The door popped open and Bruce’s smiling face peered inside. “Ready to get out of here?”
Cassidy jumped to her feet. “Please, yes.”
Bruce met her halfway, a question in his eyes. Tentatively, she reached for him, and he wrapped her in a soft embrace.
“Where can I take you? Are you hungry? Tired?”
Cassidy knew exactly where she wanted to go. “None of the above,” she said, smiling to herself. “Are you up for an adventure?”
Thirty-One
After checking on Quinn, who threw the couch pillows at her to prove that he was just fine, Cassidy took Bruce to the car dealership and picked up her new truck.
“Very nice,” Bruce said as he settled into the passenger seat. The new car smell reached right into Cassidy’s bones. Everything was clean and shiny. She imagined their many future adventures and made a silent pledge not to neglect her.
“Thanks,” she said, glancing at him. He looked so at home that for an instant, she stopped picturing Pete.
He seemed to notice something had shifted in her and reached for her hand. The stitches didn’t hurt as much now. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” she said, letting the tug of sadness wash through her and fade away.
They drove up the coast with the evening breeze whisking through the cab to the Golden Gate Bridge. Far below them, the giant swells rolled and surged, cresting in long, perfect lines at Deadman’s Point then continuing under the bridge to break at Fort Point.
“We should be surfing today,” he said, gazing down.
“I think I’m done with Fort Point,” she said.
He frowned. “Because of Bo?”
She shrugged. “It’s one of those places that I’ve always wanted to surf, but now that I have, I don’t know, I’d rather surf O.B. Or Seaside.”
“That’s Oregon, right?”
She nodded.
“I’d like to try that place out sometime.”
Cassidy eyed him, thinking of Seaside Point’s cold water, unfriendly locals, and the difficult logistics of getting there. “It’s not that special.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I get to be the judge of that.”
They passed the halfway point of the bridge. She remembered Bruce showing her the high fence above Fort Point that prevented jumpers from landing on surfers in the lineup. Did that mean that people jumped from this point? She let her gaze drift down for a split second, unable to imagine leaping into the abyss, the harsh wind on her face, the terrifying drop, and the cold, hard water waiting at the end.
Pete’s death had hurt her so deeply, bringing up all of her past unprocessed grief, compounding it into an impenetrable wall. There had been times when she had sympathized with those who chose such a path, but now, those moments felt diffuse and distant, almost like they happened in another lifetime.
“No sign of the wreck,” Bruce said, snapping her from her thoughts.
She looked to the west, where the deep, blue water shimmered in contrast to the rising, black cliffs. “The news never did reveal anything.”
“There was a ten-second report on one of the channels about a boat fire, but that was it.”
The fact that so much had been hidden about that night tormented her, but part of her was secretly relieved. She wouldn’t have to face the media.
Meanwhile, she could carry on her own investigation.
In the next moment, the bridge connected to the other side and the restless ocean disappeared from view.
“What are you going to do with your time off, Special Agent Keolani?” she asked, refocusing on the drive.
A pained look crossed over his face.
“Agent Harris made it sound like routine. Are you worried?”
“A little,” he said. She could tell that the uncertainty would weigh on him.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I made my choice. I was far more worried about you than my job.”
“But you love your job,” she said, surprised.
“Yeah, I do,” he said, nodding.
Cassidy thought about this for a moment. “Are you mad?”
He turned to her, looking pensive. “I was upset that you didn’t tell me, but I understand.” He smiled thoughtfully. “I respect how difficult that was for you.”
Cassidy’s stomach jiggled uneasily.
Bruce steered the conversation to other topics, and soon Cassidy was coasting her new truck to a stop at the trailhead. Her excitement and the freedom of being away from everything bubbled up inside her and she couldn’t hold back her grin. She stepped into the strong breeze, letting the thick, salty air fill her lungs and whip her hair past her face. While she quickly secured her unruly curls in a braid, Bruce shut his door and stretched, then followed her wordlessly to the path cutting through the dried field grass. They hiked in silence, the path turning from red soil to sand and the cries of the gulls growing louder with each step. The path descended through grass-covered dunes until they broke out to the beach, the sound of the heavy surf crowding out all other sound.
“Wow,” Bruce said, “gorgeous. I’ve never been to this one before.”
In each direction stretched miles of empty, caramel-colored sand.
“This one’s usually not as busy,” she said. If they’d gone to Stinson or Drake’s Beach, they would be dodging bodies left and right. Here, even on a Saturday, she noticed only a handful of other visitors dotting the shore.
In the distance, massive lines of swell pounded shut, creating a roar and sending white foam into the air. Beyond, the lowering sun hid behind a thin band of fluffy white clouds, casting a soft glow. Eager to make use of their remaining daylight, she kicked off her flip flops and walked north, the cold sand scrunching through her toes.
Bruce fell in next to her, his palm sliding into hers. A tingle passed through her body, and she squeezed his hand. They walked in silence for a long time, the movement and solitude having the desired effect on her turbulent thoughts. The light softened further, creating long, diffuse shadows on the sand and lighting the tops of the broken waves with a buttery glow.
“So, is your middle name Lynn?”
