Page 53 of It Happened on the Lake

“I love you,” Chase whispered against her ear again.

“I love you, too.” Cuddling closer to him on the small beach of the island, Harper gazed up at the stars, glittering like diamonds in the sky overhead.

She heard the quiet chirp of crickets over the sough of a warm breeze as it ruffled the dark water, and somewhere not far away a bullfrog was croaking in the quiet summer night.

Across the lake a few lights burned in the windows of houses near the shore, but tonight the Hunt house was dark.

She was just getting her breath back, Chase lying beside her, an arm around her shoulders as they lay naked on the sand.

“I want you to know that I’m serious.” He levered up on an elbow, his pale hair falling over his eyes. “When I get through college, and you do, too? We’ll get married.”

“Is this a proposal?” she asked, hardly believing his words. Chase wanted to marry her? “Really?”

“No, no, no. Not yet. But a promise.” He kissed her cheek. “Okay?”

She smiled at the thought of it. “Okay.” She was gonna be Mrs. Chase Hunt. Someday. They would be married and happy forever!

He asked, “You’ll wait for me?”

“If you wait for me,” she teased, ruffling his hair.

“I will,” he vowed, and kissed her between her breasts, on her skin just below where the cold diamond lay. “You’re okay? I mean. I, uh. I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m good.” That was a bit of a lie. She felt a slight burn between her legs, but she kinda loved it.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” What she couldn’t tell him was that it was a good hurt, a stinging but worth it.

Some people said a person “lost” their virginity.

She hadn’t lost hers; she’d given it willingly.

Eagerly. To the only boy she would ever love.

“I’m fine.” She pushed herself up so that her face was close to his and kissed him, softly at first, and then with more urgency.

He was quick to respond, and soon they were clinging to each other again, making love, joining their bodies in a fast, feverish rhythm, crying out in the night, the diamond necklace the only object between them.

When he came again, it was with a roar, and then he fell against her. She hugged him fiercely and felt the pain pulsing between her legs, a perfect pain. Evidence of what they’d shared.

She was left gasping as the cool night air whispered across her skin.

On a long breath, he whispered, “I—I have to go.”

“No.” She didn’t want the night to end. “Not yet.”

“I have to. Really.” He was already disentangling himself, looking across the water to Fox Point and his house. Dark now. “They’ll be home soon, and Dad will check on the boat. He always does. The Triton. It’s his baby.” He was already pulling on his jeans, standing over her.

“I know, but I’ll miss you,” she pouted.

“You would miss me worse if I was grounded.” He tugged his T-shirt over his head and slipped his arms through the short sleeves. “Or it could be worse than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that he’s tough. Doesn’t like it when I break his rules. Oh, and maybe you should only wear the necklace when we’re alone together. Okay? It’s our secret.”

“Sure, okay.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she vowed and crossed her heart.

“Good.” Chase found his shoes but didn’t bother with them, just bent down and gave her one more quick kiss. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Didn’t I say so?”

“Okay, then.” Carrying his high-tops, he ran across the sand and splashed into the water and under the overhanging branches of a willow tree where he’d hidden the boat. A few seconds later she heard the sound of the boat’s motor and then saw him at the helm, driving the boat across the lake.

She sighed, caught in her love for him.

Some day they would be together.

Forever.

No more stolen moments , she thought, as he disappeared from sight and she saw a fish leap from the water, its silvery body arcing in the moonlight, the water rippling as it slipped under the surface.

The night was perfect, the softest of breezes caressing her skin as she pulled on her panties and slipped the sandy sundress over her head, then removed the necklace and slipped it into her pocket. It wasn’t an engagement ring, but—

Bam!

The crack of a gunshot split the night.

Echoing against the water.

She jerked as if hit.

What was that?

She froze. One strap of her sundress tied, the other dangling. The area went deathly quiet. No noise from the bullfrogs, no buzzing of insects. Just the thudding of her heart.

Clunk!

Sweet Jesus!

The noise came from above her. Here, on the island.

From across the lake, a dog barked. Then another. And she didn’t hear the motor of Chase’s boat, but he was probably far across the lake by now and . . . or had someone shot at him? From here, from the house or terrace above?

No, no, no!

Her mind spun to horrible scenarios. All involving a bloody, gunshot chase. She let out a little mewl, then stopped short. Don’t freak out, Harper! Do not freak out!

Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would fly out of her chest. She had to move, to do something.

Screeeecch.

What the hell was that?

The horrid grinding of metal on metal was, again, coming from above.

The tram? Starting its downward descent?

Sure enough, she heard the car clunking its way down the sharp hillside and caught a glimpse of its single headlight shining through the trees. She squinted, tried to see who was inside. Was it someone with a gun descending from the house?

Why?

Who?

Frantic, heart pumping wildly, her dress sliding off one shoulder, she ran barefoot to the path leading up the hillside.

Thud!

Dear God, what was that?

Footsteps?

Did she hear footsteps?

She flattened against the side of the cliff and hardly dared breathe. What was going on? Who had a gun? Or was it a gun? Had a car backfired? Or some kid set off firecrackers left over from the Fourth of July?

No, no, no! It was too close, and she knew a gunshot when she heard it. Had gone with her father for target practice at the gun club when she was younger.

Hadn’t anyone else heard the gunshot?

Of course not!

You’re all alone .

Remember?

No one is at the gatekeeper’s house. Dad and Marcia are at the Hilton in Portland for some sales conference. Evan is out with friends. Even the gardener, Martin Alexander, and his kid, Craig, are out of town on a camping trip.

Gram’s in the hospital recovering from a gall bladder attack, her caretaker off duty. That’s why you met Chase tonight, so you could be alone with him.

Blood pounded through her ears.

Panic threatened.

Over the whir of the tram’s motor and the thudding of her own heart, she thought she heard footsteps. Running footsteps? Or was that her imagination? Oh God, was there a gunman on the island?

In the tram?

Or . . . ?

Her blood turned to ice, and she searched frantically in the darkness. No, no, no! Starlight and illumination from a crescent moon were weak. Still, she saw no dark figure scurrying furtively away. No bushes moving as a person skulked past.

With a squeal, the tram suddenly stopped.

Oh crap!

Don’t freak. Do not freak out!

She waited, her mind whirling. Would someone get out of the car? Or was the gunman still inside the tram? Had he ever been inside? Why was he here? Was he still here? Had someone been shot? Oh dear God. She was sweating, freaking out, beginning to full-on panic.

Pull yourself together!

She gave herself a sharp mental slap.

She had to stay calm despite her racing pulse and gut-grinding fear.

Ears straining, she stayed flattened against the stone wall and tried to think of a way to get out of being trapped down here. The fastest, surest way back to the house was the stairway that ran parallel to the tram’s rails. But she would be exposed.

Other than that, she could swim across the lake or to a neighboring dock on the north shore or possibly round the island and climb up the bridge. But who was to say he wouldn’t be waiting there?

She could swim across the lake . . .

Her eyes were drawn across the water to Fox Point.

Security lights were visible at Old Man Sievers’ bungalow, of course, but the Watkins’ A-frame was dark, and the Hunts’ cottage only showed the night-light that shone eerily from one window.

The Leonettis’ split level was devoid of any kind of illumination.

Only the rental house’s windows glowed with its weird pulsating light behind the blinds.

No. Wait. Was there a light on in that round window cut into the roof?

She squinted, almost imagining someone at the window, staring back at her.

But that was crazy.

And yet . . . there was the glint of something, like a small reflection of light from another source. A mirror? Or a telescope—maybe field glasses?

The thought that someone could be staring at the mansion, keeping track of what was happening, was unnerving.

But everything was.

Including the freaking gunman.

She didn’t have time to think about a Peeping Tom now. She had to get back to the gatehouse somehow. It would be safe there, right? If nothing else, she could call Chase to come and get her. Yeah, that was what she would do. She took several deep breaths, then inched her way to the dock.

She saw no one.

So far, so good.

She stepped onto the dock and to the stairs and was about to start climbing when something shot across her feet, and she let out a tiny scream. Earline, Gram’s orange cat with only one ear, turned and hissed before shooting toward the boathouse.

Shit! Damned cat!

Had the gunman heard? Been tipped off by her scream?

Oh. Dear. God.

Her pulse pounding in her ears, Harper melted onto the first step. Her scream had been stupid. The gunman could’ve heard her startled cry or the cat’s hiss.

And yet there was silence, just the sound of water lapping at the dock and her own frantic heartbeat.

She waited, mentally counting off the seconds, nervous sweat running down her back.

Insects began to buzz again, and a bat swooped close.

Still no sound of anyone nearby.

Even the cat strolled past again to take up her favorite spot on the edge of the dock near the boathouse.

But why had the tram clanked its way from its garage to the dock? She studied it with its one glowing eye, no movement within its small compartment.

Maybe whoever had pulled the trigger was gone. Had left.

So far, there had been no other disturbance. No other gunshot. No more footsteps real or imagined.

Telling herself she was a moron, every nerve standing on end, she searched for a weapon—just in case—and grabbed the first thing she saw, an oar that had been left on the dock. It was a weak attempt at defense against a gun, but it was something. Heart in her throat, she swallowed back her fear.

Slowly, she made her way to the bottom of the steps where the tram’s car sat, its motor still running, its single headlight glowing bright.

Just run by it.

Climb the steps fast and whatever you do, don’t look.

Get up to the house!

Holding the oar in a death grip, her pulse pounding in her ears, she started up the stairs. She told herself not to look into the car, but her eyes didn’t obey her.

And the door to the tram wasn’t completely closed.

Someone was inside.

Someone lying down and . . . unmoving. Jean-clad legs visible.

She stumbled.

Saw the Adidas shoes with their three distinctive stripes.

Evan?

Whaaat ?

Her eyes widened. Dread pounded through her.

Oh Jesus! NO!

Dropping the oar, she peered through the open window of the tram.

“No,” she choked out. “No. Oh God.”

Evan lay sprawled across the seat. A pearl-handled revolver was in his right hand. A bullet hole at his temple was red, blood dripping through his brown hair and down the seat of the tram to the floor.

She shoved the door open further and flung herself at him.

She tried to get him to move. This had to be some horrible, sick joke.

He couldn’t be . . . She wouldn’t believe it.

“Evan!” she cried, shaking him. But he didn’t respond.

“Evan! Stop this!” He didn’t so much as flinch.

Tears rained from her eyes, her throat raw, her body shivering.

Blood on her hands. Oh God, no . . . Please no!

But even as she sobbed through her silent prayers, she knew in her heart of hearts that he was gone.