You Don't Want To Know - By Lisa Jackson Page 0,10

mind’s eye, Ava saw them as they had been, years before, streaking down to the water’s edge as the moon cast a shimmering beacon of light across the calm sea. She and Khloe and Kelvin . . . God, what she would give to feel that carefree again.

Khloe was right.

Damn it.

Ava felt the weight of everyone’s gaze upon her. From Wyatt to Dern and even to Virginia, whose hands had quit rinsing the dishes, though they were plunged into the soapy water. Everyone waited.

“I made a mistake—that’s all.” Ava held her hands palm up, as if in surrender. There was just no reason to lie, and she wouldn’t have anyway. “I thought I saw my son on the end of the dock and ran out to save him. It . . . it turns out I must’ve been mistaken. And it’s not ‘the middle of the night.’ ” A small point, but valid.

“Feels like midnight,” Khloe grumbled.

“The boy’s been gone, what, nearly two years?” Biggs asked as Dr. McPherson slipped into the room to stand quietly near the pantry.

“Yes.” Ava’s voice was careful, her legs suddenly weak. She leaned against the refrigerator, hoping no one would notice. “But I’m fine now, Sheriff,” she lied, forcing a smile. “Thank you for your concern and your trouble coming all the way out here.”

“Not a problem.” But his eyes held hers, and she realized they were both lying. It really irked her to be so submissive, but she knew she had to play her cards carefully or she could end up in a hospital under observation, her mental stability in question.

Again.

Claiming a headache, which wasn’t a lie, Ava took dinner in her room, which, she decided, was probably the coward’s way out. Too bad. Having Biggs in the house was unsettling, though she couldn’t really name why. It wasn’t as if he was going to arrest her or anything, but she had the feeling that he, along with everyone else, was against her, or at the very least waiting for her to slip up, make a big mistake.

About what?

Don’t let your paranoia override your common sense.

“I’m not paranoid,” she whispered under her breath, then clamped her mouth shut. She couldn’t let anyone hear her talking to herself. No, that wouldn’t do. She needed to regroup and pull herself together and figure out who, if anyone, she could trust.

But as she dunked the crusty bread into Virginia’s spicy clam chowder and stared through the window to the dock, she found she had no appetite. On clear nights, from this window she was able to spy the lights of Anchorville on the far side of the bay, even watch traffic moving through the sleepy little town.

Chewing thoughtfully, Ava wondered why Khloe had rushed to call the sheriff. Not 911, but Biggs himself. Because he was her uncle? To avoid an unnecessary trip by the EMTs or to stave off a scandal or any embarrassment? That seemed unlikely.

She stared at the department-issued boat tied to the listing dock, barely visible in the fog.

“Odd,” she muttered as she shoved most of the chowder aside. But then everything was and gossip surrounding Church Island certainly wasn’t unheard of. In fact, scandal seemed as carved into the walls of this bit of land as surely as the coves and inlets that split the rugged stone outcroppings of the island. She felt a chill and found her sweater, a brown cardigan she’d had forever that she’d left on the foot of the bed. She slid her arms through the sleeves and pulled her hair out of the neckline before cinching the belt tighter around her waist.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of knuckles rapping against her door. “Ava?” The door opened and Khloe stuck her head into the room. “Hey, how’re you doing?”

“How do you think?” she demanded, her heart knocking wildly. God, she was a nervous Nellie.

“Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” It was a lie. They both knew it. She settled back at the desk where the reddish broth was starting to congeal. “Why did you call Biggs?”

“I told you. I was worried!” Khloe admitted, rubbing her arms as if she, too, experienced a sudden chill. “God, it’s cold in here.”

“Always,” Ava said, “and you’re hedging.”

Khloe sat on the edge of the mattress. “What if . . . what if something had happened to you and we didn’t report it? You could’ve drowned. Passed out in the water. Been the victim of