Chapter 4
Nico woke before the sun, a pit of dread heavy in his stomach.
After a thirty-minute run along the gray-lit beach—every step a teeth-gritting effort to ignore the pain in his thigh—and a hot shower, he still couldn’t stand the thought of food, so he jumped in his car before he lost his nerve and started the engine.
Even this early, the town was a spate of morning rituals, from the fishermen readying their vessels for a day of deep-water trawling to the kid on his bike throwing newspapers onto as many lawns as he could before school. The air coming through the open window was brisk, but dewy enough to tell of the warm day ahead. In his rearview mirror, Nico watched the orange ball of light break the horizon, spilling hues of soft pink and gold across the world. Any other time, he would have pulled over to enjoy the spectacular sunrise, but he knew if he stopped, he might yield to his better judgment and bow out.
But he couldn’t do that. Not only because it would make him a coward, but because he’d just be delaying the inevitable. They would find out he was here soon enough—assuming they hadn’t heard already—and Nico wanted to pay them the proper respect before then.
Leaving the township behind, Nico drove west toward the center of the island, climbing the crest of the first peak and following the asphalt road back down the other side. He moved through the thick tree line and continued until the aged wooden sign that read Fate’s Crossingcame into view. He’d read about the legends of this place before he came, about how wives of lost fishermen would claim to have seen the ghosts of their husbands wandering here. It was said to be a sacred place. A place where both the living and the dead might meet one last time before the great beyond—at least that’s what they wrote in the tourist brochures. Being a man of faith, Nico wasn’t sure how much of it he believed, if spirits truly did wait here to bid farewell to their beloveds, or if it was just one of those stories parents told their children to ensure they never strayed too far into the woods. Either way, he preferred not to stick around to find out.
Turn after turn, Nico followed his GPS until he found Oak Drive. By the time he reached the green mailbox with number two printed on the front, his palms had begun to sweat, and it occurred to him that seven a.m. might not be the best time for an uninvited house call. He was expected at work by eight, so it was now or never. His tires crunched along the gravel drive as he slowly passed under the barnwood arch. A sign hung from two old chains in the center with a name painted in a neat, rustic font.
Riley.
His other unfinished business.
Nico swallowed hard, fighting against the barrage of memories trying to stampede through his mind. Dried blood against bone-white flesh. Cold, vacant eyes staring at nothing. Her silent scream . . .
He shook his head.
Get a grip.
Nico parked a good twenty paces away from the two-story farmhouse. The yard was overgrown, shrubs and climbers alike taking up as much space as they wanted in concrete garden beds that no longer held their sway, some latching onto the house itself, their tentacle-like shoots taking grip wherever they could. It reminded Nico of pictures he’d seen in books as a child, when a giant squid attempted to take down a ship in the deep, dark sea. Left to rot in the elements, the building itself was also in a major state of disrepair, white paint flaking away from the weatherboarding in large chunks, the blue shutters sitting crooked—one having fallen off completely. A dilapidated barn sat further back on the property, its roof peppered with holes and its walls on enough of a lean that Nico wondered if it would blow over in a gusty storm. Even the warmth of morning sunbeams couldn’t lift the depressing feel of this place.
Nico sighed. Was this his fault too?
Grass whipped his knees and softened his footfalls as he approached, but, before he reached the porch steps, the door opened with a slow groan from its aged hinges, and George Riley stepped outside.
It was an effort for Nico to contain his wince.
The man had aged ten years in the space of less than two; his once clean-shaven face now coated with a thick ginger beard that had turned white at the ends. His hair had grown out too, the disheveled mop of copper falling well below his ears. His hazel eyes—half-hidden behind lazy lids—swept over Nico, first with suspicion, then recognition, and finally, lifeless condemnation. Nico almost buckled under the weight of it.
“Detective,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
“Hello, George.”
The few seconds of silence that followed could have been an eternity. George’s features were unreadable, but Nico got the distinct impression he’d rather swallow razor blades than invite him into his home.
He asked, “Why are you here?”
Nico cleared his throat, struggling to find the words. “I, uh . . . I wanted to come by and tell you in person that I’ve, uh . . .”
Fuck. Why was this so hard?
“You’ve what?”
There was no hope in George’s voice. No expectation. It was too late for all of that now.
“I’ve taken a new posting. Here. As the new lieutenant.”
Nico waited for the eruption of rage and disapproval. The spitting anger. The disgust.
George shifted his gaze to the sunrise, his eyes squinting slightly at the glare. “Sergeant Hellman told us you were coming.”
“He did?” Nico wasn’t sure how he felt about his former sergeant going behind his back like that.
Eyes still on the sky, George said, “I hoped it wasn’t true.”
Nico’s head ducked in shame, an automatic response. “Listen, George, I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but I hope you believe me when I say that it’s not my intention to cause you any undue stress—”
“ ‘Undue stress?’ ” He chuckled. “How diplomatic of you.”
Nico exhaled. “I’m sorry . . . If my being here is . . . painful for you. What happened with Sara—”
“Don’t,” George warned, his tone sharp. “Don’t you say her name.”
Birds were happily chattering in the trees nearby, their cheerful songs unfitting for the blanket of sorrow and regret draped over the two of them as George stared him down.
“Alright. I’ll go.” Nico paused, unsure how to say his next words without causing offense. Gesturing to the house, he said, “But if you and Esme need anything, any help with . . . repairs, maintenance . . . or just anything, I’m here.”
“Yes,” George replied. “You are.”
Realizing all too late that perhaps this entire idea had been a grave error—that maybe there was no atoning for past mistakes, only the pain of continuing on despite all that had been lost—Nico turned to leave, then hesitated when he heard the front door open again, revealing a far too-skinny Esme Riley. If he’d had a hard time looking at George and his decline, Esme was a thousand times worse. Her hair, once a glossy raven, was now streaked with silver, falling in a dull heap across her shoulders. Her skin creased with new lines, made all the more visible by the gauntness of her pale, weary face.
Eyes that matched her husband’s glared at Nico as she lifted one spindly hand toward him. “No,” she whimpered. “No, no, no, you’re not supposed to be here.” She spared a look at her husband. “You said he wouldn’t come. You said he wouldn’t . . . ” Turning back to Nico, she pressed her hands to her middle, whether to hold herself together or an involuntary reflex as she recalled the child that once grew in her womb but never lived to see her thirtieth birthday, he didn’t know.
“How dare you show your face here?” she demanded.
“Esme, I . . .” Nico’s heart splintered. He’d never hated himself more.
“Sweetheart,” George said softly, coming to wrap an arm around his fragile wife’s shoulders. A gesture that caught Nico off guard, considering the last time he’d seen them, George had been anything but gentle with her. A tyrant of a man was how he’d been described, not only by his wife in a brief, private conversation with Nico, but everyone else authorities had spoken to at the time. It appeared time, or grief—perhaps both—had softened him.
“Go inside,” he told her. “I’ll handle this.”
Esme’s jaw trembled. She tore her gaze away from Nico and looked at her husband. “You promised me,” she whispered, before stomping back into her home without so much as another glance at Nico.
I will mourn forever. That’s what she’d said when the news of Sara’s death had come. Words branded onto his conscience, never to be erased.
Nico braced himself for a hiding. If George wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life for simply existing while their daughter rotted in the ground, he’d take it. But that’s not what happened. Instead, George surprised him by descending the three porch steps and coming to stand before him, man to man.
Looking away as if embarrassed, he said, “She’s not been in the best frame of mind since . . .”
Nico worked his jaw, equally uncomfortable. “I can only imagine.”
George looked at him, all hints of vulnerability gone. “I don’t want you coming back here, understand? I don’t want your charity; I don’t want your help.”
Nico’s throat bobbed, but he nodded.
“Just leave us the hell alone.”
And with that, he stormed back up the porch steps and inside, leaving Nico standing on the lawn, feeling like a prized asshole.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
Three hours into his second day of work, Nico wobbled precariously on the stones beneath his boots, his arms flailing until they found anchor on whoever was standing next to him. By the immature snicker, he guessed Frank.
“What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” West asked from somewhere behind him. “Can’t swim?”
“Dude,” Seth laughed. “That’s just bad planning. You’re aware islands are surrounded by water, right?”
Nico angled his head in the hopes of seeing something—anything—beyond the blindfold they’d tied to his head before stuffing him in the cruiser and bringing him here—wherever here was.
“Go easy on him,” Zoe said, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves and thrashing wind. “He’s never done this before.”
“You mean jump off a cliff without the gift of sight?” Nico clarified. “No, I haven’t.”
Even to his own ears, he sounded mildly hysterical, but given what his new crew was currently putting him through, Nico felt it was warranted. They all chuckled—all except Cora who’d volunteered to stay behind and man the station, saying, “I have no interest in being an accomplice to manslaughter.”
Nico had blanched a little at that.
“It’s a rite of passage,” West said, far too gleefully. “Consider it your official welcome to the team.”
“Doesn’t feel very welcoming.” Nico’s hair whipped wildly around his face. “You’re seriously telling me you all did this?”
“Of course,” Seth said.
“Absolutely,” said Zoe.
Liars.
Frank squeezed his shoulders. “Relax, LT. You really think we’d bring you all the way out here to kill you?”
“At this point, I’m not sure,” Nico replied.
“See, Nico, it’s all about that trust we talked about,” West called. “If you can’t trust your fellow officers, who can you?”
Fuck.
This had probably been all his idea.
Nico considered his options. He could rip the blindfold off, tell them all to shove their idea of a haze up their asses and walk away with his life—and body—intact. Or he could have a little faith and jump.
While his survival instinct argued that the former was a better choice, his logical brain pointed out that it was highly unlikely they would let him die. Unintentional maiming, however, still felt very much on the table.
Sending a silent prayer skyward, Nico muttered, “Christ. Alright, I’ll do it.”
Whoops and claps followed, then Frank was positioning him further forward, presumably as close to the edge as he could get.
“Hands crossed over your chest,” he instructed. “This is very important; you want to make sure you go in feet first and bend your knees, so the impact of the water doesn’t hit you too hard.”
“Jesus, how far is this fucking drop?”
“Just far enough to make you feel alive. But don’t worry, we’ve been diving off this cliff since we were kids. It’s completely safe.”
“Right.”
Sea water misted Nico’s face as he stood alone on the verge of possibly the worst mistake of his life—and there was some tough competition. Frank had backed off, warning Nico to propel himself as far out as possible to avoid the rocks close to the shore.
Nico took three deep breaths, huffing them out in fast succession to build up the nerve. Then with an almighty roar, he pushed through his feet with everything he had, and leapt. He was airborne for all of a second before gravity took over, and suddenly he was free-falling to whatever fate his comrades had planned for him. He locked his arms to his chest like Frank said, bent his knees, and held his breath. When he hit the water, he told his body to relax and let it take him under. Except it didn’t. Because he wasn’t in the water—not completely, anyway. His body let out a reflexive “Oof!” and he realized his lower half was, indeed, submerged in the sea, but the rest of him remained dry. Pain shot through his thigh at the impact while up above, the jeering sound of his subordinate’s laughter and applause rang out, and Nico knew he’d been had. Removing his blindfold, he turned to see the lot of them cheering on a small rocky embankment no higher than a Ford F-150, while his one superior stood off to the side, a pleased grin on his face.
“How’s the water, Lieutenant!”
“Hope those pants weren’t new!”
On and on they went until Nico did the only thing there was to do—took a bow.
“Get your ass back up here,” West hollered. “It’s lunchtime. I’m buying.”
“So, how did you like Boston?” Frank asked once their food had been set in front of them.
“It was . . .”—Nico tried to ignore the odd feeling of having his bare feet resting on the cold linoleum floor while his socks and boots dried off in the sun outside the diner—“Interesting.”
“That bad, huh?” Seth asked, ketchup bottle poised above his fries.
“No, it was good,” Nico amended. “Hard work. Stressful at times.”
“Sounds like my ex-wives,” Frank said.
“I’m sorry, did you say wives? Plural?”
When Frank held up three fingers with a grimace, Nico shook his head.
“Don’t ask,” West—burger in hand—advised from the opposite end of the table. “Unless you want to get drawn into an hour-long soap opera detailing the various ways women can hurt you.”
“She ripped out my heart and crushed it with her six-inch heel,” Frank threw back. “I’ll have you know I still carry a substantial amount of pain from my failed relationships, so I’d appreciate a little sensitivity.”
“Mm-hmm,” West hummed, not falling for it. “Remind me again which one that was, the virus writer or the hooker?”
“She was an escort,” Frank corrected. “And I can’t be expected to know the ins and outs of a person’s career after only knowing them for a day.”
“I think there were a lot more ins than outs with that one, Frank,” West replied dryly.
“You only knew her for a day?” Zoe balked, apparently as uninformed as Nico with this particular story.
Frank grinned. “Vegas.”
She scoffed. “Figures.”
After some more jaunty banter, Seth asked, “So, where are you from originally, Nico?”
Glad they finally seemed to be warming up enough to call him by his preferred name instead of his rank, Nico answered, “Brooklyn.”
Frank blinked. “No shit?”
“We spent a couple of years there when I was a kid, before settling permanently in Boston for my dad’s work.” Nico took a sip of soda before asking, “Zoe, didn’t I read in your file that you attended the academy in New York?”
The table went quiet. Awkward. Nico got the feeling he’d said something he shouldn’t have but couldn’t fathom what.
Zoe’s head whipped up. “Y-you read my file?”
“Of course,” Nico said with a frown. “I wanted to know who I’d be working with.”
Her face paled. “Oh. Uh, yeah, that’s right, I did.” She shifted in her seat. “Just didn’t work out.”
Nico watched her with new interest as she went back to her food. What was her story? From what he could glean from the incomplete documents in her file, she hadn’t been stationed in the Big Apple long before coming straight back to Mercy Cove. Whether it was with her tail between her legs or not, he couldn’t say. But he’d like to find out.
“What about you guys?” he asked. “You all locals?”
“Born and raised,” West said, adding with a smirk. “Some of us earlier than others.”
“Hey,” Frank cut in. “I”ll have you know there”s a substantial amount of wisdom that comes with these gray hairs.”
The table chuckled—even Zoe, who seemed to loosen up again.
“And you two?” Nico asked the young officers.
“Locals too,” Zoe said. “But Seth didn’t, uh, I mean, he wasn’t . . .”
When her eyes darted to Seth, seeking some kind of permission, he finished her sentence for her. “I was home-schooled.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, Zoe and I would have been in the same grade.”
“I see.”
Only, he didn’t. Not really.
As the table went back to eating and laughing and talking amongst themselves, Nico couldn’t help the nagging feeling that despite jumping blind off a cliff for the sake of trust, he was still on the outside. These people had history—a lot of it. More than that, they had secrets. Secrets he clearly hadn’t been deemed worthy enough to be let in on. Yet.
Maybe West had been right when he said it would take time to earn what they all naturally possessed. Small-town loyalties ran deep, and he didn’t belong. If he wanted to be here, to make it work, maybe he needed to stop thinking of this as a temporary transfer and start letting himself relax into the fabric of this place. Not completely, but enough . . .
With that in mind, Nico ate his lunch and got to work chipping away at some of the walls he’d spent months building.
Just one brick, he told himself.
One brick at time.