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No. None of those.
That came as a relief. And yet she was still worried.
So what could it be?
Again, no response.
Ismay, you can trust me. I’m not going to tell anyone. And I’m not out to hurt Remy. I promise. I won’t go to the police or anyone else unless you give the word.
His phone rang, and her name came up on his screen.
“Hi.”
“How late do you plan on staying up?” she asked, her voice soft enough to make him believe she didn’t want Bastian to overhear.
“As late as I need to in order to figure this thing out. Why?”
There was a long pause. “What you said before about certain signs meaning someone should take a closer look...”
“Yes...”
“Maybe you’re right. I’m not out to make a false accusation. I’m just...trying to be cautious, you know?”
Hedidn’tknow, not exactly. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m going to show you,” she said.
Ismay waited until the TV went off and she heard Bastian walk up the stairs and past her door. Then she waited thirty minutes longer, just to give him more time to fall asleep before she climbed out of bed and texted Bo.
I’m coming.
I’ll be waiting for you on the beach.
She’d wanted to meet in the backyard, but he’d made a good point. The window in the master overlooked the backyard.
After she pulled on some sweats, she took the duffel bag from its hiding place in the closet wall, moving as quietly as possible.
She hated even having it in her hands. But she found it comforting that she was going to share the burden of its existence with someone she liked and trusted—even though she hadn’t known Bo long. She needed a second opinion. If those items ever turned out to be the warning signal they seemed to be, and someone got hurt, she’d never be able to forgive herself.
Hindsight was always twenty-twenty, she thought wryly. But she’d been taught to do the right thing, so she hoped she was making the best choice. She hated knowing she might be doing her fiancé a disservice...
Sliding the handles of the duffel bag over her shoulder, she opened the bedroom door and peered into the hall.
Although everything downstairs was quiet and dark, the TV in the master was on. She had no way of knowing if Bastian was still awake, but she felt terrible keeping Bo up, so she decided not to wait any longer.
She checked for a light under Bastian’s door but couldn’t see anything beyond the shifting pattern of colors coming from the TV, so she drew a measured breath to calm her nerves and moved carefully down the stairs and across the living room to the front door.
She felt the most exposed here, in such a large space with no cover, so she didn’t even allow herself to look back. She just unlocked the door and slipped outside, hurrying across the porch and taking the stairs as fast as she could.
Almost before she knew it, she was running across the front yard, through the gate, and down the little walkway to the soft sandy beach.
Bo was waiting for her, as promised. In the light of a full moon, she could see him walking along the shoreline—his head bent, his white shirt rippling softly in the breeze, his khaki shorts low on his hips, and his feet bare despite the cold—and started to have second thoughts. Was she doing the right thing? She’d known Remy longer than she’d known Bo. She’dlivedwith Remy, slept with him. Why would she ever trust a stranger—thisstranger—over him?
She almost turned back. But then Bo happened to glance up and see her, and she realized she couldn’t change her mind now. She’d already told him enough that he knew something was up—possibly something serious. And somehow, shedidtrust him.
“Bastian finally went to bed?” he said as she approached.
“Who knows? That guy’s a night owl, never seems to sleep. But he’s in his room with the TV on and the light off, so... I figured he couldn’t hear me leave the house.”
