Kieran balanced a foot on a boulder. “I’m going inside. Something’s not right.”
Devon’s heart galloped. She grabbed his back pocket. “I’m coming with you.”
She scrambled onto the rock next to him and dropped to the sandy floor of the cave. “It’s not flooded in here yet, but we don’t have much time.”
With one hand inching across the slippery, wet sea-cave wall, Devon crept into the cave, the fingers of her other hand tucked into Kieran’s back pocket.
Her nostrils twitched at the briny smell and as the waves crashed on the outside walls, the noise created a rumbling in her chest.
Kieran stopped and her nose plowed into his back. “Devon, turn around and walk out.”
His tight voice cut across the thundering waves and sliced into her gut. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Go. Get out of here.”
Bile rose from her belly, the sour taste flooding her mouth. Fear beat wings against her temples, and then adrenaline coursed through her system. If there was a choice between fight or flight, she’d learned to choose fight every time.
She shoved against Kieran’s broad back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kieran stepped aside, curling one arm around her waist and pulling her against him as if he feared she’d topple over if left on her own.
Her eyes adjusted to the gloom of the cave and her gaze dropped to the sandy floor.
A scream barreled up from her very depths as she stared into the lifeless eyes of Elena Estrada.
Chapter Fifteen
Devon choked and retched beside him. His hand cupped the back of her head and he pressed her face against his chest. He hadn’t wanted her to see this. Elena had been Devon’s friend. And she’d been Michael’s guardian for the day.
He slammed his fist against the slimy cave wall. It was his fault. He’d encouraged Devon to leave Michael here when their son should’ve been with them. He didn’t know the first thing about fatherhood.
Devon dropped to a rock near Elena’s body. “Oh, my God. She’s dead. She’s dead. Where’s Michael?”
She’d covered her face, but now her head jerked up. “Maybe he threw Michael off the rocks. Maybe he’s already dead.”
Kieran crouched beside her and gripped her arm. “Stop. Michael’s not dead. We’ll find him.”
She turned wide, glassy eyes toward him. “We need to find him. We need to call the police. Do you think Evans will listen to me now?”
“Of course.” As Devon stood on shaky legs to retrieve her phone from her pocket, Kieran studied the crime scene. Pelicano had bashed Elena on the side of the head with a rock. One side of her head was sticky with blood. She may have seen it coming since one arm was outstretched, her fingers curled into a claw.
“Kieran, I can’t find my phone. It must’ve fallen out of my pocket when I fell. Do you still have yours?”
“Mine ran out of juice yesterday. Yours might still be by that rock. There’s not a lot of water yet.”
He leaned forward to peer at the wet sand beneath Elena’s fingers, not yet stiff with rigor mortis. She’d scratched at the sand.
Devon sobbed behind him. “I can’t find my phone. We’re wasting time.”
He held up his hand. “Hold on. There’s something here.”
She leaned over his shoulder, her breathing erratic and raspy. “It’s sand, wet sand.”
“No, look.” With one knuckle, he nudged aside Elena’s cold fingers. “It’s writing, Devon. She wrote something before she died.”
Devon gasped and plunked onto the sand next to him. “What is it?”
He traced over the letters with his fingertip. “The letters
Devon gripped his arm, her fingernails biting into his flesh. “
Kieran pushed up to his feet taking Devon with him. “Why would Sammy Pelicano take Michael to Columbella House?”
“I don’t know, but if Elena carved those letters into the sand with her dying breath, then they mean something.” She slipped from his grasp. “We need to check Elena’s pockets for a phone.”
Kieran dipped back down and patted Elena’s pockets and then turned her over to check the other pockets. “Empty. Don’t worry about the phone right now. We need to get up to Columbella.”
As they climbed over the first set of rocks, the water rushed in, soaking their shoes. Kieran scooped up Devon and lifted her onto the next boulder. “If we’d entered this cave ten minutes later, the water would’ve washed away Elena’s message. Luck is on our side.”
When they got clear of the cave, Devon tugged on his arm. “We can’t go charging through the front door of the house if he’s in there with Michael.”
“What do you suggest?”
“You don’t remember, do you? You don’t remember the secret passage up from the beach through the basement of the house.”
“If I don’t remember, I’m glad you do. Lead the way.”
Devon crossed the beach path to the other side of the cave and the rocks. The old house loomed above them, seemingly unreachable.
“The house is built into the rock. The first St. Regis had the builders tunnel down into the side of the cliff.”
Devon led him into a shallow indentation in the side of the cliff. From the outside, it looked like another sea cave farther up the beach, but as they slipped into the entrance, a door appeared at the end of the passageway.
“Is it locked?”
“It’s broken, like most everything at Columbella.”
The sea air had rotted the solid wood door, but it still looked impenetrable.
Devon grasped the metal handle and yanked upward. “I can’t do this by myself. You need to lift the door while I turn the handle.”
Kieran crouched down and slid his hands in the space beneath the door. On the count of three, he heaved the door up and heard a click. He staggered backward as the door swung outward.
“Be careful. There are steps up to the basement.”
He wedged the door shut behind them, and squeezed past Devon to the first step. “You stay behind me. I’m the one with the gun.”
Their wet shoes squelching on the cement steps, they ascended to the bowels of Columbella House.
When he’d stayed here while watching Devon and Michael, he’d never ventured into the basement. He’d poked his head in the door once, but that had been enough. Dank and cold, the basement had given off a malevolent vibe.
It was no different now.
They reached the level floor, and Kieran helped Devon up the last few steps. Without a flashlight, the darkness closed in on them. They edged their way across the floor, littered with memorabilia from a few generations of long-ago St. Regises.
Devon’s hand found his and she squeezed it. “Please tell me we’re not too late for Michael.”
“I just found my son. We can’t be too late.” He said the words to comfort Devon, but he believed them with his whole being. Fate had led him here to Coral Cove, to this house for this moment.
The dank moisture of the basement walls seeped into his flesh, chilling his bones. The remnants of past lives usually emitted an air of quaint comfort, but this memorabilia exuded hostility or at least an air of mystery and impenetrability.
He shook it off. He didn’t come here to analyze the St. Regis history. He’d come here to rescue his son. And if he knew anything, it was how to bring down an enemy.
