Chapter 1
Nico Dominici woke the same way he had for almost two years—gasping for air. Cold and damp with sweat, his sheets tangled around his legs while his head swam with images of blood and death. He sat up and reached for the little orange bottle on the nightstand, the familiar rattle of pills comforting as he swallowed one down and waited for his body to stop trembling.
Breathe.
His heart thumped in his chest like a war drum. Slowing down, down, down.
The ringing in his ears slowly subsided.
The panic dissipated.
He sighed. It didn’t seem to matter where he went, his demons always followed.
Bracing for the inevitable ache in his thigh, Nico heaved his body to stand and stepped straight into the shower, letting the warm water blast the pain away. Enveloped in steam, he rested his head against the cool tiles and told himself for the thousandth time that this wasn’t a mistake. That he hadn’t upended his entire career—his life—for no reason.
When he shut the water off, he could hear birds chirping in the trees outside his rented cabin. Such a pleasant, unfamiliar sound. Very different from the car horns and sirens he was used to.
He dressed quickly, sporting his usual jeans, dark tee, and jacket, before locking up and walking the short distance to Main Street.
It was a sunny morning in Mercy Cove, the temperature sitting pleasantly in the high sixties. A light breeze carrying with it the pleasing aromas of pine and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the bustling coastal town as it came to life around him. Giant trees towered overhead, a thick canopy throwing generous patches of shade over pretty brick sidewalks and manicured hedges. The concrete curbs were swept clean, paved with stone-cladded garden beds, and backing onto an assortment of bakeries and gift shops, all turning their signs to Openas he walked by. Up ahead, a few cafés were setting out their tables and chairs for the day, positioning the chalkboards advertising the breakfast and lunch specials.
Hard to believe this little slice of paradise sat just a half-day’s drive from his former front door. Hard to believe she did too. Alexis Bowen, the angel sent from heaven to save his sorry ass when he had no hope of saving himself.
He had thought about her a lot since the accident, disjointed images of what had happened that day blurring in his mind. A beauty bathed in light. Eyes, sapphire blue, sweeping over him with concern. Hair, long and blonde and lovely despite being plastered to her face. Vanilla, the faint scent of it on her skin when she’d gotten close enough for him to catch it. And Bon Jovi, irrational recollections of her singing “Livin’ on a Prayer,” though it was probably just the radio glitching. The whole thing was like a puzzle, pieces all jumbled together in the box, yet to be put together in a cohesive whole.
Agony had been the focal point for him that day, but distracted as he was, Nico hadn’t been above noticing certain details when she’d peeled off her blouse to use as a bandage—the way the thin remaining fabric had clung to her dampened skin, outlining a narrow ribcage and slender waist. Drenched and muddy and frightened, he remembered her being the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
His mystery woman. The one he still thought about when he couldn’t sleep at night—which was most of the time. He’d sourced her name and info from the police report of his accident and knew she still resided here, waitressing in a bar downtown.
Would she think that was creepy?
Don’t overthink it, jackass.
Creepy or not, Nico was resolute in one thing; for the first time since the accident, he was finally going to meet her. Officially. And thank her for what she did.
It was long overdue, but still, he found the idea unsettling. Not because he didn’t want to do it; it had just been such a long time, he’d begun to wonder if she’d remember him, or if she’d even want to see him if she did.
Sure, she would remember the wreck. Hard to forget something like that. She’d remember his blood all over the place. She’d remember the bone sticking gruesomely out of his leg, something which he himself would just as soon forget, the metal pins they’d used to set it back in place a stomach-turning memory on its own. She’d remember the freezing rain that had been pelting down that day, soaking her from head to toe and making her shiver as she amateurly dressed his wounds. The wail of sirens in the distance and the relief she’d undoubtedly felt when the EMTs arrived to take over.
Chances were good she would remember all that, but would she remember him? Maybe for her, it was all just trauma. People blocked out trauma all the time, didn’t they?
In any case, his personal errand would have to wait. As each stride brought him closer to his destination, Nico’s stomach began to clench, his palms felt clammy, and more than once he considered turning around, getting in his car, and making a beeline back to Boston. Only sheer grit kept him from doing so.
As expected, the Mercy Cove Police Department was as quaint as the rest of the town. Neat hedges, well-maintained gardens. There was even a donut shop attached to the left side of the building, making it so blatantly stereotypical Nico had to hold back a smirk as he approached.
The scent of said donuts met him at the door when he entered, as did a plump woman standing up from behind the counter. She wore no uniform and looked more like a grandma popping in to drop off snacks than a desk clerk.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Nico crossed the tiny foyer lined with brochures and a few standard-issue waiting chairs.
“Nico Dominici here to see Chief West.”
She looked him up and down and lifted her chin. “Do you have an appointment?”
Nico frowned. “Is one required?”
“Not necessarily. I just get a kick out of exercising my power as the gatekeeper is all.”
Watching her fold her arms and wait for his reply, Nico decided he liked her. She wore a name tag. Cora.
“Pretty name, Cora.”
“Oh, darlin’, that won’t work at all, but you go ahead and keep trying.”
Now he really liked her.
“I’m assuming you know who I am? Your new lieutenant.”
“Acting lieutenant is what I heard.”
“Semantics,” he replied, smiling. “I, ah, couldn’t help but notice that little shop next door.”
She nodded. “Best cinnamon glaze in America.”
“Is that so? Alright, Cora, how about this. You let me through, and I’ll walk over there afterward, grab myself a sugary breakfast, and a cinnamon glaze for you. Sound good?”
Cora narrowed her eyes, a slow grin spreading. “A donut ain’t breakfast, son.”
“Which goes to show just how much I’m willing to sacrifice for a show of good faith.”
On a chuckle, her arms dropped. “Hang on, I’ll see if he’s busy.”
“Appreciate it.”
Once she’d disappeared, Nico took a good look at the station. Behind the counter, he could see the main work room and a holding cell in the corner. Four desks pushed together in twin formations, task lights, filing cabinets, paperwork everywhere. There was a hallway toward the back where Cora had gone. He assumed that the chief’s office was somewhere that way.
It was quiet, no officers around that he could see or hear. Either they were all out on patrols or the town wasn’t busy enough to staff them around the clock. Nico wondered how he would fare working in a place like this. Less action, of course, but in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t think he’d miss it too much. Especially if he had a good woman to come home to, maybe a nice house with a deck he could barbecue on come the weekends.
Whoa. Ease up.
A hiatus was one thing, but he’d be back in the city before too long. Best not to fantasize about a life that would never be his.
The sound of Cora’s shoes tapping on the linoleum floor interrupted his thoughts. She tilted her head. “Come on back. He’s just finishing up a phone call.”
Nico took note of the layout as he followed her through. Cop habit. As he’d anticipated, there were some interview rooms—all open and empty—along one side of the hallway. Restrooms and a maintenance closet on the other. And right at the end, behind a frosted glass door with the word Chief spelled out in thick black letters across the front sat the man he had come to see.
“Thanks, Cora,” he said, nodding to Nico as he entered and holding up a finger to indicate he wouldn’t be long. Nico busied himself browsing titles on the bookshelf along the far wall—procedural textbooks and operations manuals mostly, plus what appeared to be some historical hardcovers about the town.
“Honey, I know it’s frustrating,” Chief West said. “But you were the one who told her to come and visit.”
A screech came from the other end. Nico worked hard to hide his amusement.
“Oh—okay. Okay—yes. You’re right. It was only meant to be for a couple of days. But honey—” Another bout of shrieking. “Don’t you think you should be the one to talk to her? She’s your mother—” West sighed. “No—no. Of course, I don’t want that. Mm-hmm. Yeah. Okay, I’ll handle it. Listen, honey, can we talk about this later? I’ve got a visitor. Alright. Love you.”
When he heard the heavy clunk of the receiver, Nico turned. Chief West was younger than Nico would have anticipated—early thirties, he guessed—with brown eyes and dirty blond hair which his hand came up to habitually stroke out of his face. Were it not for the navy uniform to break things up, the man would have painted a bland picture. Nico also noted the tinge of morbid curiosity. Understandable.
Instead of introducing himself like Nico expected, he asked, “Are you married?”
Nico shook his head. “Nope.”
“Good. Don’t.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Worse. Take a seat.”
Getting comfortable in his own chair before opening what Nico assumed was his personnel file, he said, “So, Detective Nico Dominici of Boston PD.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re a long way from home, Detective.”
“Yeah, that was kind of the point,” Nico said.
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes dropped to the file again.
Nico had trouble pinpointing the guy’s demeanor. It wasn’t exactly friendly, yet not quite in the ballpark of unfriendly either.
“I see here you graduated the academy in Boston at age twenty-two,” he continued. “Did five years as an officer, six in vice, then made detective a little over two years ago.”
His tone and the way he looked up made it seem like a question, but Nico stayed quiet. He’d already been through his résumé with the mayor when he was up for the job and had no doubts the chief had already done a thorough perusal himself, which meant this little inquisition was either about to become a dick-measuring contest or a probe for information. Either way, he had no plans to reminisce about his past.
West kept going, reading over his stats and references. “Impressive arrest numbers. And your superiors speak very highly of you, though it seems you’ve also been known to challenge authority on occasion.” He flicked his eyes to Nico in disapproval, then flipped the file closed. “So, what are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?”
Feigning innocence, he shrugged. “Call me crazy, but it just strikes me as odd that a hotshot detective at the height of his career would suddenly request a transfer to a tiny island town in the middle of nowhere.”
Nico raised his chin a fraction. “Personal reasons, sir.” Softening ever so slightly, he added, “Being in the city just didn’t feel right anymore.”
“I see.” A brief pause. “You understand that you’re here on a trial basis, and are required to be stationed here for a minimum of six months before being considered permanently for the position?”
“Yes, sir. I read the contract.”
Nico inwardly kicked himself for being a smart ass with that last. He had no intention of staying here permanently, but there were no rewards for making enemies, especially in a place with a population barely surpassing two thousand people.
West gave a long exhale. “Alright look, if you don’t mind, I’d like to cut through the bullshit and be straight with you.”
“Sure,” Nico said, unable to help the defensive folding of his arms.
“Your being here doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Wow.” Nico raised his eyebrows. “And here I was thinking small-town hospitality was dead.”
“The truth is, you were appointed this position with very little input from me or my department. Town Council believes someone with your experience will be good for the community. Apparently,” he added, sarcasm coating his tone, “politics trumps authority around here. Which poses a problem, wouldn’t you say?”
“Being that you’re my superior?”
“Being that this is a tight-knit town. Every one of our staff here are born and bred locals who’ve earned their place, myself included.”
“I get it,” Nico said. “I’m an outsider.”
West leaned back in his chair. “Not to put too fine a point on it, but yes, you are. I don’t know you, I don’t trust you, and I doubt the folks around here will either.” Without waiting for Nico to reply, he threw his hands up. “Don’t get me wrong, as lieutenant, you’ll get the respect that comes with the badge, but that’s all. The rest you’ll have to earn. Now, if you can’t handle that, I suggest you get back in your car and drive yourself to the pier where you can catch the afternoon ferry.”
Nico considered that. Instead of a tour on his first day, the chief was offering him an out, one a wiser man might take based on the barrage of red flags that had popped up since he walked in. But being just as stubborn as his Sicilian-born father, Nico had never been one to shy away from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now.
“I appreciate your candor, Chief, but I’ll be fine.”
A muscle in West’s jaw spasmed, the only hint of disappointment he let show. “Well then,” he said, standing to hold out his hand. “Welcome to Mercy Cove, Lieutenant Dominici.”
“Thank you, Chief,” Nico said, shaking his hand.
“Come on,” he said, donning his hat. “I’ll show you around.”
West wasn’t kidding. Half an hour later, they had done a full loop of not only the station, but all downtown too. The chief warmed up a little on the walk, telling Nico about his wife and what it was like growing up in Mercy Cove, right up to his sudden promotion when the former chief became unwell and had to step down earlier than expected. Explaining the geography of Arcane Island—two percent civilization, ninety-eight percent wilderness—he made sure Nico knew that if he planned on leaving the cove without a guide, he’d better stick to the roads like glue or risk never being found. Nico listened and took in his new posting with quiet awe. It was a beautiful place. Judging by the abundance of happy families and smitten couples stepping out early for a day of fun-filled exploring, tourist season was well underway. Nico envied them their joy, a stark contrast to the woe that was his constant companion.
By the time they made it back through the front door of the station, the place was swarming with new faces.
“Good, you’re all here.” West took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. “I’d like you to meet our new lieutenant, Nico Dominici, who’s joining us from Boston. Nico, this is Sergeant Frank Dekker.”
Stepping forward to shake Nico’s hand, Frank—a seasoned officer with a tuft of mahogany hair lined with grays at the temples—said, “Good to meet you, Lieutenant.”
“Likewise.”
“Over here we have Officer Seth Hayes.” West gestured to a young, stone-faced blond sitting at a desk to his right.
“Officer Zoe Lane.”
The black-haired woman standing with coffee in hand to his left gave a nod and a slight smile. She had the fiercest green eyes Nico had ever seen.
“Quite a youthful team you have here,” Nico said.
West puffed his chest out a little further. “Well, we’re training the next generation of law enforcement in Mercy Cove. Is that a problem for you, Lieutenant?”
Nico shook his head and pursed his lips with nonchalance. “Not at all. I look forward to working with you all.”
“Don’t mind me,” a voice from the front desk rang out. “I just process the pay checks.”
Sheepishly, West said, “And you’ve already met our administrator, Cora Radburn.” He added loudly, “Whom we value more than words can say.”
“Here, here,” Frank shouted with enthusiasm, though his face was deadpan.
Nico chuckled.
“Frank, you mind showing Lieutenant Dominici his office? I gotta run home for a bit, make sure Ella hasn’t killed her mother.”
“Sure thing,” Frank replied. “Follow me, Lieutenant.”
Frank led him down the hall and opened a frosted glass door beside the chief’s office. Inside sat a desk, a small filing cabinet, a bookcase, and a chair with two broken wheels. The air smelled musty, like the room hadn’t been opened in a while. Dust lined the windowsills, small flecks of it floating in the slice of light coming through the broken blinds.
“It doesn’t look like much,” Frank remarked, hands in his pockets, while Nico made a slow circle of the room.
“But?”
A pause. “That’s all I got.”
Nico huffed out a laugh and pulled up the blinds, squinting as the daylight spilled in. He had a nice view of a park that eventually led to the beach. “How long ago did your former chief step down?”
Frank rubbed his chin. “Nine, ten months ago.”
Nico turned. “You’ve been without a lieutenant for that long?”
A sly grin appeared amongst Frank’s salt-and-pepper stubble. “More or less.”
Nico turned back to the window, choosing not to think too deeply on that one.
“I’ll, ah, let you get settled. If you need any supplies, just talk to Cora.”
“At my own risk, I assume?”
Frank clicked his tongue and winked. “You’re catching on.”
Once alone, Nico sighed.
Too late to back out now.
“This is where we’re eating?”
After work, Frank had knocked on Nico’s office doorjamb to invite him out for a beer and a bite to eat. He didn’t much feel like it, but considering Frank was the only person who’d been somewhat friendly to him all day—the two young officers giving him a wide berth, Cora being Cora, and West returning to his own office to (presumably) sulk about his problems—Nico decided he’d best accept. The drive took less than a minute. Nico would have commented that they could have walked the short distance, had his mouth not suddenly dried up to the point that speaking became impossible. This was it, the place Alexis Bowen worked.
Frank unclipped his seatbelt. “Come on, kid. The beer’s good and the food’s even better.”
Nico stared at the low-set building, the aged maroon bricks set off by twinkle lights in the windows, a soft orange glow spilling out onto the sidewalk, and was hard-pressed to recall a time when he’d ever felt more nervous. Laughter and conversation wafted through the front door—propped open to enjoy the sea-kissed air of summer—as did the mouth-watering aromas of a busy kitchen. Glancing up, he read the words Rusty’s Bar Grillon a red, neon sign.
“What’s up with you?”
Frank’s question jolted Nico out of his stupor. He hadn’t realized he’d been sitting comatose in the passenger seat. Like a moron.
“Nothing,” he mumbled.
With a determined huff, he stepped out of the car.