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The house where Gerald Davis had lived was down a quiet street in Pelican Harbor. Paradise peered through the passenger window

as Blake pulled his truck onto the freshly raked oyster-shell driveway and shut off the engine. The ranch had been built in

the seventies but had been updated with dark paint and white shutters. She had a vague memory of visiting here with her mother

once. Was her mother friends with Bea Davis?

An older woman straightened from a squat at the flower bed by the porch and shielded her eyes from the sun. A wide-brimmed

straw hat covered the top of her salt-and-pepper hair that curled around her face in the humidity. Paradise didn’t really

recognize her, but then, she was just a little girl when she’d last been here.

Paradise got out of the truck and approached. “Mrs. Davis?”

“Call me Bea, honey. Even though I’m seventy, Mrs. Davis will always be my mother.” Her soft drawl held a hint of southern sweet tea and black-eyed peas. She removed cloth gloves stained green at the fingertips. “You seem familiar.” She took off her hat and wiped the perspiration from her forehead. “But you’re with the handsome Blake here, so you’re automatically a friend. I could use some sweet tea, how about y’all?”

“We wouldn’t say no,” Blake said. “And this is Paradise Alden. We’d like to chat a bit if you don’t mind.”

The warmth faltered on Bea’s face. “You don’t say. It’s been a minute since you were around these parts.” She motioned for

them to come with her, and they followed her into the cool interior that held on to the sweet aroma of some kind of treat—maybe

cookies.

Bea gestured to the tan sofas facing each other. “Gerald remodeled it for me before he died. He didn’t hang around long enough

to enjoy it though.”

“It’s lovely,” Paradise said.

And it was. White walls contrasted with wide plank floors in a light color. The living room held comfortable tan furniture

that created a neutral vibe with the decor in different shades of white. Pictures of white-haired Bea with young children

hung on a wall. “Your grandchildren?”

Bea beamed. “I have eight. Each of our four had two. They are my world.” She turned toward the wide opening into the dining

room. “Have a seat and I’ll be right back with tea.”

Paradise sank onto the comfortable sofa and Blake joined her. She glanced around at the pictures, barely remembering the burly

sheriff who grinned out of the frames beside Bea and two daughters who were carbon copies of their mother. The tinkle of ice

came from beyond the dining room as she gathered her thoughts about what to ask. Gerald might not have been the type who talked

about his cases with his wife. Still, the murders had affected the whole town. Bea should have picked up something about it

all.

“Here you go.” Bea approached with a tray of glasses and a pitcher.

Paradise accepted a frosty glass of sweet tea and took a sip. “You could give lessons on how to properly prepare sweet tea.”

“It’s all in the steeping and the simple syrup.” Bea settled on the sofa across from them. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“For years I didn’t remember much about the murder of my parents, but I-I’m starting to have dreams about it. I’d like to

know what you remember of that time.”

Bea sipped her tea and didn’t answer for a long moment. “What good will it do, little Paradise? You can’t bring them back.”

“Their killer was never found,” Blake said. “Justice has never been served.”

“Justice is capricious. That’s what Gerald always said.”

Was there a reason Bea was dodging the question? “Did Gerald ever have a suspect in mind? It seems like someone murdered my

parents and got clean away.”

“He wasn’t much of one to talk about cases, but I heard rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” Blake asked.

Bea stared at them without expression before her shoulders sagged. “Guess it doesn’t matter now. I always wondered if Gerald

did it.”

“Why would you suspect your husband?” Paradise asked.

“He was going to leave me for your mother,” she said flatly. “Your mama planned to get a divorce too. Then it all changed.

He came home early the night of the murders, while I was still at work at the surveyor’s office. He seemed strange with a

stiff expression and told me he’d decided he still loved me and didn’t want to leave me.”

“Were you suspicious?”

“Not then. I was just overjoyed to hear he still loved me. It was later, the next day, when I heard about the murders. I wondered—oh yes, I wondered. And when he begged me to give him an alibi if anyone asked where he was that afternoon, I wondered even more. But I didn’t want our two teenagers to have the stigma of a father in prison.”

Bea’s expression held no trace of guilt. “So I was prepared to lie. I didn’t have to though. Gerald was never under suspicion.

I’m not the blabbing type, so I never even told my mother when Gerald first told me he was leaving. I never told a soul. And

our marital problems never came out, and as far as I know, no hint of an affair was ever written in the case files.”

Paradise struggled to take it all in. “I remember my parents fighting a lot.”

“I’d guess your dad never knew. Men don’t tend to stay quiet about things like that. I have no idea why I’m telling you all

this, other than to say maybe justice has been served. Gerald’s final days of liver cancer weren’t pleasant. He paid dearly

for his sin.”

Could it really be that easy? Had the sheriff killed them? And if so, did Paradise need to prove it so she knew for sure?

***

The lions were getting closer. Paradise cowered in the closet with the scent of her mother’s perfume wafting around her. She

used to love to hide in here and play with Mama’s shoes. Sliding them on her small feet made her feel as tall and elegant

as her mother. And just as beautiful.

Another roar came, and she tried to make herself even smaller in the corner with the shoeboxes heaped like a fence around her. She smelled the lion’s hot breath right outside the door. Its teeth would clamp around her arm before he dragged her all the way into his mouth. There was nothing in here for her to use to defend herself—no way for a little girl to battle something that large.

Sheriff Davis laughed. “Get her, lion. Once she’s gone, everything is mine.”

Paradise shook her head. She didn’t like the sheriff. He came to see Mama and they made her go outside to play. She didn’t

want him here.

All she could do was scream, “No, no!”

She opened her mouth and piercing screams erupted from her throat. They pealed out, one after another until she was hoarse

from it. But the lion had her now, and she couldn’t escape.

“Paradise.” A warm hand touched her arm. “You’re okay, babe. It’s Blake.”

She blinked and realized she was in the garage loft apartment. Moonlight streamed through the window and gilded Blake’s strong

jaw and cheekbones with a glimmer of gold. “B-Blake? Where’s the lion?”

He raised her to a seated position and sat on the edge of the bed before he pulled her against his chest. “There’s no lion.

You’re safe.”

Her heart still tried to pound out of her chest, and she could smell the lion’s acrid odor. It had to be in here. “It’s here somewhere,” she whispered. “Don’t you smell it?”

“My jacket might smell like lion. I wear it into the predator enclosures. There’s nothing here, babe. Just you and me. You

had a nightmare.”

Her tongue dried in her mouth, and her throat constricted. A nightmare? It was only a nightmare? She turned her face into the soft material of his tee and put her arms around him. His pulse under her ear accelerated and his embrace tightened. She burrowed closer, not wanting to face the fear again. His hand smoothed her hair and she closed her eyes at the blissful sensation of such a tender caress.

Blake had always made her feel safe and protected. He was such a caregiver still, stepping in to be a dad to his brothers

and a helper to his mother. There weren’t many men like Blake Lawson out in the world. She’d checked out a few frogs, and

Prince Charming always revealed his warts.

Except for Blake. His steadying presence calmed her like nothing else ever had.

She lifted her head and stared into his face, trying to read his feelings. His blue eyes smiled in such a gentle, accepting

way. He never made her feel less-than or like she would never measure up to some impossible, perfect goal. He’d always seen

her for who she was and had loved her anyway.

Her lips parted, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers again after all these years. It was crazy and she

should move away. But she slid her hand up to his neck and pulled him closer.

A flash of joy sparked in his gaze, and his arms tightened around her. When the kiss came, it was everything she remembered.

Tender but masterful. Gentle but passionate. And she felt it all the way through her being.

She slipped her other arm up to join the first and kissed him back with all the yearning she’d suppressed through the years.

Her temperature gauge went from freezing to red hot in seconds.

She’d never gotten over him. Not really. She’d tried to tell herself she had, but it was a convenient story she’d told herself in the midnight hours when she yearned to call him. His kiss drove all thoughts from her head for several long minutes, until he gave a shaky laugh and pulled away.

But he kept his arms tight around her. “Okay now?”

She nodded and made a slight motion to pull back, and his embrace dropped away, leaving her feeling cold and bereft. “Thank

you for rescuing me from the lion. Sheriff Davis was in my dream too, and this time I remembered how he used to come see my

mother. She would make me go outside to play until he was gone.” She rubbed the gooseflesh that had erupted on her arms. “I

think his wife might be right and he killed them. It would explain why the investigation never seemed to lead anywhere. No

one really cared.”

The furnace kicked on with a rattle and a wheeze that seemed so normal. That wheeze was the lion’s breath she’d heard in her

dream. The last of her fear seeped away. “I think I can sleep now. How’d you get in?”

“Your door was ajar. I heard something in the yard, then heard you scream. I came running up the steps and was sure someone

was in here when I saw the door. You didn’t hear anything? That latch can be tricky.”

Cold shuddered down her spine. “I know I locked it, Blake.”

“I’ll check it.”

She wasn’t going to stay here by herself when someone could be in her apartment. Barefooted, she padded along behind him as

he flipped on lights and checked behind furniture and in the closet. No one was inside, but Blake stopped and took a sharp

inhale.

“What is it?” But he didn’t have to answer because she saw the muddy footprints on the kitchen floor herself. “Those aren’t

yours?”

“Nope.” He showed her his clean-soled sneakers. “I think you’d better stay in the main house tonight. You can take the bottom full bunk as long as you don’t mind sleeping with Levi. It was his turn tonight. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

She doubted she’d sleep anyway, not with her lips still burning from his kisses and her heart still hammering from knowing

someone had been in here with her.