a murder mystery, she thought.
He shoved the badge back into his pocket. She caught a glimpse of a pistol and leather shoulder holster. But even more dangerous than the weapon was the man himself. He was built like a distance runner. Tall with narrow hips and long, muscular legs encased in snug denim. The navy T-shirt was damp from the rain and clung to an abdomen that regularly saw the inside of a gym.
“So are you planning on hitting me with that?”
Realizing she was still clutching the lamp, Sara returned it to the bedside table. “I thought you were an intruder.”
“Good thing for you I’m not.” He motioned toward the lamp. “Wouldn’t do much good against a gun.”
Sara didn’t know what to say to that; she knew firsthand the damage a gun could do.
“I didn’t mean to spook you,” he said. “You okay?”
“Just a little rattled. Electricity went out.”
“Lightning took out a transformer down on Wind River Road. Crews are out, but it’s pretty remote out here. Could take a while.”
“Lovely.”
“Do you have a flashlight or candles?”
“I dropped the flashlight and broke it, but I think there are candles in the kitchen.”
“I’ll stay long enough for you to get a few lit if you’d like.”
“Not that I’m afraid of ghosts or anything.”
“Of course not.” Touching the brim of his cap, he left the bedroom and started for the stairs.
Feeling silly for having overreacted, Sara followed.
“Where are you from?” he asked as they descended the stairs.
“San Diego.”
At the kitchen, he moved aside and motioned her ahead, shining the flashlight so she could see. Sara went to the candle she’d left on the counter, relit it, then began rummaging for more.
“Alexandra and Richard Douglas were your parents?”
That he knew her parents’ first names shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Cape Darkwood was a small town, after all. She looked up from the drawer. In the candlelight, she was able to get a better look at his face. An odd sense of familiarity niggled at the back of her mind. Her hands paused as she reached for a second candle. She wasn’t sure why, but her stomach went taut in anticipation of some unexpected and ugly surprise. “Yes, they were my parents. Why?”
“I used to know them. My parents knew them, actually. A long time ago.”
Sensing there was more coming, she stopped rummaging and looked at him over her shoulder. His eyes met hers. A little too curious. A little too intense. A keen awareness of him rippled through her. She wanted to blame it on the darkness. The storm. The strangeness of the house. Whatever the case, he was one of the most disconcerting men she’d ever met.
“I used to know you, too,” he added.
Sara faced him, certain she would have remembered meeting this man. He had one of the most memorable faces she’d ever encountered. Definitely unforgettable eyes. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s been a while,” he said.
“I didn’t get your name.” The words came out as a whisper.
“I’m Chief of Police Nick Tyson.” He stuck out his hand. “Your father shot and killed my father the same night he murdered your mother.”
Chapter Two
Sara stared at Nick, her mind reeling. She’d known that at some point she would have to face this. The past. The people whose lives her father had ripped apart all those years ago. But to face this man now—a man whose life had been shattered by the actions of her father—seemed a cruel twist of fate.
“Nicky?” she said.
“People don’t usually call me that now.” His grin transformed hardened features into a hint of the boy she’d once known. A rough-and-tumble kid with black hair and eyes the color of the Pacific. Her memory stirred like a beast that had been hibernating for two decades. She’d been seven years old. Twelve-year-old Nicky Tyson had talked her into playing hide and seek, but when she’d closed her eyes, instead of running and hiding, he’d stolen a kiss. Her first kiss from a boy. It had been innocent, but made a huge impact on Sara.
Funny that she would remember something so silly at a moment like this. But then she’d blocked a lot of things that happened that last summer.
The man standing before her was nothing like the ornery kid who’d pestered—and secretly charmed—her. There was nothing remotely innocent about him. His eyes were still the color of the sea, but now it was a stormy sea, all crashing surf and churning waves and water the color of slate. Beneath the brim of the Cape Darkwood PD cap, his black hair was military-short. He might have looked clean-cut if not for the day’s growth of beard and the hard gleam in his eyes.
“Surprised?” he asked.
Realizing his hand was still extended and she had yet to take it, Sara reached out. “I don’t know what to say.”
His hand encompassed hers completely. His grip was firm. She got the impression of calluses and strength tempered with a gentleness that belied the obvious strength.
“Hello would suffice,” he said.
An awkward silence descended. Intellectually, Sara knew what her father had done wasn’t her fault; she’d been a little girl at the time. But it was disconcerting to think that this man’s father had been her mother’s illicit lover. That her father had murdered Nicholas Tyson in a jealous rage then turned the gun on himself. That was the story the newspapers had reported, anyway.
Sara was no longer sure she believed it.
She studied Nick Tyson and thought about the call she’d received two days ago. The electronically disguised voice that told her Richard Douglas hadn’t murdered anyone on that terrible June night. Had there been a fourth person involved as the caller intimated? A person filled with hatred and a secret that was now up to her to expose—or disprove?
The memory of the voice spread gooseflesh over her arms. She studied Nick’s face. Familiar now, but somehow every bit as threatening. His was the face of a cop. Hard, knowing eyes filled with suspicion, cool distance and an intensity that thoroughly unnerved. She couldn’t help but wonder if, as a policeman himself, he’d ever doubted the scenario the police had pieced together.
“Ah, you’re in luck.”
The words jerked her from her reverie. She let go of his hand. He must have seen the uncertainty on her face because he motioned toward the drawer she’d opened. “Another candle,” he said.
“Oh. Right.”
His eyes shone black in the semidarkness. She could
