Chapter 2
The necklace burned a hole in my pocket. I kept my hands on the steering wheel the entire ride into town, resisting the urge to slip my hand into my jacket pocket and run my thumb over the rippled surface of the pendant. Right up until I reached Harvey’s office, I was going back and forth in my head.
Should I stop? Should I say something?What if it was nothing? The necklace in my jacket pocket was probably nothing. Jewelry wasn’t my thing. I’d take good hiking gear over a diamond any day, but even if it was solid gold, it wasn’t worth much. A delicate gold chain with a pendant shaped like an oak leaf, not much bigger than a fifty-cent piece, it was well made, I was guessing by a local craftsperson, but it wasn’t valuable.
The value wasn’t in the gold; it was in the artistry. It was a beautiful piece, but it wasn’t the jewelry itself that had me spinning in circles. It was where I’d found it—wedged behind the bed in my father’s hunting cabin, a place where no woman was allowed.
For most of my life, the hunting cabin had been more myth than reality, children forbidden along with women.
And for most of my life, I thought my father actually used it for hunting. I hadn’t realized I was still that naive, but there you go. Years ago, I’d discovered it on one of my hikes, sneaking up to peer through dusty windows and see what was inside.
When I’d looked through the windows as a kid, the answer to what was inside had been—not much. A square folding table with half-rusted metal legs and two equally decrepit folding chairs. When I’d mentioned the place to our groundskeeper, who’d been at Heartstone since before my birth, he’d made me promise never to go there. “That’s your father’s place. Not for young girls,” he’d said gruffly, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze. “Don’t wander that way again.”
Another child might have disobeyed, drawn purely by it being forbidden. Not me. I’d already learned not to attract my father’s attention. He had no time for an awkward, skinny girl with eyes that were too big. “She’s creepy,” he’d said once to my mother when he’d thought I was asleep. “With those bug eyes and bony legs. And she’s too quiet. She never talks.”
My mother had pulled him away, saying, “Quinn talks when she has something to say. And when she grows into her eyes, she’s going to be a knockout.”
I didn’t know if my mother was right about my eyes. When I looked in the mirror, I saw my father’s eyes. Sawyer eyes. I thought my father hated sharing them with me. After my mother died, it seemed like he hated everything about me.
I hadn’t dared to go inside the cabin until a few months after my father”s death when I had hiked out there and poked around. Even with him gone, the place remained forbidden in my mind, but I wanted to see what kind of shape it was in. Prentice was gone, and it didn’t make sense to let the place fall to ruin. I didn’t know what I was expecting to find. I guess the same thing I’d seen all those years ago when I’d pressed my face to the window and peeked inside.
Not exactly. In the years since, my father had redecorated. Big time. Hunting cabins like this were common in the area and usually pretty basic. A place to sleep and eat, maybe enjoy the companionship of some buddies after a long day of lying on the cold ground waiting for whatever animal was in season to wander into their line of sight. From the outside, the cabin was the same. Stacked logs with graying mortar between, a stacked stone chimney on one end. On the inside, though, he’d turned it from a sparse hunting cabin to a gentleman”s retreat.
I couldn’t imagine how he”d managed to get all this stuff up here. Helicopter? Ridiculous, but still the most likely answer. There weren’t any roads nearby or trails wide enough to bring in the deep leather armchairs or the matching sofa facing them. There was a new woodstove and, most bizarre, running water.
A beautiful wood table and matching chairs replaced the folding table of years past. In the small bedroom, I found a queen-sized brass bed, stripped bare, the mattress lightly dusty but relatively new. Had my father sent cleaning staff out here? I couldn’t imagine him making the bed himself. Not Prentice Sawyer.
On that first visit, I hadn’t done more than look around. It still felt very much like my father”s place. No matter how many times I reminded myself that he wasn’t going to storm through the door demanding to know what I was doing there, I still felt like a criminal for being there at all.
When I told Griffen what I”d found, he thought it over and asked, “Do you want it for yourself? You spend more time in the woods than the rest of us combined.”
“Not to live in full-time,” I’d said, after considering the idea. “It”s too far from the house or any road to use every day, but I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on it, maybe staying out there now and then, if that”s okay.”
In the months since, I’d gone to the cabin at least once a week, just checking on the place. I dusted and cleaned, and remade the bed with sheets and blankets I’d bought myself. I”d stocked it with canned goods and did maintenance on the water system, staying overnight when I could get away for a day or two, slowly building the idea in my head of a winter campout. I’d done it before, in a four-season tent pitched deep in the mountains. There was nothing like the quiet of winter solitude in the mountains. But as much as I loved sleeping in my tent, I didn’t hate the idea of living in luxury that far away from civilization. I could base out of the cabin and really explore that part of the forest in a way I hadn’t dared to when my father was alive.
On my last visit before my planned trip, I’d decided to rearrange the bedroom, moving the bed to face the double window and the view of the woods. On my own, I’d shifted the furniture with painstaking slowness, an inch at a time. And when I’d dragged the heavy bed away from the wall, there it had been, the gleam of gold catching the light.
It hadn’t belonged to my mother. I was sure about that. She’d died when I was eight, but I remembered well that she never wore necklaces. Too many little hands tugging on them, she used to say. And from what I remembered, the gold oak leaf wasn’t her style. When she wore jewelry, it was understated, with a touch of sparkle. Despite living in the center of thousands of acres of forest, my mother hadn’t been an outdoorswoman.
Whoever the woman was that my father had fixed up the cabin for, definitely had been. I hiked for a living, and my best time to the cabin was forty-five minutes. I couldn’t picture my father convincing one of his usual socialites to trade their heels for a pair of hiking boots and trek over an hour into the woods just for the privilege of fucking him.
So, who was it? Who was this mystery woman?
Maybe the simple gold oak leaf held the answer.
I parked in front of the familiar Victorian Harvey had converted for his office, finally giving in to the urge to pull the necklace from my pocket. My father had slept with a lot of women before, during, and after his marriages. Why would the one who’d owned this necklace be important? None of the others had been.
But someone had murdered Prentice, and we had no idea who. My brother Ford was in prison for the crime, but he’d been set up. The only clue we had pointed to the mysterious woman—maybe the woman whose necklace I held in my hand—Prentice had been planning to make the next Mrs. Sawyer. No one knew who she was. Prentice had never brought her to Heartstone Manor or been seen with her publicly. Blackmail letters and boxes of baby gear we’d unearthed in the Manor suggested the future Mrs. Sawyer had been pregnant, and there was someone out there who would be very, very angry to find out about Prentice’s plans to marry her.
Now Prentice was dead, and there was no sign of the mysterious fiancée or their child. I rubbed my thumb across the rippled surface of the gold oak leaf. What if this was hers? If we could figure out who the woman had been, would it point us to whoever had killed our father?
I didn’t give a shit about justice for Prentice. He’d been a miserable human being. A terrible father and an equally horrible husband. The world was a better place without him in it. I wanted justice for Ford. My older brother wasn’t perfect. He’d made more than his share of mistakes, but he’d saved me, over and over again.
I didn”t want to open this can of worms. I could have brought the necklace to Griffen, but my brother had enough on his plate. I thought about bringing it to Ford, but I’d promised him I wouldn’t visit him in jail again. He’d looked so broken when he”d asked me to leave and stay away. As much as it killed me, I couldn’t bring myself to put that look on his face again, so I”d kept my promise. I had a feeling this necklace wasn’t a good enough reason to break it.
That left me with Harvey.
I got out of my car, sliding the necklace back into my pocket. Harvey had been our family lawyer for as long as I could remember. More than that, he was a family friend. He”d been there for all of us our entire lives, most recently through the insanity of our father’s will.
Harvey tried to stop him, but Prentice Sawyer got what Prentice Sawyer wanted. He’d set up trust funds for us, but if we wanted them, we had to live in Heartstone Manor for five years. There was more, but the rest mostly applied to Griffen. As far as I was concerned, only one thing mattered: if I didn’t do as Prentice demanded, I not only lost access to the money he’d left me—money I didn’t even want—I was banned from Sawyer property.
To my great regret, that included my guide business. Ford had been working on selling me the business so I could get out from under my father”s thumb. He’d been close, but Prentice had died without signing the papers. One more betrayal in a lifetime filled with them. And my business, the one I’d built hike by hike since I’d been in college, remained Sawyer property. If I didn”t play along, I’d lose everything that mattered to me.
Climbing the steps of the Victorian, I opened the front door, lifting a hand to wave at Harvey”s receptionist.
“Hi, Quinn,” she said with a smile. “Is anything wrong?”
I knew what she meant. I didn”t usually show up at Harvey”s office. I”d only been here once since the reading of the will. Shaking my head, I said, “Everything”s fine. I just had a question for Harvey, and I thought I”d stop in and see if he was free. Does he have a minute?”
“He doesn”t have a client for another hour. Just give a knock on the door and then go in.”
Harvey”s door wasn’t closed all the way. From inside, I caught the tap of fingers on a keyboard. I rapped on the thick wood, pushing it open with each knock. Harvey’s eyes lit when he saw me, his round cheeks plumping as he smiled. I’d hated my father for most of my life, but Harvey always got a hug. Growing up, he’d been one of the few adults I’d trusted unconditionally.
Closing his laptop, he pushed back from his desk and came around to greet me, folding me in strong arms. “Quinn, what a nice surprise. Is everything all right?”
“Everything”s great,” I said, giving him a squeeze back. “I”m about to head off on my vacation.”
“Hiking into the forest with a tent and sleeping bag again?” Harvey leaned back, shaking his head. “Quinn, it always makes me nervous thinking of you alone out there.”
I couldn’t help laughing. I was far safer in the woods and among the wild animals than around humans. I’d seen enough of what humans could do to each other. “I know what I”m doing.”
“I know you do, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head and stepping back with an affectionate squeeze of my arm. “But you have to understand, in my head, you”re still six years old and heading off to kindergarten. The idea of you out there in the woods—” He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “You know there”s weather coming in.”
I nodded. “It”s not going to be that bad,” I said. “And I”m going to base out of the hunting cabin. I have it stocked up. Plenty of food, water, and firewood. The roof is tight, so no leaks. I’ll be fine. And even if it does snow, it”s not going to last long. It never does this time of year.”
“True,” Harvey said, an affectionate smile on his face. “I know you can handle it. Everyone I send your way for a hike or a fishing trip comes back raving. I”m just overprotective, I guess.”
“That”s all right,” I said, smiling up at him. “We like you that way. Anyway, this is weird, but when I was setting up the cabin for my trip, I moved the bed, and I found this.”
I pulled the necklace out of my pocket, arranging it on my palm so Harvey could see the gold oak leaf pendant on the delicate chain.
“Interesting,” he said slowly, reaching out his hand, his eyes lighting with curiosity. “May I?” I pushed my palm toward Harvey, and he lifted the necklace, holding it up to the light. “I don”t think I’ve seen this before.”
“I know you and Griffen did an inventory of the family jewelry,” I said, “and I didn”t know if something like this might be missing. If it was a Sawyer piece. Or maybe—” I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.
Harvey caught my meaning. “I don”t recognize it from the family collection,” he said. “I would guess it was left there. Maybe by a guest of your father”s.”
I shifted again, shoving my hands in the back pocket of my jeans. “That was my guess, too,” I said, staring at the pendant in Harvey’s hand. “It doesn”t look old enough to be part of the Sawyer collection. Can we track its owner?” I asked, suddenly feeling foolish. This was a wild goose chase. How was a random necklace going to help? “I, uh, thought maybe it belongs to the woman Prentice was involved with. The one we haven”t been able to identify.”
Harvey raised an eyebrow, and my cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded. Maybe I wasn’t a complete idiot.
He turned it over again in his hand, studying the back. “I think I can see an artist’s inscription, but I’m not sure. Do you mind leaving this with me? I can take a closer look, see if I can track down where it came from.”
“Sure,” I said, relieved to have the thing off my hands. I”d found it and brought it to an authority figure. Now, I could move on.
“You”ll be out at the cabin all week?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m leaving this afternoon. I was thinking, when I’m not out hiking, I could search the cabin and see if I find anything else.”
Harvey stared down at the necklace in his hand and nodded slowly. “That”s not a bad idea. I’ll see what I can find while you’re gone.”
“Thanks, Harvey.” I leaned in and gave him another hug.
“Anytime,” he said, squeezing me back. “Take care of yourself, Quinn. Keep an eye on the weather.”
“I will. I promise.” I waved as I strolled out of his office, a weight sliding off my shoulders. That was the second to last thing I had to do before my vacation officially started.
Jumping back in the car, I headed to the Craftsman bungalow on the edge of town that served as home base for my guide business. I’d already put up the sign in the window declaring Sawyer Outdoor Adventures to be officially closed for the next week.
It was the perfect time of year to take a break. Too cold and often too wet for tourists to want to hike. Trout season had just opened, but I’d be back on the river soon enough. The dedicated anglers didn’t need a guide to find the best spots, and the tourists who were my bread and butter didn’t start booking trips until late March. By May, I’d be wearing my waders several times a week. But for now, Sawyers Bend was quiet, and I was playing hooky.
Before Prentice died and his will came into play, I had always left Sawyers Bend for an annual break. River rafting in Costa Rica. Rock climbing in New Mexico. Surfing in Baja. Now, with the will restricting my movements, I”d stay on Sawyer land. According to Harvey, as long as I was on the Sawyer estate, it counted as being home. I sent silent thanks to William Sawyer, who’d tied the land to the Manor in such a way that it could never be severed. Not that my father or his father would have given up a single acre. Sawyers believed in holding on to what they had.
Unlocking the front door to the bungalow, I flipped on the lights. The front of the building was a gear shop. Nothing major; there were too many big outdoor stores in the area for me to compete profitably on gear sales. I carried everything my guests usually forgot, like sunscreen and bug spray, along with a few high-end goodies tourists loved—hand-tied flies and custom-made hiking staffs. Behind the gear shop was a long maple counter that served as a front desk of sorts.
Usually, my younger sister Sterling sat there, perched on a stool, with a sunny smile for our clients as she checked them in or rang them up. She’d taken over organizing phone and online reservations, and lately she’d been working on revamping my website. It was funny—I’d given Sterling the job more as a soft place to land than because I needed the help. Nursing a broken heart, she’d quit her job, saying she wanted something quiet. It didn’t get much quieter than my place. We had brief spurts of mayhem as we organized groups for a hike or fishing trip, but once the guests and I were out the door, Sawyer Outdoor Adventures was filled with peace and quiet, interrupted only by the occasional phone call.
I’d figured Sterling would take some of the less fun administrative tasks off my hands, and she’d have me at her back as she got on her feet again. I hadn’t expected her to work as hard as she did. The place had never been more organized, and she was full of ideas for improvements. I’d been content with chugging along as a one-woman show, but Sterling had me making plans along with her. A new website. An upgraded reservation system. More cross-promotion with the inn. I was on board for all of it. After my vacation.
All the way in the back of the bungalow, I passed my small office and pushed open the door to the room that used to be my bedroom. Before my father’s will, I’d lived here, sleeping on the twin bed still in the corner, currently covered in plastic bins filled with supplies and gear for the shop. Now that the will had forced me back into the Manor, I’d reluctantly converted this room into storage. It hurt too much to keep it as it was, a reminder that I’d had to leave the haven I’d built for myself, had to return to the place I hated most for five long years.
I’d be back, I promised myself. Four more years, and I could get rid of all the boxes and bins and reclaim my room. Or maybe there was money in those trust funds, and I could buy myself a place of my own. Griffen had already promised that as soon as the terms of the will allowed him to transfer Sawyer Enterprises property, he was signing Sawyer Outdoor Adventures over to me. If there was even a little cash in my trust, I could add it to the money I’d saved to buy the business from my father and have enough for a place of my own. Then, I’d never have to spend another night at Heartstone Manor.
A tug of pure longing pulled at my heart as I stared down at my little bed. Life had been so much simpler when I’d been living here. I could pretend my father and Heartstone Manor didn’t exist. For a while, I’d been at peace. Living in the bungalow was almost as good as being in the woods.
I needed my week away. A week when I didn’t have to go inside Heartstone Manor, didn”t have to face the house I loved and hated and feared, the echoes of my childhood everywhere. My father was dead, yet he haunted me every time I stepped over the threshold.
I needed a break. From the Manor. From my family. And maybe especially from Hawk Bristol.
I smirked to myself, remembering the furious expression on his face that morning as he’d scared off the mama bear. I’d never admit it to him, but I”d been a little nervous at how close she”d come, especially with her babies tumbling around under my hammock. I’d told Hawk the truth—I didn”t have anything she was interested in. I knew about black bears. I knew these woods and the animals in them. I didn”t use scented products. Even the fabric softener on my clothes was unscented. I didn”t bring food to the hammock or anything that smelled like food, especially not this time of year.
But still…she was a big animal, and I’d seen what bears did to people and other animals who got in between them and their babies. Black bears were normally shy, avoiding people and keeping to themselves, but all bets were off when their cubs were involved, and I’d had two right underneath me. He’d called me a human fucking burrito. I laughed to myself, now that he wasn’t around to hear.
From the day he’d arrived at Heartstone Manor, Hawk Bristol had tugged at me. I’d never known anyone like him. I’d been around plenty of men who could command attention. Men who understood how to acquire and wield power. I’d grown up among men like that. Hawk was as commanding as any of them, but he was different. Hawk’s mission was to protect those under his charge, and he took that mission to heart.
I’d watched him after he came to Heartstone, not sure I believed his loyalty to Griffen. He had the run of the house. He was armed. At first, on the nights I spent in the house because the weather was too awful for my hammock, I slept with a chair jammed under the door handle. I was an adult now, and no one was getting through that door unless I let them in. Not ever again.
Though I’d felt his eyes on me, more than once, lingering, considering, Hawk never tried my door. Of course, he didn’t. All these months later, I understood how off base I’d been. Hawk would die before he’d let any member of Griffen’s family come to harm. He would never be the one to bring that harm himself. Once I’d realized that, I’d watched him even closer, trying to figure out what made Hawk Bristol tick.
I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t even close.
Hawk Bristol was locked up tight. Nobody broke through his shell. I remembered the way he’d lost his cool over the mama bear and her cubs because they were a perceived threat. To me.
No one got to Hawk Bristol. Except, apparently, me.
And I had a week to decide what I was going to do about that.