guesthouse on Daniel’s estate, but neither Daniel nor Keira was in residence. They’d left the country the day after Vincent’s arrest, after Keira’s Canberra-based grandmother had a severe seizure and was placed in intensive care.
Jemima kept the gate locked and wasn’t answering calls. The police had gone to her for interviews, rather than force her to come to the station—probably because they knew the circus that would follow should she leave the May estate.
You’d think Golden Cove’s remote location would help protect Vincent’s family from the impact of his notoriety, but the media were camped out at the gates. Some would no doubt have jumped them by now if the police hadn’t stationed a patrol car there and made it clear that anyone who stepped onto private property without permission would be arrested.
While certain journalists might’ve shrugged off the possibility of a trespass conviction in their determination to get an exclusive, the bloodsuckers were smart enough not to take on the vicious dogs currently roaming the property. Matthew Teka had quietly offered Jemima the dogs when a reporter managed to reach her front door, and she’d accepted.
That was the only communication anyone had had from her since the arrest.
“Be careful.” Will’s gray eyes held her gaze. “Matthew’s dogs took a chunk out of a cameraman’s leg yesterday.”
“He shouldn’t have been trying to sneak up to the house.” Anahera had no sympathy for those who preyed on the pain and heartbreak of a woman who’d had nothing to do with her husband’s horrific crimes. “If she doesn’t want me there, I won’t go.” Simple as that.
“You realize she might blame you for what happened to Vincent?”
“Yes.” She touched her fingers to his jaw. “Go be a cop, Will. I’m going to be a friend if she wants one.”
He left her with a hard kiss and a silent warning she heard as clear as day: Don’t let down your guard. Jemima might not be as innocent as she appears.
That, of course, was what the media hounds were baying. They wanted to scream at Jemima, ask her if she’d known. If she said no, they’d ask her how she could’ve possibly not known.
Anahera wasn’t naïve. She didn’t think Jemima was innocent in everything. The other woman had known about Vincent’s affair but helped him create the image of a perfect family man nonetheless. But Jemima wasn’t involved in murder, of that she was certain. Vincent hadn’t valued his wife enough to bring her into his psychopathic daydreams.
After placing her new laptop bag on the passenger seat of the Jeep, she brought up Jemima’s number and made the call. She’d already tried once, but Jemima hadn’t responded. Not wanting to put further pressure on a woman already trapped in a nightmare, she’d left it at that, sure that Jemima’s wealthy family would swoop in and rescue her. But either they were total assholes, or Jemima had frozen them out, too, because no strangers had come through the Cove except for the reporters.
Once again, the phone rang and rang. She was just about to hang up when Jemima picked up. “Ana?”
“Yes, it’s me,” she said. “You want company? I can bring up coffees.”
A pause before Jemima said, “Can you get hot chocolates for the kids, too? More milk than chocolate? They’re going stir-crazy cooped up in the house.”
“Consider it done. Should I push the buzzer at the gate when I arrive?”
“No, call me on your phone. The reporters kept pushing the buzzer so I disabled it on this end, and someone’s smashed out the security camera so I can’t see who’s at the gate.”
Probably an unscrupulous reporter hoping to sneak up without being spotted. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
Once in the café, Anahera placed the drinks order with the temporary barista Josie had hired—one of Shane Hennessey’s groupies. It turned out the girl had been a barista in Wellington before she came to Golden Cove. And she was good. But it was unsettling to see another beautiful, lissome girl behind the counter.
“How’s the job going?” Anahera forced herself to ask.
Dark eyes shone at her. “It’s a little weird. People keep asking me about the girl who died, and I didn’t know her. But mostly, it’s nice. Super busy with all the out-of-towners—I’m glad I’m not having to manage alone.”
“Tania’s good company.” Josie had hired Tania Meikle to wait tables at the same time that she’d hired the barista; Josie herself was now out of commission. Her ankles had been heavily swollen yesterday when