Page 2

CHAPTER 2

Sienna

The ancient lava field stretched before Sienna like a frozen black sea with a surface of twisted waves and coils that had solidified centuries ago. Her running shoes crunched beneath her, and as she picked up her pace, Aunt Dee’s Jack Russell, Pickle, darted ahead with the kind of manic energy only small dogs could muster at dawn.

The rising sun painted everything in shades of rose-gold, but even Hawaii’s glorious sunrise couldn’t soften the harsh volcanic landscape. Not unlike her grief. No amount of beauty could smooth the jagged edges of heartache that cut deeper every time she thought of her best friend, Paige.

The morning air wrapped around her like a weighted blanket, heavy with plumeria and salt spray. It was very different to her hometown of Oakridge, Tennessee. At this time of year the air bit with crisp clarity and sweet magnolia aromas mingled with fresh-cut grass.

Three months ago, she’d started her day just like this in Oakridge—running through her sleepy neighborhood, psyching herself up for another day of dodging her supervisor’s creepy gaze across the office. That asshole made her skin crawl.

She’d waved to Paige’s bedroom window as she’d jogged past, same as always. Her best friend since kindergarten had always teased her about those early morning runs.

But there was nothing usual about that day. Nothing.

Sienna forced her mind away from the grief that burned through her veins like lava, channeling it into her legs, pushing herself faster, harder, her feet pounding the volcanic rock like she could outrun the memories themselves. She’d gotten good at this–running from visions that haunted her quiet moments.

A herd of wild goats scattered at her approach and Pickle chased after them, nipping at their legs, and tail wagging with manic enthusiasm. Crazy dog.

Aunty Dee had pitched this Hawaiian house-sitting gig as therapy, four weeks of island healing while Aunty Dee made her annual pilgrimage to Europe to explore the latest trends for her perfume business.

But even surrounded by Aunty Dee’s eclectic treasures from far-flung places, and Pickle’s constant demands for attention, Sienna couldn’t escape the grief and guilt. Every happy memory of Paige—eating popcorn while watching a movie together, trading stories over coffee and carrot cake, planning futures that would never come—twisted into that final conversation. The one Sienna had replayed a thousand times, searching for the warning signs she’d somehow missed.

“He’s not worth your tears,” she’d told Paige that night, refilling their wine glasses for the third time. “Trust me, you’re better off without that manipulative jerk.”

They’d been sprawled on Paige’s sofa, surrounded by empty Chinese takeout containers, rehashing the same conversation they’d had about countless other guys. But this time, instead of laughing about dodged bullets and future Mr. Rights that had turn out to be complete assholes, Paige had just stared into her glass, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” Paige had whispered.

And she hadn’t. God, she really hadn’t understood. How many nights had they spent like this, trading war stories about terrible boyfriends over too much wine? How had she missed that this wasn’t just another breakup story? That when Paige said she couldn’t do this anymore, she hadn’t meant dating. Hadn’t meant work. Hadn’t meant life in their small town where everyone knew everyone’s business.

She’d meant existing.

Yet, Sienna had lifted her glass in a toast and cried, “To being gloriously single!”

The memory of Paige’s hollow smile haunted her now, how it hadn’t reached her eyes, how her hand had trembled as she’d raised her glass.

The rising sun painted the horizon in colors too beautiful for a world without Paige in it.

“Fuck!” The word tore from her throat, echoing across the lava field, and a flock of birds took flight at her outburst, their wings flapping madly against the dawn sky.

How had I been so goddamn blind?

Pickle’s excited bark snapped her from her mental landslide as a flash of brown streaked across their path.

“Pickle, no!” Sienna sprinted after him, dodging chunks of lava rocks along the rough ground. “Get back here, you menace!”

The dog disappeared into one of the countless volcanic lava tubes that honeycombed the island. His barks echoed back to her, bouncing off the tube walls in a way that made it impossible to tell how far in he’d gone.

“I swear to God, if you make me go in there . . .” Pulling out her phone, she clicked on the flashlight. The beam caught the glassy walls of the tunnel, revealing rippled patterns where molten rock had once flowed. The tube stretched ahead like a monster’s throat, and unlike many of these tubes that she’d ventured into each time she visited Aunty Dee, this one had a ceiling high enough for her to stand upright.

“Pickle!” Her voice reverberated through the tunnel, mixing with his excited yips. She stepped farther in, sweeping her light across the uneven floor.

The temperature dropped inside the tunnel, a welcome relief from the morning heat. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, creating hollow plinking sounds that mixed with the dog’s echoing barks.

“When I catch you, you’re going straight to obedience school.” Her words bounced back at her as she picked her way deeper into the tunnel. The light from her phone lit up occasional patches of moss growing in the cracks, and minerals in the rock caught in the beam like a disco ball.

The tube curved slightly left, and as Pickle’s barks echoed from somewhere ahead, the sound bounced off walls in a way that made distance impossible to judge.

“I swear that dog . . .” she muttered, carefully stepping over the loose rocks dotting the uneven ground. “This is what happens when you let a dog eat from crystal bowls and sleep on Egyptian cotton.”

After Uncle Charlie died three years ago, Aunty Dee had transformed her grief into an obsession with the scraggly rescue mutt. Premium dog food, constant grooming, ridiculous diamond-studded collars. For God’s sake.

“You spoiled mutt. Get back here!” Her mind drifted back nearly two decades to that spring break when she and Paige, both aged seventeen, had stayed at Aunty Dee’s place. They’d hollered nonsense into the massive lava tubes near Kīlauea, laughing as their voices echoed through the dark. Two whole weeks had passed in a sun-soaked blur—burning their shoulders pink on Hapuna Beach, sneaking stolen beers under the stars, and daring each other to venture deeper into the eerie, glistening tunnels.

“Echo, echo, echo!” Paige had screamed, doubled over with laughter when the tunnel threw her distorted voice back to them. “I am the goddess of the volcano!”

They’d been so alive then. So free. Two small-town girls with sand in their hair and the whole world spread out before them like a feast. They’d sworn they would grow old together, gray-haired besties sharing a beach house and drinking cocktails as they watched the sunset.

The memory forced the air from her lungs. How had they gone from that to this? Fun-loving besties to being torn apart with sorrow.

Pickle’s barking seemed to come from two directions at once, and the sound yanked her back to the dark tunnel and its curved walls.

“If we get lost down here, you furry little menace, I’m going to lock you up for the rest of my vacation.” Her threat seemed to be swallowed by the darkness.

Her light beam bounced over a fork in the tunnel, one branch continuing left, the other veering sharp right. Both disappeared into darkness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She swept her light between the two options. The right tunnel sloped slightly downward and was narrower, while the left seemed to maintain its level. Pickle’s sharp bark echoed again, and she still couldn’t tell which path it came from.

“Pickle!” For fuck’s sake. “Get back here.”

Another bark. He’s definitely in the right tunnel. Or was he?

“Pickle!” She listened intently to the echo pattern. The right tunnel. It had to be the right tunnel which was getting narrower with each step. She ducked slightly as the ceiling lowered. “No organic turkey breast for your dinner tonight.” You little bugger.

The sound of water dripping grew louder, and somewhere ahead, Pickle barked again, the echo shorter this time. Closer? She hoped so because the last thing she needed was to get lost in this hellish place.

“There you are.” Pickle was in a small chamber, bouncing on his stubby legs near a fist-sized hole in the wall. A few tufts of brown fur caught in the rocks showed the mongoose’s escape route.

“You’re going to be the death of me, you little shit.” She scooped up the wriggling dog.

He licked her face and wagged his tail like he’d just accomplished something amazing.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before Aunty Dee’s sixth sense kicks in.” She adjusted her grip on the squirming bundle of fur. That woman had an uncanny ability to know when something was wrong, like some kind of kupuna radar. When she was a teenager, visiting her aunt, Aunty Dee had caught Sienna sneaking home dozens of times, appearing with her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, somehow knowing exactly how many tequila sunrises she’d had at whatever beach party she’d found.

Three weeks ago, that same intuition had kicked in again. Aunty Dee had called out of nowhere, with her voice full of that knowing tone.

“You’re not eating, are you?” she’d said. “You’re sitting in your bedroom, letting grief eat you alive.” Before Sienna could even protest, flight details were being emailed over. “Hawaii will heal you, luvvy. It always does.”

Pickle squirmed in her arms, trying to get back to his mongoose hunt. “Oh no, you don’t. We’re going home.”

Sienna turned back the way she came, and her phone beam danced over the glassy lava ripples. At the fork in the tunnel, voices drifted through the darkness. She paused mid-step, sweeping her light around and straining to locate the source of the voices.

Curiosity pulled her toward the sound. Maybe some tourists had wandered into the tunnel and got lost. Wouldn’t that be rich, the geeky cybersecurity specialist playing hero in a lava tube? She pictured her next meeting: “So how was your trip to Hawaii, Sienna? Oh, you know, just rescued some lost tourists while jogging through volcanic caves.”

A bitter laugh caught in her throat. Who was she kidding? Nobody at work gave a flying fig what she did outside of her grueling work hours where she spent every day peering at her dual monitors, trying to dodge her supervisor Brad’s creepy sneers. At the Christmas party last year, the sick bastard had cornered her in the kitchen, and with his breath reeking of bourbon, he’d pressed her against the wall.

She shuddered at the memory.

She’d vented to Paige about him as they’d sipped mai tais, and they’d howled with laughter when she’d described how she’d rigged Brad’s Teams account to randomly switch his background to images of pigs wallowing in mud during important client calls. His face when a fat hog appeared behind him, snout-deep in slop, during the quarterly board meeting had been priceless.

“Damn you, Paige.” The words scraped up her throat. “Why did you leave me?”

The question echoed back unanswered, just like all her calls and texts that final day.

Ahead, daylight filtered down through a small exit tunnel, creating a pale pool on the floor. The voices grew clearer as she approached, and the ground sloped upward toward the opening, creating a ramp-like exit. It was steep, but she could get out that way if she tried.

“Jesus Christ!” A man bellowed.

She froze in place.

“Dig faster, you lazy prick!” The voice cracked like thunder.

Her heart pounded as she retreated into the shadows. Pickle squirmed in her arms, and she tightened her grip, pressing him against her chest.

Metal struck earth with a sharp ping that echoed off the cave walls, followed by a grunt of exertion. She inched closer to the opening, and her heart raced as she peered around the jagged edge of rock to look out to the sunshine.

Two shirtless men were digging a hole in a rare patch of soil surrounded by rippled black lava and a couple of gnarly trees. Behind them, something was wrapped in a blue tarp.

The larger of the men leaned against his shovel, and the dragon tattoo across his back seemed to twist with each breath. The beast’s scales shifted in the sunlight and its claws wrapped around his ribs like it was trying to tear through his flesh.

At his feet, the second man was in a large hole and digging with savage intensity. His chest tattoo was a temple scene straight out of ancient Japan. Dark storm clouds were the backdrop to warrior figures locked in battle, lightning strikes illuminating their faces in a way that made them look more demon than human. Thick tribal bands wrapped around both men’s arms, and the black geometric patterns rippled as the big man shoveled more dirt.

These weren’t tourist tattoos from some Waikiki parlor. This was serious ink, the kind that told stories of power and violence. The kind that were earned.

Jesus. Who are these guys? And what are they doing? And what the hell is in that blue tarp?

Was that a body?

Bloody hell, I’ve watched too many crime documentaries with Paige.

The tarp moved.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed as the bundle shifted again. Then it sat up, a muffled cry emerging from within the plastic wrapping.

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

The larger man with the dragon tattoo, swung his shovel in a vicious arc, connecting with the wrapped figure.

The sound of impact turned her stomach. A squeal escaped her throat. Pickle barked.

Both men whirled toward her. Their faces twisted with rage. The smaller of the men lunged for something on the ground.

Shit! A gun!

Sienna spun and ran, clutching Pickle to her chest. His barks echoed off the walls until she clamped her hand over his muzzle. Behind her, boots scraped on rock. Shouts reverberated through the tunnel.

The gun released a deafening boom in the enclosed space, and rock exploded somewhere to her left.

She ran, lungs burning, feet slipping on the volcanic glass. Pickle’s weight threw her off balance with each desperate stride. The next shot boomed through the tunnel way too close, and their footfalls echoed behind her like war drums.

Shit, they’re catching me.

“You and your dog are dead, bitch!”

The words frosted her blood.

Her phone beam created a strobe effect of horror: black walls lunging at her, shadows morphing into grasping hands, the ground appearing and disappearing beneath her feet.

Her ankle caught on a hidden rock and rolled. She stumbled, and a sharp cry snagged in her throat, but as adrenaline kept her upright, her phone slipped from her grip and went flying into the darkness.

A shot cracked like thunder. Rock fragments exploded against her back, stinging like hail.

Shit! She abandoned her phone, and as Pickle’s heart hammered against her hands, he pressed his trembling body tight to hers.

I’m going to die. Right here in this godforsaken lava tube, and no one will ever find us.

She clutched Pickle under her arm like a football and bolted. Blind in the absolute darkness, she let raw survival instinct guide her feet over the jagged, treacherous ground.

The darkness pressed against her like a living thing, suffocating her vision, but her other senses surged into overdrive. The desperate rasp of her breath. The scrape of her shoes on ancient lava. The metallic tang of terror coating her tongue.

Behind her, the footsteps grew louder. Closer.

Her heart stopped. Oh fuck. Aunty Dee had made her write down her address and contact details, and then Sienna had tucked the note into her phone case. “The locals here are good people,” her aunt had said with a smile. “They’ll always return a lost phone.”

Good people. The bastards trying to kill her were not good people!

Her stomach twisted. If they found her phone, they’d know where she was staying.

Oh God. They’d come for her.

And now Aunty Dee was in danger too.