lifted one finger to his lips, then backed her toward the wall without taking his eyes off the door.
The handle turned.