Chapter 2
JUNE
June could not stop looking at the order in her hands.
It was ridiculous, really. A piece of paper with a name on it, placed on a strategic line, changed the temperature inside the car. It had turned what should have been a straightforward, if frustrating, morning into something sharper. Something with teeth.
The rush crush had been ordered and paid for by Victoria Morrison. Not her son. Victoria.
June reread it twice, then folded it again with careful fingers, as if the paper might cut her.
Holt drove with both hands on the wheel, his expression set, his jaw tight in the way June had seen a hundred times before. It was not anger exactly. It was focus. A man taking a messy set of facts and trying to force them into a clean line.
June watched him from the corner of her eye and then looked out the windshield again, willing her thoughts to slow down.
They were heading back toward Sandpiper Shores, toward the police station, toward Tom, and toward a situation that could turn ugly in ways June did not want to imagine.
A mile passed in silence before June realized something else. She had not eaten. She had been so caught up with what the day working in close proximity to Holt was going to be like, that she’d skipped the one meal she always forced herself to have. Her stomach reminded her now with a hollow ache.
June glanced at Holt.
“Have you had breakfast?” June asked quietly.
Holt didn’t take his eyes off the road as he answered her. “If coffee counts as breakfast.”
“That doesn’t count at all,” June said with a small laugh.
Holt exhaled a short breath through his nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was something close.
“I will survive,” Holt assured her, then teased, “There are some donuts back at the precinct, I’ll have one of those when we get back.”
June looked down at her hands. The folded note rested between her fingers again. She could feel the edge of the paper against her skin, the way it had landed on Holt’s lap like a secret slipping loose.
“There’s a diner up the road,” June instructed, pointing ahead. “I skipped it this morning and don’t feel like donuts.”
“Good idea,” Holt agreed. “I don’t really feel like them either.” He smiled at her.
June nodded, relieved, and then her stomach sank again, not because of hunger, but because of a thought that had been creeping at the edges of her mind since Holt first told her what Harvey had said.
June stared straight ahead as the diner came into view, a low building with a faded sign and a row of pickup trucks parked out front. It looked harmless. Ordinary. The kind of place where people poured coffee without asking questions and kept the same regulars in the same booths year after year.
And yet June’s pulse began to climb.
The thought she’d been avoiding rose up all at once, sharp and ugly, and June nearly blurted it before she could stop herself.
“Holt, what if—” June began, but stopped. short, biting her tongue as the words died in her throat.
Because suddenly she heard herself and the way it would sound.
She heard the implication of what she had almost said and could picture Holt’s face, the way his eyes would narrow, the way irritation would creep into his voice.
Because the thought that had stolen into her mind would sound petty, and Holt could perceive it as June letting her personal emotions steer something that needed to stay focused on the case.
June pressed her lips together and stared at the diner’s parking lot as Holt eased the car into a space.
Holt switched off the engine, then turned toward her.
“What if, what?” Holt asked, and his voice was gentle, but there was an edge of impatience beneath it. He hated it when people started a sentence and then just cut it off, not finishing it.
June swallowed. Her heart thudded hard in her chest.
She forced herself to look at him and cleared away the doubt creeping in. This needed to be said, June told herself. It’s not petty. It’s an avenue worth exploring.
“I know how this is going to sound,” June said quietly, raising her one hand.
Holt’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay. What is it?”
June tightened her grip on the note, then busied herself by popping it into her purse more to steady and gather her composure before turning back toward him.
His blue eyes were studying her intently, making her heart stutter in her chest, but she forced herself to concentrate on what she needed to say.
“Before I tell you what I need to say,” June told him, holding his gaze, “you must know that this has nothing to do with whether or not you and Victoria are dating.”
Holt blew out a breath, and his expression immediately turned to one of irritation, as if the very mention of Victoria in that context was an annoyance he had been trying to ignore.
“We’re not dating,” he said through gritted teeth as if the mere thought pained him.
“And before you ask, as so many in Sandpiper Shores already have, I’m not going to dinner with her.
” He shook his head. “I don’t even know where that rumor came from, but it’s spread through town like a wildfire. ”
June stared at him, caught off guard by the force of his annoyance. “I think it’s from her visiting you at the police department.”
“Good grief,” Holt spat, the irritation still there, but his tone controlled.
“Victoria came to the police building looking for Tom. She found me instead, and before I had time to duck or think, the moment she saw me, she launched herself into my arms before I could stop her. And believe me, it was an ambush.”
June blinked. She should have felt awkward.
She should have felt embarrassed that she’d even thought about it, but, instead, June felt an unexpected flicker of relief that made her want to scold herself.
Good grief, June. What's wrong with you?
Who Holt dates, kisses, or has dinner with is none of your concern.
“Oh,” June said, because she did not know what else to say. “Um…” She swallowed as her stupid heartbeat picked up speed, and she hoped that Holt could not hear it.
“Now what were you going to say?” Holt asked June, his eyes boring into hers.
June’s relief evaporated, replaced by the thought again, heavier now that she had given it room to embed itself deeper into her mind.
“Yesterday,” June began, “at the clinic, Victoria came storming in and warned Lucy, whom she at the time mistook for Lacey, to tell Lucy to stay away from Tom.”
“Yes,” Holt said, nodding. “Tom mentioned that.”
“Having witnessed the scene, I can tell you that Victoria was hostile and even threatening to Lucy, whom she thought was Lacey,” June pointed out. “And now knowing that Victoria was the one who was driving Clive’s car and the way she ordered the rush crush…”
“Go on,” Holt encouraged, his eyes narrowing and his jaw tightening as if he’d already guessed where June’s line of thought was going.
June’s pulse picked up again. She could feel her throat go dry, because even though her gut was screaming at her that it was possible, she still didn’t want to believe anyone would be capable of such a terrible act.
“What if Victoria,” June said slowly, “that is, if she was the one driving Clive’s car, if she did so thinking that Lacey was Lucy?”
Holt’s face went still. Not blank, not confused, but stone cold.
June felt a chill ripple up her spine.
“You’re saying that it wasn’t an accident and that, thinking Lucy was in the truck, Victoria deliberately ran her off the road,” Holt reframed her words.
“I said what if,” June stated clearly. “And that is if it was Victoria that hit Lacey’s truck.”
The words landed between them like a weight.
June swallowed hard as the implications hit her more fully now that Holt had said it out loud. It was the same thought that had nagged at her since Holt told her the driver was allegedly Victoria, the same thought June had tried to smother because it felt too cruel to be true.
Her jaw clenched. June shook her head, trying to dislodge the picture forming in her mind.
Surely not. Surely even Victoria would not be that vindictive. Victoria was a snob. Victoria was cold. Victoria was selfish. June had known those things for years. But attempted harm was something else.
“No,” June said, more firmly than she felt. “I’m sure that’s not right.”
Holt did not speak. He watched her, his eyes steady.
June tried to reason through it like she would in a courtroom. Facts. Patterns. Plausible explanations.
“Maybe she did hit a tree,” June said. “Maybe she really is covering it up because she knows how it looks, and she’s trying to protect herself.”
Holt’s expression did not soften.
“Maybe.” Holt nodded, but his tone was not convinced.
June pressed on, needing to hear her own logic. “I’ve seen Victoria drive, and she’s always distracted. You know, on her phone or checking her reflection. Just the other day, Victoria flew past me and was looking in her mirror while she was driving.”
Holt’s mouth twitched, and he almost smiled.
“I’m not sure what to think,” Holt said. He reached for the door handle, then paused and looked at her again. “But now that you’ve mentioned what you have, I can’t discount it.”
June’s stomach tightened. Because Holt was right. Once the thought existed, once it was spoken, it could not be unsaid.
“I hope she really did hit a tree and is covering it up,” June said, her voice quieter. “Because the alternative is… ” She blew out a breath. “—is heinous.”
Holt opened the door and stepped out. He walked around to her side and held the passenger door open.
“Let’s hope it’s that simple,” Holt said, but June could tell he was not convinced.
Then Holt’s expression shifted, warming unexpectedly. His voice softened. “Shall we put this off for an hour and go enjoy breakfast?”
June smiled back. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
Holt extended his arm. “Besides, we won’t solve everything in the parking lot.”