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Day Seven

Declan surfaced from the bedroom after lunch, hollow-eyed and pale from the fishing trip. We’d been to visit Dad, and I suggested a swim would help. We lay on the beach, watching Snow, who’d moved his lessons to after midday.

The air tugged between us, sparking, swelling, expectant. I didn’t know how to bring up the kiss. It felt real and deep, like we’d made a connection. Instead, I asked about the fish they’d caught—six—and whether Snow had revealed anything.

“Snow seemed much more interested in talking about surfing and fishing than the winery. The only other thing he mentioned was how much CeeCee irritates him when she interferes with the bookings for his surf school. Got quite angry about it.”

“I wonder if CeeCee’s trying to involve herself more in his life?”

“Hard to know.”

I told him what I’d learned from CeeCee the previous evening at their cottage .

“I don’t know if CeeCee would want him sleeping in another room,” I said. “I feel like she worships him despite being afraid of him.”

Declan’s brow puckered in clear confusion. “Hmm. I get a completely different vibe. He seems to care about her, but it feels like he’s not in love with her.

“We have to rethink whether Snow is the kingpin.” He drew in the sand with a stick. “Maybe it’s someone else in town, and he’s taking orders from them. Or maybe Snow is not involved at all. We have to keep our minds open.”

As I watched, he maneuvered himself onto his elbows, which muscled up his shoulders and biceps… reminding me of something else that would put him in that position.

“Hey, do you want to talk about last night?” he said, gazing at me. “You know, the kiss. I felt something—the possibility that this could be great.”

Our gazes entangled and my stomach flipped. I was stunned he brought it up. Relieved. Then a shift. I thought I’d wanted to talk about it, but now it was out there, I didn’t know what to say.

In front of us on the sand, Snow clowned around with a group of kids he was teaching. I fell back into my safety net.

“This isn’t real.” I pressed my racing heart. “This is part of your job.”

“It could be real,” he said.

I wished it was. I sat up on my calves and pulled on my tunic. I had to protect my heart. “But how can I believe that?”

“I don’t know how I can prove it to you,” he said softly. “You have to trust what I’m saying.”

“But that’s the thing. I can’t. My mind is already going back and forth all day. And I can’t think about anything but this case. My parents will lose their life here if we don’t solve this, and I won’t have any life to go back to.”

“I understand.” He bit his lip. “I’m not going to push or make you feel uncomfortable in any way about this. Thought it would be good to talk.”

A tender wistfulness floated through my chest. I wanted to believe this was real. Last night, I was almost willing. Who was I kidding? I was more than willing—I was breathless for his return to our bed.

His phone pinged loudly on his towel between us. Both of us glanced down at it. A text flashed up from someone called Sephy: Fuck you lol yeah but I still love you. It was followed by two rows of kisses.

I stiffened. “Who’s Sephy?”

“Nobody.” He slapped his phone to his side. “Nobody to worry about, I mean.” He got to his feet and grabbed his towel. “Let’s head back to the house.”

I stood up as well. “Doesn’t look like nobody,” I said.

He set off in long strides. I matched his pace, trying to sound calm, but my breathing was sharp and shallow. The combination of “fuck you” and “I still love you” made it seem like Sephy was someone close.

“It doesn’t seem like a friend or one of your sisters,” I said.

“It’s not a friend or one of my sisters. But Isla, I promise, you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

My new choppier tone stopped him, and he reeled around.

“What do you mean?” He seemed annoyed now.

Spotting Mum staring from the house, I lowered my voice, smiling through gritted teeth.

“After all, you’re an undercover cop, and your job is quite literally not to tell the truth,” I said. “Look. In the beginning, we both said we were single. Not that anything was going to happen, but I told you I was uncomfortable with fake dating otherwise.”

“I wasn’t lying about that, Isla.” His eyes darkened. “You have to trust me. I don’t have a wife or girlfriend. I can’t say who this is. I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you everything about myself.”

“Yet you know everything about me.” My jaw set. “You’ve met my parents, my old friends—we’re even tapping them for information, putting them in a pretty bad position. I’ve lied to my parents and friends for the sake of this case.”

“I understand—”

“But do you understand? Or is this another listen-affirm-validate phrase you wheel out for the personality you’ve adopted for this case?” I asked. He flinched. “Or maybe this is your true personality? I have no idea who you really are.”

I swallowed my surprise and anger and a mishmash of other emotions I couldn’t name.

He was an undercover police officer who dealt with dangerous people.

I understood he had to have secrets in the same way I kept my sources confidential.

I had no choice but to trust him on this case, mainly because we both needed a win so badly, and I couldn’t imagine him jeopardizing his own career.

But this reinforced my constant thoughts about why we couldn’t be together, not if he was going to have to lie to me frequently.

A couple of dogs crashed around us and raced away.

He reached out to right me, then drew back his hand. “You okay?”

I nodded.

He opened his mouth to speak but held himself back. He was close to confessing something important. I could see it .

But then, distracted, he motioned at Mum, who was waving. I heard a ping from my phone and checked it.

Mum: Isla. Hurry home. We’ve got something to do. Now.