knew him, he thought, consciousness dimming. It was the guy from behind the bar at Captain Crow’s, the one who’d been filling the wineglasses...
He tried swimming up from the depths of unconsciousness. He despised the smothering dark, the cloying taste of it in his mouth and the weight of it against his chest. This time it would smother him, and the thought was so wearying that he let the blackness descend, welcoming—
No!
He had to rally. Two men. One in a ski mask, one in a ball cap and bandanna. Where had he heard...
Skye’s attackers. The men who’d invaded her home.
Needed to tell her. Protect her. Stop them from ever having the chance to hurt her again.
Gage realized he was facedown on the sand. As he tried crawling forward, he got some in his mouth and he choked on it. No matter. Move. Get out of the fucking dark.
But then it descended again.
* * *
SKYE WAS DETERMINED not to spoil the celebratory mood at the rehearsal dinner, and though she didn’t much feel like eating, she enjoyed the happiness circling the table. Griffin’s smugness over his upcoming marriage was both amusing and endearing. He wore a boyish look-what-I’ve-got expression whenever he glanced Jane’s way. As for his bride-to-be, she glowed. And there was the sassiest glint in her eye when she caught Griffin looking.
“Chili-dog,” she chided him, shaking her head back and forth.
He laughed. “You know what I’m thinking, honey-pie?”
“I know what you’re thinking about.”
He’d only laughed harder as Jane’s face went pink.
It made Skye long for such familiar, assured intimacy. The ache urged her up from the table. She murmured an excuse about a visit to the ladies’ room, but instead she wandered about the restaurant, half listening to the complaints of the regular bartender, Tom, who wanted to know where his backup had disappeared to.
It made her wonder the same about Gage.
Another shiver worked its way across her skin and she rubbed briskly at the gooseflesh on her arms. She’d meet him and get her sweater, she decided, descending the steps to the beach.
Of course it wasn’t any warmer outside, but instead of retreating, she walked briskly forward, or as briskly as she could in her strappy sandals. When one ankle wobbled, she paused to remove her shoes, then resumed her walk, the sand cool and silky beneath her bare feet.
It surprised her not to glimpse Gage’s figure striding in her direction. The beach was deserted, though lamps burned in most cottage windows. Fewer of the spotlights designed to focus on the incoming waves were on, giving a checkerboard effect to the surf line. They created a more varied play of shadows on the sand, too, so Skye supposed she was just having trouble making him out.
But then she reached her house and there was still no sign of him.
Frowning, she checked the front door. Locked.
Feet planted on her porch, she glanced in the direction of Captain Crow’s. Had they somehow missed each other? Not on the sand, but perhaps he’d taken the track behind the beach houses that would bring him to the restaurant’s parking lot and front entrance.
Though taking that longer route didn’t make any sense.
Dropping her sandals, she hopped off her porch and strolled to the middle of the beach outside her house, standing almost at the exact center of the cove. Still no sign of a male figure between where she was and Captain Crow’s. Turning her head, she perused the sand in the direction of the southern bluff. Nobody visible in that direction, either, though there were plenty of shadows and dunes that could camouflage a man.
Who had no reason to be hiding, of course.
Still baffled, she continued staring down the beach. Would he have gone to No. 9 for some reason? It was the logical answer, of course, and she decided to head that way herself, some instinct urging her forward.
She moved quickly again, aware of the goose bumps on her arms and legs. As summer ended, the days remained warm, but that changed once the sun went down. The expected overnight low was a nippy fifty-nine degrees.
As she approached No. 9, she noted the landscape lights weren’t on. That fact didn’t alarm her, because she and Gage’s mother, Dana, had discussed turning them off the next day. The wedding was timed for sunset, and there were going to be candles everywhere, protected from the wind by hurricane glass. The low-glow lights might detract from the mood, and so she’d shown the older