Page 44 of Our Little Secret

They were heading to the cabin on Piper Island. The road hugged the shoreline, the sound of the sea filtered into the car. From the passenger side Mom looked from one of her daughters to the other, searching for the culprit who had started the squabble that had been escalating ever since the Chevy had bounced off the ferry and onto solid ground. Brooke sat behind Nana in the wide back seat, Leah behind their mother. Though each girl was on her “side,” the middle area between them was dubbed “no-man’s-land,” or more precisely, “no-sister’s-land,” was always the sought-after prize, one sister inching her fingers across the worn vinyl to touch or pinch the other.

Of course the response was a squeal of protest or a “She’s hurting me!” cry, which was just what had happened as the sedan bounced over a pothole.

Carole Fletcher was at the end of her rope. “Stop it!” she’d ordered through clenched teeth, her narrowed gaze moving from one daughter to the other as Nana navigated the dusty, gravel road. “I mean it! Just . . . for once . . . stop fighting! Is that so impossible?” Her eyes, a golden shade that could darken with rage, pinned them to the backs of their seats.

Brooke thought the idea of getting along with Leahwasimpossible on that warm summer day. She’d looked past Carole to the windshield, where bugs had splattered and died quick and messy deaths.

But she and Leah held their tongues. They behaved until the end, when Nana drove into the tiny, shingled garage that tilted on its ancient foundation. For a final attack, Leah’s fingers slowly dared to creep across no-sister’s-land. Leah’s index finger rubbed on the crack in the hot vinyl between them and inched even closer. It was all Brooke could do not to slap it away. Instead, she’d innocently curved her fingers so that the middle one was prominent, poking upright from her otherwise curved digits as she pretended to stare out the side window at the seagulls wheeling overhead.

Her quiet gesture didn’t go unnoticed. From the corner of her eye Brooke caught her mother casting a glance at the gesture and frowning. Carole opened her mouth as if to chastise her oldest, then snapped it closed and fished in her purse for her cigarette bag. Meanwhile, stupid, pretty Leah remained unaware that her older sister had quietly but definitely flipped her off.

So that day Brooke was satisfied that she’d won.

Just as she had a few years later . . . but she didn’t want to think about that now as she drove steadily north on the expressway and caught a rare glimpse of Mount Rainier rising in the east, the late October sunlight piercing the clouds to glisten against the mountain’s snowy crest. As Leah started fiddling with the radio, checking different preset stations sputtering songs, ads, and news, Brooke thought she heard the whine of a motorcycle.

But wasn’t that her new paranoia? How many times had it happened since her horrendous fight with Gideon?Let it go, she silently berated herself.

Still, she glanced in the rearview but saw only the grill of a pickup far too close—no, wait! Behind the truck, nosing as if to pass, the single headlight of a bike?

No way!

She was jumping at shadows.

Stop imagining things!

But the muscles in the back of her neck tensed.

Music with a sharp beat came through the speakers. “Geez, what is this? Rap?” Leah asked, pulling a face. “Really?”

“Marilee.”

“Oh. Right.” Little lines appeared between Leah’s eyebrows. “Not my thing.”

“Not mine either.”

Leah kept switching channels while the traffic knotted and slowed as vehicles juggled to switch lanes. She went blithely on. “ I’m kind of into country now.” Short bursts of music spurted through the Explorer’s speakers in rapid succession. “Sean got me hooked—oh shit, what’s that!”

“What’s wha—?” The sound of a motorcycle’s engine roared from behind.

Brooke’s gaze turned to the mirror again just in time to see a huge Harley cut from a lane on the left behind her, inching between her and the pickup. The truck braked just in time and the motorcycle accelerated, flashing past Brooke’s Explorer on the right, unaware that a sedan had moved into the lane and swerved back just in time to avoid a collision.

“Jesus! What an idiot!” Leah cried.

Brooke’s heart was in her throat.

Her foot on the brake.

She caught a glimpse of the reckless driver’s helmet—matte black with a teal stripe.

Gideon.

He’d followed her?

Knew she would be at the airport?

Sweat broke out along the back of her neck. How had he known?

Her mind raced wildly. Was he at the park the other night? Had he overheard her conversation? But how? And what about the fact that he’d entered her house, that she’d actually heard footsteps? That he’d stolen her lingerie?