she felt.
Well, since you’ve stepped into Tammy’s shoes for better or worse, you’re going to rub elbows with her acquaintances. She hoped her rendezvous with her sister at the lighthouse would clear the whole thing up. Didn’t matter. She’d do whatever she could to pull her sister from the hot water.
But this time things were more serious than unpaid bills or romantic troubles. She thought about the train barreling past, inches from the front of the Corvette.
Way more serious.
Whispering a prayer, she picked up her pace. The grass gave way to a rocky black cliff. Reaching the edge, she peered down onto a rugged beach cloaked in fog. Ahead and to the right she could just make out the steep trail that led down to a jutting promontory of rock where the outline of the lighthouse was visible.
It was a historic structure, no longer in use, though there was a string of Christmas lights twined around the gangway and one small beacon at the top. The lights were courtesy of the ranch owners, Gus and Ginny Knightly, Tammy had told her, to honor the men and women who had served in the navy, as had Gus’s father. Maggie had been struck by the story, picturing the couple who believed in honor and respect, two qualities hard to come by these days, it seemed to Maggie.
She picked her way slowly, since the black rock was slippery with condensation and the moonlight partially obscured by fog. The roar of the surf grew louder. They should have met at a café or a gas station, but Tammy always did have a flair for the dramatic. Maggie could never understand it. She could be fully content spending every day bunkered behind a restaurant stove, cooking for patrons like she’d done for years in her parents’ café, gleaning plenty of excitement from managing a kitchen. It pained her that she’d had to walk away from several days’ wages to come to Driftwood. She’d kissed goodbye money that wouldn’t accumulate in her meager bank account, which wouldn’t help her with her goal of reopening her parents’ restaurant.
You’ll get there. The words were stoked with optimism but each year seemed to bring more troubles and financial setbacks. “Eliminate the distractions. Get this thing with Tammy settled and put your nose to the grindstone,” she whispered to herself before the wind snatched the words away.
The dial on her father’s old watch read nine thirty. Precise down to the second, it was not the loveliest accessory, but Maggie didn’t care. It was a part of her father and his legacy, and family was everything.
A rock tumbled loose from somewhere nearby. Maggie froze. Was there someone following? She strained to listen. The wind was howling now, numbing her cheeks. She zipped her thin jacket as far up as it would go, but the chill seeped in anyway.
Finally she made it to the level path that took her to the door of the lighthouse. She listened one more time and checked her phone. Again she dialed Tammy’s number, but the call would not go through on this wild, wind-whipped beach. No way to leave a message anyway; her sister had never bothered to set up her voice mail. Her fingers tingled with the cold.
She stared at the device, but the blank screen gave no answers. Had Tammy made it to the lighthouse or not? Perhaps she’d lost her phone. A crack sounded in the night. A rock falling into the ocean? Or something entirely different?
What if her pursuer had waited after the encounter with Liam, retreated, only to find a hiding place from which he could follow her?
She paused with her hand on the wooden door.
What if?
She had no other choice but to go in and follow through on the plan her sister had set in place earlier. Palm clammy, she shoved open the door.
The chilled interior of the old lighthouse smelled of mildew. In the gloom she could barely make out the spiraling metal staircase and cracked plaster walls glazed with moisture. The graffitied interior had been painted over, but more recent messages were scrawled in spray paint.
“Tammy?” she whispered. The only answer was the crash of the surf outside. “Tammy?” she said louder. She let a full two minutes go by before she made a decision. Her sister wasn’t there. She could feel it. It was time to get out.
Shoes crunched up the walk outside, heavy, not Tammy’s. Prickles of panic erupted up Maggie’s spine. There was nowhere to hide, no place to go, except up. Breath held, she scampered quickly up four steps, enough to take her out of the view of the doorway. The creak of the door split the night.
One second. Two...three. Immobile as a statue, she waited.
“Tammy?”
She recoiled deeper into the shadows, her back pressed against the cold plaster. Everything in her shouted at her to run up the staircase, but trapping herself at the top of an abandoned lighthouse would be suicide.
“I know you’re here, Tammy. I saw you come in,” he said.
She bit her lip.
His tone went soft and friendly with the hint of an East Coast accent. “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt you earlier, back in Sand Bar.”
Hurt? Her heart thundered. Was he talking about the car accident?
“I just wanted to talk, but you didn’t cooperate. You should have stayed in the hospital, let me help you, not run off into the night.”
Hospital? Maggie clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming.
“I was told you’d picked up your Corvette at the garage,” he said, “so I guess you weren’t too badly hurt. That’s good, sweetie.”
Sweetie?
Her muscles screamed for escape, but he was between her and the exit. There was only one avenue open: farther up the narrow flight of spiraling metal stairs. She moved as quickly as she could, trying to tread on the stairs where they attached to the wall to minimize squeaking. Maybe he hadn’t actually seen her come in. He might be bluffing and give up.
Below her, she heard him move.
Impatience crept into his tone. “I only want the jewelry. Give it back and forget about it.” He paused. “We had a good thing going for a while, Tammy. Don’t throw that all away over a misunderstanding.” He paused. “I know you’re up there... There’s no way out. My phone doesn’t work here, so I’m guessing yours doesn’t, either.” He chuckled. “Cat and mouse game.”
And I’m the mouse.
Without warning, he charged, metal squealing under his feet, and she had no choice but to sprint up the stairs. Fear powered her, but he was tall and long-legged. He caught her at the top, grabbing her by the wrists and pinning her back against the railing. Her face twisted away from his, eyes blinded by the eerie glare of the lighthouse beacon.
“This is fun, Tammy, the cat and mouse, but I’m short on time.”
She writhed in his grip, trying to kick out, wrench her arms free. He was strong and his height gave him leverage.
“Get away from me,” she rasped.
He squeezed her wrists until she thought the bones would crack, angling her torso over the railing, the only thing standing between the lantern room behind her and a plummet to the ocean below. Frigid wind tore at her hair, yanking as if it meant to pull her
