Page 35 of Perilous Tides (Hidden Bay #2)

A dead end.

Jo was feeling like that herself as the plane touched down at the airport in Seattle.

Could a person suffer jet lag when they hadn’t left the country?

Just flying across the contiguous US of A had done her in.

Fortunately, last night they’d stayed in a hotel near the airport in Detroit.

Their flight had arrived at SeaTac just after lunch.

Even though she’d gotten a good night’s sleep, she was still dragging.

Honestly, she thought Cole had been considering a flight from Michigan to Nevada, to Gemini Aerospace, where Mason Hyde had worked, but he didn’t change their tickets. Just as well since her head was spinning like the worst kind of amusement park ride.

Mom and Pop and Mason Hyde in the same photo.

Cole led the way out of the airport, and she could barely keep up with him as they walked across the skywalk to the parking garage. “How do you have so much energy? You’re like that Energizer Bunny.”

“Don’t call me a bunny. Ever. Especially a pink bunny.” He slowed and grinned down at her as he opened the back of Hawk’s F-150, which Cole had driven to the airport.

Once they were settled inside the truck, he drove out of Seattle-Tacoma International Airport and then around the Olympic Peninsula until he finally steered up the drive to the safe house. At least they’d gained some hours on the flight west, but then lost them on the drive to the safe house.

The garage door hung open, and Cole’s Yukon was parked inside, along with Jo’s Land Rover. Hawk emerged from the garage and waited.

She yawned as Cole parked behind her vehicle.

“So, your brother is going to stay with us again? I don’t want to take up so much of his life.

He and Remi need time together. And, I mean, how long is this going to go on?

We can’t live like this forever. Besides, I can’t afford to pay you for protection forever. ”

Cole turned off the vehicle and released a sigh.

“Relax, Jo. A lot has happened over a short period of time. It hasn’t even been a week.

Okay, we’re one day short of a week. But we’re making progress.

Michigan was a good call. We have new information that could lead us to finding out what happened decades ago. ”

“And why my life is in danger.”

He grabbed her hand. The look he gave her reassured her that he was in this until it was over, just like he’d told her. “I’m not doing this for the money. So get that out of your thoughts.”

Except, well, she wanted this to be a professional working relationship. Right. You kissed him!

And if she reminded him of their professional agreement now, she couldn’t stand to see the disappointment in his eyes. And in her heart. She was kidding herself.

I’m so into Cole .

I’m so in trouble.

Might as well prepare for the eventual heartbreak—a double heartbreak. She still had to process through what he’d shared before about his reason for not returning. He had sounded like he sincerely regretted it, and he wanted another chance.

Hawk assisted Cole, bringing the luggage into the house.

“You didn’t have to wait here, Hawk,” Cole said.

“You know I did. I had to make sure the house is clear and safe for my favorite brother and his friend in need. I didn’t want you to be exhausted and get here to have to clear the place. And besides, my presence scares off all the monsters.”

Jo couldn’t help but smile at that. If only. Still ... “But for how long?” she asked. “Eventually, this Merrick guy could find me here.”

“Let’s hope we can find him and take him down before it comes to that,” Cole said.

“Get some rest,” Hawk said. “You look terrible. Sanders is coming by in the morning.”

Again? Not what she wanted to hear. “What time?”

“Eight thirty.” Hawk moved into the kitchen. “Remi sent food if you’re hungry. Eat. Sleep. Recover. And Jo, she sent some more of your art supplies over. Clay, pencils, canvas, and paint.”

“Wow, that’s sweet of her. She must think we’re going to live here for months.” The thought dragged her spirits down even further. “Where are the supplies?”

“In the study.”

Jo left the brothers and moved down the hall until she found the study.

This wasn’t her home, and she didn’t want to make a big artsy mess here, so she wouldn’t paint or sculpt, but she could sketch some more.

She already had her sketch pad. The thought energized her, so she grabbed the pad and the pencils and positioned the chair to look out the window at the glory of God’s creation.

This room was positioned so that she got a great view of both the ocean and the forest. Since it was only 4:30, she could still watch the crashing waves and see the lush Olympic National Forest to the southeast.

The view moved her deeply. It was almost spiritual.

She flipped open her sketch pad to find the verse she’d written there.

Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

Psalm 90:2

There was that word again.

Before.

Interesting. Jo once again watched the waves crashing and then looked out to the horizon—where the gray waters met the leaden skies. Where the ocean ended and the sky began was almost indiscernible.

Emotion thickened in her throat.

Nature inspired her, but she hadn’t known just how much until she’d lived in the Pacific Northwest. One could find beauty anywhere, of course, but this place, near the designated wilderness coast, amped up her appreciation.

Now, instead of people or the caricature sketches she’d drawn for the lodge, she wanted to sketch and paint nature.

As she looked at the box of clay ... she wanted to sculpt nature instead of facial reconstructions.

An image of Mom working on a facial reconstruction drifted across her mind. She closed her eyes to capture the memory and hold on to it, thinking back to those last few days before Mom died. She’d smiled and been happy. They’d had a good life. Everything had been normal.

Then her mood had dramatically shifted. Something had happened, but she wouldn’t share anything with Jo.

“Jo, you all right?” Cole stood in the doorway, his voice pulling her out of the memories.

“Sure, I just need a moment,” she said.

He moved the rest of the way into the room and looked at the sketch pad, then smiled. “Feeling inspired?”

“How can you tell?”

Angling, he peered down at her, so much understanding in his gaze, and maybe even ... something deeper, something more. No. She had to be wrong.

“I hope you’ll get some rest,” he said.

“I will, I promise.” Eventually.

He left her to her own devices then. Left her to think of the scent he’d left behind and the emptiness now that he wasn’t in the room.

This tough special forces guy, the quiet professional who could rescue, protect, and defend.

He could also show such gentleness and compassion that it nearly made her weep.

She drew in a breath and refocused on her last thoughts of Mom. Something there was nagging at her. Bugging her.

I have to get this. God , please help me see what I’m missing.

She looked at the clay again, closed her eyes, and remembered Mom.

Who were you?

Like Cole said, Mira was her loving mother, and she shouldn’t have died at sixty. Jo should have had many more years with her mother. Instead, she was killed. Murdered. Who had wanted her dead and why? Mason’s sister Naomi made it sound like he’d been framed, and it all had to do with before.

Before ...

Whatever Mom had been involved with before, she’d been a forensic artist for as long as Jo had known her, and she couldn’t fathom her mother doing anything else.

But what had she been doing right before something had upset her?

Had she received a call at home? Seen someone?

Jo had been caught up in her own world, oblivious.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Think. Figuring out what had set Mom off to make her afraid so that she warned Jo felt utterly futile.

Opening her eyes, she moved to the box of clay and pulled out the big block wrapped in plastic.

Peeling back the plastic, she pressed her hand against the clay, Mom’s preferred material for forensic reconstructions.

Jo hadn’t sculpted since she’d left Michigan because she didn’t want to remember—

Suddenly, an image flashed in her mind.

Mom’s last reconstruction. Her mother had stared at the image and become visibly shaken.

She’d gotten on her cell. Jo hadn’t connected the face to her reaction.

Jo searched through her photo library in the forensic album where she and Mom kept their work for reference.

She’d kept it all on her personal cell. Right or wrong. She didn’t know. She didn’t care.

Scrolling through the images—and there were many over the years—she didn’t find the ATM murder image loaded that looked like Mason Hyde, which was odd, but she found the last reconstruction and enlarged it on her smartphone screen.

Her heart might have stopped at the image.

I know this face .