Crescendo

know she’s grown up healthy and strong. We named her Nor—”

“I don’t want to be reminded of her name,” his friend interrupted harshly. “I’ve done everything in my power to stamp it out from my mind. I don’t want to know anything about her. I want my mind washed of any trace of her, so I’ve got nothing to give that bastard.” He turned his back, and Harrison took the gesture to mean the conversation was over. Harrison stood a moment, so many questions at the tip of his tongue, but at the same time, knowing nothing good would come from pressing. Stifling his need to make sense of this dark world his daughter had done nothing to deserve, he let himself out.

He’d only made it a half block when a gunshot ripped through the night. Instinctively Harrison dropped low and whirled around. His friend. A second shot was fired, and without thinking, he ran in a dead sprint back toward the house. He shoved through the gate and cut around the side yard. He had almost rounded the final corner when arguing voices caused him to stop. Despite the cold, he was sweating. The backyard was shrouded in darkness, and he inched along the garden wall, careful to avoid kicking loose stones that would give him away, until the back door came into sight.

“Last chance,” said a smooth, calm voice Harrison didn’t recognize.

“Go to hell,” his friend spat.

A third gunshot. His friend bellowed in pain, and the shooter called over him, “Where is she?”

Heart hammering, Harrison knew he had to act. Another five seconds and it could be too late. He slid his hand to his lower back and drew the gun. Two-handing it to steady his grip, he moved toward the doorway, approaching the dark-haired shooter from behind. Harrison saw his friend beyond the shooter, but when he made eye contact, his friend’s expression filled with alarm.

Go!

Harrison heard his friend’s order as loud as a bell, and for a moment believed it had been shouted out loud. But when the shooter didn’t spin around in surprise, Harrison realized with cold confusion that his friend’s voice had sounded inside his head.

No, Harrison thought back with a silent shake of his head, his sense of loyalty outweighing what he couldn’t comprehend. This was the man he’d spent four of the best years of his life with. The man who’d introduced him to his wife. He wasn’t going to leave him here at the hands of a killer.

Harrison pulled the trigger. He heard the earsplitting shot and waited for the shooter to crumple. Harrison shot another time. And another.

The dark-haired young man turned slowly. For the first time in his life, Harrison found himself truly afraid. Afraid of the young man standing before him, gun in hand. Afraid of death. Afraid of what would become of his family.

He felt the shots rip through him with a searing fire that seemed to shatter him into a thousand pieces. He dropped to his knees. He saw his wife’s face blur across his vision, followed by his daughter’s. He opened his mouth, their names at his lips, and tried to find a way to say how much he loved them before it was too late.

The young man had his hands on Harrison now, dragging him into the alley at the rear of the house. Harrison could feel consciousness leaving him as he struggled without success to get his feet under him. He couldn’t fail his daughter. There would be no one to protect her. This black-haired shooter would find her and, if his friend was right, kill her.

“Who are you?” Harrison asked, the words causing fire to spread through his chest. He clung to the hope that there was still time. Maybe he could warn Nora from the next world—a world that was closing in on him like a thousand falling feathers painted black.

The young man watched Harrison for a moment before the faintest of smiles broke his ice-hard expression. “You thought wrong. It’s definitely too late.”

Harrison looked up sharply, startled that the killer had guessed his thoughts, and couldn’t help but wonder how many times the young man had stood in this same position before to guess a dying man’s final thoughts. Not a few.

As if to prove just how practiced he was, the young man aimed the gun without a single beat of hesitation, and Harrison found himself staring into the barrel of the weapon. The light of the fired shot flared, and it was the last image he saw.

CHAPTER 1

DELPHIC BEACH, MAINE

PRESENT DAY

PATCH WAS STANDING BEHIND ME, HIS HANDS on my hips, his body relaxed. He stood two inches over six feet tall and had a lean, athletic build that even loose-fit jeans and a T-shirt couldn’t conceal. The color of his hair gave midnight a run for its money, with eyes to match. His smile was sexy and warned of trouble, but I’d made up my mind that not all trouble was bad.

Overhead, fireworks lit up the night sky, raining streams of color into the Atlantic. The crowd oohed and aahed. It was late June, and Maine was jumping into summer with both feet, celebrating the beginning of two months of sun, sand, and tourists with deep pockets. I was celebrating two months of sun, sand, and plenty of exclusive time with Patch. I’d enrolled in one summer school course—chemistry—and had every intention of letting Patch monopolize the rest of my free time.

The fire department was setting off the fireworks on a dock that couldn’t have been more than two hundred yards down the beach from where we stood, and I felt the boom of each one vibrate in the sand under my feet. Waves crashed into the beach just down the hill, and carnival music tinkled at top volume. The smell of cotton candy, popcorn, and sizzling meat hung thick in the air, and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since lunch.

“I’m going to grab a cheeseburger,” I told Patch. “Want anything?”

“Nothing on the menu.”

I smiled. “Why, Patch, are you flirting with me?”

He kissed the crown of my head. “Not yet. I’ll grab your cheeseburger. Enjoy the last of the fireworks.”

I snagged one of his belt loops to stop him. “Thanks, but I’m ordering. I can’t take the guilt.”

He raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

“When was the last time the girl at the hamburger stand let you pay for food?”

“It’s been a while.”

“It’s been never. Stay here. If she sees you, I’ll spend the rest of the night with a guilty conscience.”

Patch opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Leave her a nice tip.”

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Trying to redeem yourself for all those times you took free food?”

“Last time I paid, she chased me down and shoved the money in my pocket. I’m trying to avoid another groping.”

It sounded made up, but knowing Patch, it was probably true.

I hunted down the end of a long line that wrapped around the hamburger stand, finding it near the entrance to the indoor carousel. Judging by the size of the line, I estimated a fifteen-minute wait just to place my order. One hamburger stand on the entire beach. It felt un-American.

After a few minutes of restless waiting, I was taking what must have been my tenth bored look around when I spotted Marcie Millar standing two spots back. Marcie and I had gone to school together since kindergarten, and in the eleven years since, I’d seen more of her than I cared to remember. Because of her, the whole school had seen more of my underwear than necessary. In junior high, Marcie’s usual MO was stealing my bra from my gym locker and pinning it to the bulletin board outside the main offices, but occasionally she got creative and used it as a centerpiece in the cafeteria—both my A cups filled with vanilla pudding and topped with maraschino cherries. Classy, I know. Marcie’s skirts were two sizes too small and five inches too short. Her hair was strawberry blond, and she had the shape of a Popsicle stick—turn her sideways and she practically disappeared. If there was a scoreboard keeping track of wins and losses between us, I was pretty sure Marcie had