“He made his choice,” I whisper.
We’ve made ours.
We’re going to live.
EPILOGUE
The cavalry, when it finally arrives, seems a hundred strong. State and federal agents, paramedics, swarming like a kicked colony of fire ants. I’m taken away in an ambulance, while Kezia stays to answer questions; it doesn’t escape my notice that I’m handcuffed to the gurney, but I don’t care about that. I just want to sleep, especially once they shoot me up for the pain.
It takes days to unwind the story to absolutely no one’s satisfaction except the cold case departments across the country who are finally able to put their open cases to bed with a firm, final SOLVED stamped on the front. There are twenty-three bodies in the cannery. Every one of them has a file neatly labeled in a cabinet at the top level of the lighthouse, where Jonathan kept meticulous records. He wasn’t lying about any of it . . . not about the fact that his victims were guilty, at least. Penny Carlson had killed at least ten people. She’d killed her children, the man and woman at the remote house, and arguably Detective Prester, plus left five more in her wake of destruction over the years.
She was one of the least guilty of those he’d forced to play his game.
When the news breaks, some clever duck at the Wilmington Star-News labels him The Fisherman, and it sticks. I don’t know if Jonathan would be happy he has a serial killer nickname, or appalled. I’d rather not try to work it out.
Jonathan left a video accounting of every single one of his cases; I’m sure it’ll be fodder for psychologists and profilers for years to come. In my case, he’d applied his usual methods. The Lost Angels had been hideously easy to leverage against us. Dr. Dave, the man Sam turned to for information, had been the one to provide Melvin’s letter to Jonathan, as well as the posters. MalusNavis’s posts had never asked anyone to put up those posters. Had never asked people to stalk Vee or threaten my children. But hate has a life of its own. He didn’t need to do much to kindle the fire and let it smoke us out.
Sheryl had been easy to manipulate too. She could have turned away. Said no. Loved her children more than the millions of dollars he dangled as bait. Everything after that one crucial night was collateral damage, her making the same choice again and again to chase her reward.
But Jonathan chose first.
What haunts me now isn’t Penny’s horrific, pathetic death. Or the innocent eleven-year-old whose death—accidental or deliberate—started this deadly avalanche.
It’s the shots I fired in a blind panic, in pain. The shots that I only barely missed. In a way I think that, too, was Jonathan’s plan, to make me blindly kill my friend, and it’s only luck that saved me.
But I’m alive. Kez is alive. Her baby is a new and beautiful future for her and Javier. And in the end . . . Jonathan chose how to lose his own game.
I have to try to be content with that.
Coming home on crutches feels strange. Like I’ve left something important behind. I tell Sam I love him, and I mean it; there’s nothing but joy in my heart when I see him, and joy when I greet my children again. I should feel better.
I will feel better. Therapy isn’t fast. But it does work. Step by step, I’m coming back. Step by limping step, I will walk out of this darkness and back into the light, where love is waiting for me.
Because Jonathan was absolutely wrong. Love isn’t greed. Greed always wants more. Love is rich enough in itself, by itself. It doesn’t need more.
I have enough, with Sam and my children. Enough of everything.
Jonathan would never understand that at all.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My first readers (always), Sarah Weiss-Simpson and Lucienne Diver.
My amazing editors Tiffany Yates Martin and Liz Pearsons.
So grateful for the assistance from Candria Slamin, Corlyn Key, Erica Johnson (a girl from Saint Louis who loves to read), and Todd Caldwell!
PLAYLIST
If you’ve read my stories before, you know that music is a huge inspiration for me during the creation of a story . . . and Heartbreak Bay has some tremendous songs that helped fuel my process this time out. Musicians struggle like all artists, so if you can afford it, please buy the music!
“God’s Country,” Blake Shelton
“Rearview Town,” Jason Aldean
“Give Me One Reason,” Tracy Chapman
“Miss Me More,” Kelsea Ballerini
“Mother’s Daughter,” Miley Cyrus
“Nightmare,” Halsey
“Still Feel,” Half-Alive
“99,” Elliot Moss
“The Tarantella,” Honeyblood
“Hunter,” RIAYA (feat. John Mark McMillan)
“July,” Noah Cyrus
“Smokin the Boys,” Audra Mae & The Almighty Sound
“Bruises,” Lewis Capaldi
“Hurt,” Oliver Tree
“Lo/Hi,” The Black Keys
“Ilomilo,” Billie Eilish
“Boom,” X Ambassadors
“Take the Wheel,” Honeyblood
“Blue on Blue,” Just Loud
“Tell Me,” Diamond Thug
“Stay,” The Score
“Face the Sky,” Diamond Thug
“Maria,” Grandson
“They Own This Town,” Flora Cash
“Saw Lightning,” Beck
“Dancing with Your Ghost,” Sasha Sloan
“Tell Me When It’s Over,” Sheryl Crow (feat. Chris Stapleton)
“Crowbar,” Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes
“Way Down We Go,” Kaleo
“Cringe,” Mark Maeson
“The Daughters,” Little Big Town
“The Chain,” The Highwomen
“Change,” The Revivalists
“Love Crimes,” Hayden Thorpe
“It Doesn’t Matter Why,” Silversun Pickups
“The One I Need,” Amber Benson and James Saez
“Paper Gown,” Caroline Herring
“O Death,” Gangstagrass (feat. Brandi Hart, R-Son, and Liquid)
“Country Girl,” Carolina Chocolate Drops
“Long Hard Times to Come,” Gangstagrass
“Throw It Back,” Missy Elliott
“Killing Strangers,” Marilyn Manson
“Joke’s On You,” Charlotte Lawrence
“Bad Memory,” K. Flay
“Haunted Heart,” Tyminski
AUTHOR’S NOTE
It’s a strange place, 2020, when I’m writing this book. We’re in the grip of a pandemic. Death tolls are rising. People are frightened, and wanting answers and hope and an end to fear.
I’m in a strange place too. My own personal tunnel is very long, and I’m walking toward the light. I have soft tissue sarcoma, a rare, aggressive, and
