CHAPTER SIX

As I drive home from Emma's house, every few seconds, I glance in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Hank's truck following me. The way he looked at me on Emma's doorstep, like he could see straight through my jacket to what I was hiding, makes my skin crawl with equal parts fear and something I refuse to name.

Back at the cottage, I lock every door and window before pulling out Sadie's notebook.

They think I don't see them. They think I'm just a kid. But I know what they do after dark.

The handwriting is neat and clear. This wasn't some teenage diary full of crushes and drama. This was an investigation. Research. Evidence.

Mr. Patterson's boat comes in at 3 AM every Tuesday. No fish. Never any fish. But his pockets are always full after.

The Tides Club meets at the old warehouse on Pier 7. I counted twelve cars last time. Expensive ones. Sheriff Kinney's was there.

My pulse quickens. The Tides Club isn't just some local legend. It's real, and Sadie found them.

Found bank records in Mom's purse. She works at First National. Huge deposits going through businesses that barely make any money. The Bait Shop: $2.3 million last month. The Bait Shop doesn't even have customers half the time.

Jesus Christ. Sadie was tracking money laundering through her own mother's bank records. No wonder they killed her.

The next entry is different. Shakier.

Someone's following me. Dark truck, no license plate I can see. He was outside school yesterday. Outside the library today. I think they know I know.

My throat goes dry. A dark truck. Like the one Hank drives.

Emma thinks I'm paranoid, but I'm not stupid. I'm going to hide everything tomorrow. If something happens to me, at least someone will find it eventually.

The entries stop there. Three days before her body washed up on my shore.

I close the notebook and lean back in my chair, mind racing. Sadie documented everything leading up to her murder, but she was smart enough to hide the actual evidence somewhere else. The question is where.

A knock at my door makes me jump so hard I nearly knock over my coffee cup. Through the window, I see Hank's silhouette against the porch light, broad shoulders filling the frame. My first instinct is to hide the notebook, but there's nowhere to put it that he won't find if he really wants to look.

I shove it under a stack of mail and open the door, keeping the chain latched.

His eyes are darker than usual, almost black in the dim light. "We need to talk."

"About what?"

"About the notebook you took from Emma Chen's house."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. The gesture makes him look younger, more hot. "Elise, I saw you stuff it in your jacket. Emma's eyes went wide as saucers when I walked in. You think I'm stupid?"

I study his face, looking for tells. The scar on his jaw catches the light, and I find myself wondering how he got it. Bar fight? Accident? Something worse?

"Even if I did have it, why would that concern you?"

"Because that notebook is going to get you killed."

The words hang heavy between us. He's not threatening me, I realize. He's warning me. Again.

I unlatch the chain and step back. "You better come in."

He follows me into the kitchen, and suddenly the space feels too small. He smells like salt water and cigarettes or wood smoke. When he sits across from me at the table, his knees almost touch mine.

"Show me," he says quietly.

I hesitate, then pull the notebook from under the mail. His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes when he sees it.

"You've seen this before," I say.

"No. But I know what it represents." He reaches for it, and his fingers brush mine as I hand it over. The contact sends electricity up my arm, and I pull back faster than I should. He notices. Of course he notices.

He flips through the pages, jaw tightening with each entry. "Shit. She really found them."

"The Tides Club?"

He looks up at me, and for a moment, the careful mask slips. I see exhaustion there, and something that might be guilt.

"You know about them," I press.

"Everyone knows about them. The question is how much you're willing to risk to bring them down."

"A sixteen-year-old girl is dead. How much risk is too much?"

His mouth twists into something that's not quite a smile. "Spoken like a cop."

"Former cop."

"No such thing." He closes the notebook and slides it back toward me. "Once you carry a badge, it stays in your blood. Even when you try to drink it out."

The comment hits too close to home. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know you were an LAPD homicide. I know you had a drinking problem. I know you left California after a case went bad and a kid died." His voice is matter-of-fact, not cruel, but it still makes me flinch. "I also know you've been sober for two years and you're trying real hard to stay that way."

"Jesus. Did you run a background check on me?"

"Didn't have to. Small towns talk, and you're the most interesting thing to happen to Windemere Bay in years."

I stand up, needing distance. "Why do you care what happens to me?"

He's quiet for so long I think he won't answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than I've ever heard it.

"Because you remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who thought she could save the world if she just worked hard enough at it."

"What happened to her?"

"She died trying."

The words settle between us like stones. I want to ask who she was, how she died, why he looks like he blames himself. But something in his expression warns me off.

"The notebook," I say instead. "Sadie mentions hiding evidence. Do you know where?"

He shakes his head. "But I know someone who might."

"Emma?"

"Emma's scared shitless, and she should be. No, I'm thinking of someone else. Someone who's been watching the Tides Club longer than anyone realizes."

"Who?"

He stands, towering over me in the small kitchen. "Your mother."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "My mother's been dead for fifteen years."

"Your mother's been hiding in Windemere Bay for fifteen years. Under her maiden name. She's been waiting for someone brave enough to finish what her sister started."

The room spins. I grab the back of my chair to steady myself. "That's impossible."

"Becky Hartwell. Works at the post office. Lives in the blue house on Maple Street. She's got your eyes."

I can't breathe. My mother, who I thought died when I was thirteen. My mother, who I buried in my heart years ago. She's here. She's been here all along.

"Why?" The word comes out strangled.

"Because her sister Sarah was the first girl the Tides Club killed. And she's been collecting evidence ever since, waiting for the right person to help her bring them down."

Hank moves toward the door, then stops. "Elise?"

I look up at him through a haze of shock and betrayal.

"Be careful who you trust. The Tides Club has eyes everywhere, and some of them might be closer than you think."

He leaves me standing in my kitchen, the notebook clutched in trembling hands and my entire world turned upside down