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Even with clean sheets, the bed pillows smelled of Blake—his cypress-eucalyptus soap blended with an earthy scent from working

in the barns. Paradise resisted the impulse to leap from the bed. She couldn’t lower her guard around him. Seeing the mementos

he’d kept all these years had turned her insides to mush. She’d spent the past two hours downstairs with his family eating

beignets and playing games, but her thoughts kept returning to the things he’d treasured.

The time spent together tonight had shattered her defenses, and it would take time to rebuild them.

The only reason she’d come back was to find the truth. Romance wasn’t on her agenda. Especially with Blake Lawson. She’d tried

to get over him and thought she’d succeeded. But even still Blake made her heart sing, and she couldn’t allow it. After she

uncovered the truth, she had to escape to someplace where she could start over without the past staring her down every minute.

Somewhere her glances didn’t stray to Blake’s thick hair and understanding smile.

She gazed over at the snow globe on the bedside table. At least something was left of her parents. Her phone vibrated with a message, and she glanced at the time. A little after eleven. She read the text from her cousin Rod’s wife, Sheila.

Hey, Paradise, I heard you’re back in town—long time no see. I’m having a cookout on Sunday afternoon and it would be great to catch up. Rod’s mom and siblings will be here too and all the various kids. No need to bring anything.

Rod is smoking ribs and Mom is bringing corn casserole and baked beans. I’ve got dessert duty. Feel free to bring a plus one.

Maybe Blake?

Paradise’s finger hovered over her phone. How did she answer? Her family had washed their hands of her long ago. Her second

cousin Lily, Rod’s mother, could have saved her from foster care, but she’d said she couldn’t handle her own two and didn’t

want to add to the chaos. The rejection had left Paradise scarred. Was it time to try to bury the hatchet? Maybe her cousin

would have some insight into who murdered her parents.

Sure , she texted back.

Great! See you at one.

Paradise put her phone back on the nightstand, but there was no way she could fall asleep now. She sat up and slid her legs

over the edge of the bed. Blake’s deep voice calling the name Cody came from the front yard. She was decent in sleeping shorts

and a tee, so she went down the garage stairs and stood on the bottom step, watching Blake in the moonlight for a minute.

He was ready for bed in red TSU athletic shorts and a white tee. The light outlined his strong biceps and square jaw. If anything,

he’d grown even more virile and handsome over the past fifteen years. The stiff night wind carried the scent of his soap to

Paradise and mingled it with the fragrance of the roses in the front flower bed.

She made a movement and he stilled as he turned toward the house. “Paradise? What are you doing up so late?”

She descended the last step. “You’re the one out here yelling at someone.”

“Not someone.” He gestured to a dog. “He was supposed to do his business and come back in, but a bunny caught his attention.

I had to give him a little redirection.”

She eyed the dog. He seemed to be made out of leftover parts from random breeds: Chihuahua legs, Great Dane ears, greyhound

body, and an elegant—but crooked—Chesapeake Bay retriever tail. He had wispy brown-gray fur with several severe cowlicks.

The dog lifted his muzzle and she took a step back. “Is he snarling at me?”

“What? No. Cody is only dangerous to himself. That’s his crazy snaggletooth.”

The incisor stuck out of his lower jaw and made him appear slightly rabid. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

“It’s my cousin Hez’s dog. He asked me to watch him for a few days while he’s on a short trip.” Blake studied her expression.

“You still haven’t said what you’re doing up.”

“Want to go to a picnic on Sunday afternoon?” She started to retreat to the garage stairs. “You know what? Forget it. It was

a dumb suggestion.”

He reached toward her with one hand. “No, wait! I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”

Did he think she was asking him to be alone with her? They’d often explored the swamp and woods around the area. Being together

in nature had been their favorite pastime. Every minute she’d spent with Blake back then had created the best memories she

had. Ones she still clung to when life got hard. Had those memories played a part in her decision to pursue the truth? Maybe

subconsciously she wanted to see if Blake lived up to the memories she treasured.

She hugged herself against the night breeze. “Rod and Sheila want me to come to a family picnic. I suspect you had something to do with the invitation, so I thought it only fair you had to endure it with me.”

He took another step her way. “Maybe it won’t be awful. They’re family, Paradise. There are kids you haven’t met, and they’ve

probably changed since you left town. They might be trying to make amends.”

She noticed how adroitly he’d dodged the question of whether he was responsible for the invitation. “I want to see what Lily

remembers in the weeks leading up to my parents’ murder.”

And why she didn’t want to take me in.

Her gut roiled with an awful thought. Was it because she knew Paradise was somehow at fault?

***

Saturday afternoon Blake didn’t have to bang the fence and call for Serena. She grunted and stood at the sight of him and

Paradise, and her cubs nosed toward them. The woman in jeans and a tee that read Have Pencil Will Travel had introduced herself as Gwen Marcey. Blake liked her based on her T-shirt alone, but her open, sunny expression cemented

it.

“So we were here in the bus.” Blake gestured to the safari bus they’d brought to the grizzly enclosure. “We got out to feed

Serena on the encounter tour when the shooting started.”

Gwen headed back that way. “Let’s sit on the bus to chat. It might help your memories.”

He and Paradise followed the forensic artist back to the vehicle. The safari vehicle was equipped with long rows of seats

in a giant U along the perimeter of the bus and two long benches back-to-back in the middle.

Gwen slid onto the middle bench facing the bear enclosure. “Since you have both been separately interviewed by the police, it’s fine to do this together. It will probably be easiest if you sit next to me.”

Paradise settled beside Gwen, and Blake sat by her.

Gwen patted Paradise’s hand. “Sweetheart, I’m not feeding you to the lions.” When she coaxed a smile from Paradise, she continued.

“That’s better. Let me start by saying this sketch won’t get anyone falsely arrested. It’s simply a tool for the police to

use in finding people who have the features you remember. They could find several suspects who resemble this sketch, but no

one is arrested without actual evidence. We can rest if you become tired—in fact, we will likely take several breaks. I brought

granola bars and water with me in case we get hungry. And if you really press me, I’ll dig out my stash of peanut M&M’s.”

“I’d take a handful of those now,” Blake said with a grin.

Gwen pulled out a jar of candy from the plastic tub she’d brought, and he dug out a handful. He offered the jar to Paradise,

and after a hesitation, she took a handful too.

“Is this going to be a party?” Paradise asked. “Here I thought it would be uncomfortable.”

Gwen opened the cover of her sketch pad and took out a pencil. “The only thing uncomfortable here is my prosthetic bra, and

when I get home, it’s coming off. Now which suspect do you remember best?”

“The man,” Blake said in unison with Paradise. “They were necking there.” He pointed to the bench seat across the back of

the bus. “I only saw the woman’s side view.”

“I was at an angle where I saw her face from the front once when I was exiting the vehicle,” Paradise said. “But I saw the

man better. I’m not sure I would even be able to describe her.”

“So we’ll start with his drawing.” Gwen pulled out a batch of photos. She separated them into two piles and handed one to each of them. “I want you to study each picture and make two piles. One for people who are nothing at all like the shooter and one for people who remind you of the man in some way.”

“Got it.” Blake went through his stack. He put the discards—men who were not like the guy at all—in one pile and the others

who had a similar nose or haircut or facial shape in another pile.

Paradise was slower than he was, but her maybe pile was bigger.

“You’re flipping through yours quickly, Blake. You sure about all the discards?”

“I was a Marine paramedic and I tend to make snap decisions, but I’m sure.” When Gwen nodded, seemingly content with his answer,

he went back to the task.

One picture held him up. It was a white male in his thirties with blond hair and a sneer on his stubbly face. The guy on the

tour didn’t sneer, but he did have stubble. His had more of a red hue though. Blake placed the picture in a third pile to

talk about.

“These are fresh stacks.” Gwen handed them more photos. “These are the pictures your cohort in crime here already went through.

You know the drill.”

They switched stacks and went through the process again. Blake kept catching whiffs of Paradise’s plumeria scent, and it brought

back distracting memories he had to keep pushing away.

When they were finished, Gwen took their maybe stacks and began to go through them. She laid multiple photos in her own pile

until she’d examined every picture. “These are the pictures you both chose. Let’s go over why you put them in your pile. Age,

haircut, other things that caught your attention. We’ll see if you both set them aside for the same reason.”

With her skilled coaxing they finished a composite of a man in his thirties with longish hair that curled over his collar. His broad face had bold brows over wide-set eyes. He wore jeans and a green tee with a ball cap that covered the top of his head.

Paradise tapped the picture. “That looks just like him.”

“One small thing.” Blake reached for the picture he’d put in a third pile. “Did you see this guy?”

Paradise studied the photo. “He was in my discard pile. I thought about putting him in the maybe one though, but I couldn’t

figure out why.”

“It’s his hair.” Blake didn’t want to feed her any information in case his slight niggle of familiarity was wrong.

“The stubble,” she said finally. “The guy had a five o’clock shadow. Only his was kind of reddish, wasn’t it?”

“That’s what I remembered too.” He handed the picture to Gwen. “Book ’em, Danno.”

They went through the same procedure with the woman but with much less success. Finding the man would have to be the focus.