Page 92 of Artifice

“You don’t.” Abe’s voice was flat. “It’s a death trap. The only path down was damaged in the last storm. Colin was on the rock-climbing team at his old high school, so he knew what he was doing. Even he said it was sketchy.”

Olive thought about the bottles in her jacket. Evidence, yes, but not enough. They’d need Colin’s documentation to bring down both Lighthouse Harbor and whoever was behind it.

She had no choice but to check it out.

Abe studied her face, then nodded slowly. “There’s a maintenance trail that branches off from the main lighthouse path. Follows the cliff edge. When you reach the rusted warning sign, look for a path heading down to the left. It’s overgrown, barely visible. Follow it until you see a split juniper tree. The cave entrance is about twenty feet below that, set into the cliff face.” He hesitated. “You can’t see it from above. You have to already be on the ledge.”

Olive committed the directions to memory. “Thank you.”

“If you find his phone . . .” Abe’s voice caught. “Colin was my friend. The only real one I had here. I need to know what happened to him.”

“I’ll find out. But Abe, you need to be careful. They’re watching everyone closely, especially after tonight.”

“I know how to be invisible here,” he said with a bitter smile. “It’s the only way to survive.”

A beam of light swept past the shed’s single dirt-streaked window. Security patrol.

“Go,” Abe whispered. “I’ll count to fifty, then make some noise on the east side of the property. Should give you time to get clear.”

Olive nodded, her hand on the door.

As she slipped out into the darkness, her mind was already racing ahead to the cliff, to the cave, to the evidence that might finally reveal the truth about Lighthouse Harbor—and the truth about what happened to Colin Andrews.

She had a change of clothes in her car—black pants, a black T-shirt, and tennis shoes.

She’d need to quickly swap out her outfit . . . because the heels she wore now just weren’t going to work.

CHAPTER 50

The wind howled, driving sheets of rain into Olive as she clung to the cliff’s edge.

Thirty feet below, angry waves crashed against the rocks, retreating only to surge forward again with greater fury. Lightning split the sky, briefly illuminating her precarious position and the cave where Colin’s phone might be hiding.

Her knuckles were white against the dark stone. Thunder rattled through her chest, but she didn’t flinch. She’d been in enough risky situations to know that hesitation was more dangerous than the elements.

She tasted salt as rainwater streamed down her face and the sea sprayed its fury.

But she had to know for sure if Colin’s phone was there. The device contained everything—messages, contacts, and photos that could unravel the entire case.

Another flash revealed a narrow ledge below.

That should be the cave’s entrance.

Calculating quickly, Olive shifted her weight, found a toehold, and descended a few feet. Her tennis shoes scraped against the rock as she tested each new grip.

A chunk of granite came loose in her hand, tumbling into the darkness.

Olive pressed herself against the cliff, her heart hammering against the stone. The rain plastered her dark hair to her face and neck, but she didn’t dare push it away.

Instead, she steadied her nerves and inched downward. Her muscles burned under the strain of moving precisely, even when every instinct screamed to hurry.

When she reached the small ledge, she crouched and braced herself as another gust threatened to tear her from her perch.

As lightning lit the sky again, the cave was illuminated.

A red neoprene bag was inside—a red bag that might contain that phone.

If she could only reach it . . .