as day. What seemed like the only face I’d painted for the last month. The same woman who had bolted from my studio when I kissed her. The one who’d been avoiding me for days. But that all stopped this morning.
The sound of a boat’s motor had me looking towards the water. I grinned when I saw it heading straight for my dock, Shay behind the wheel. She’d likely try to give me the brush-off, but we were going to talk if I had to chase her all over this island.
I took my time setting aside my sketchpad and getting up as Shay tied off the boat. I strolled down the dock, just in time for her to swing a leg over the side. But as she did so, my grin slipped. Her limbs seemed to tremble as she moved. I picked up my pace, taking her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I—I…” Her mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to get the words out but failing with each attempt.
“Is it Michael?” Hell, what if he’d shown up on Anchor, and she’d been alone? Maybe she’d gotten another letter.
Shay shook her head. “There was—someone was murdered. There was a body. At the park by the docks. He was dead. On the bench.”
Her explanation kept coming in that nonsensical pattern, in fits and starts. I guided her towards the bench at the base of the dock. “Sit down. Just breathe.”
Shay lowered herself to the seat and took a couple of steadying breaths. When she finally met my gaze, I saw so much pain there. And maybe a little fear. “Brody. The body. It looked like the painting on your website. The one of the boy with the broken heart and the drugs all around him. It looked just like that. But he was sitting, not standing.”
My blood turned to ice. “Are you—how can you be sure? Were you close enough to really see?”
Her fingers linked with mine. “I’ll never forget that image as long as I live. There were even words spray painted on the bench.”
I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, but the action felt like razor blades grating against my flesh. How was this happening? Again. My mind whirled, trying to put the pieces together. A million different possibilities circled each other. Had they caught the wrong person? Had a murderer followed me from New York? Was there some sort of sick copycat killer at work?
No one knew where I was. Not really. Not until Lara did her precious little interview. Sure, she hadn’t given my exact location, but she had given enough for someone even halfway proficient with a search engine to put the pieces together.
Shay’s arms slipped around me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m so damn sorry. I wish I could take it all away. For you. For that man who lost his life. For this community.”
I pulled Shay closer to me, swinging her legs so they were draped across my lap. I needed every point of contact she’d give me. The pressure and weight. The warmth. The undeniable pull that was only Shay’s.
We stayed like that for a while. I wasn’t sure how long. Minutes? Hours? The only thing I was certain of was that Shay had stayed. She poured every bit of her strength into me.
I pressed my lips to the side of her head. “I guess we should go up to the house. I need to call the sheriff and—”
Shay squeezed my knee. “I don’t think you need to call him.”
She inclined her head towards the water, and I saw an approaching boat. I could just make out the sheriff’s star on the side of it. Hell. I wasn’t ready for this. The questions. To have this little haven I’d built for myself invaded.
Shay straightened and pushed to her feet. I felt the loss instantly and down to my very marrow. But she kept hold of my hand, her fingers still twined with mine. I stood and followed her towards the boat.
The man, who I assumed was the sheriff, disembarked. “Morning, Shay.”
“Morning, Sheriff.”
He gave her a small smile, but it was strained around the edges. “I’ve told you time and again, call me Parker.”
I studied the man a little more intently with the voicing of that statement. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall and broad as if he might have been a linebacker in high school. Parker turned his attention