Page 4 of Secrets Along the Shore (Beach Read Thrillers #1)

CHAPTER

TWO

I kicked at a pebble and it skipped along the hardpacked shoulder of the road, bounced off a larger stone, and rolled into the ditch, disappearing in the overgrown grass.

I had known the moment that Detective Walker had knocked on my door that I would end up here, helping search for Sophia Bergstrom.

For all my aloof exterior and resistance to human interaction, I cared—and everyone knew it.

I cared what had happened to the others.

I had nightmares about the not knowing. I saw their faces every day—every day of my existence.

Detective Walker had to know that convincing me to help wasn’t going to be as difficult as I implied. And engaging the company of my only friend was a sure way to manipulate me into helping.

“There’s over a hundred people out searching tonight.” Livia’s announcement and her presence did little to still the frantic nerves inside of me.

Anxiety mounted, that I kept under the surface with self-control and intention. I wasn’t sure how long I could keep up the facade tonight, though. Something about this one—this specific disappearance—had my jitters evolving into barely suppressed panic.

I could feel Detective Walker’s observation as we hiked down the backwoods road that was canopied by oak trees and maples. In the distance, in another section of the search grid, deeper into the woods that spanned acres on either side of the road, people shouted .

“Sophia!”

We were all out looking for the missing young woman. All of us hoping to find her alive, or perhaps merely run away, or maybe there’d been an accident and she was injured in a ditch. A ditch like this one.

I slowed to peer into a culvert. The corrugated pipe that ran beneath the road was littered with dead leaves and branches, puddles of water from the rain-storm two nights ago, a beer can, and—oddly—a broken dog collar.

No Sophia Bergstrom.

“Did you find something?” Livia hurried up alongside of me.

I heard the crunching of turf under Detective Walker’s boots as he scurried into the ditch next to me. I glanced at them both.

“Just an old dog collar.”

Detective Walker squatted next to the culvert, flicking on a flashlight and shining it on the dog collar. “Looks like it’s been there a long time.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I added. I wanted to help. I really did. But I could feel the tremor in my muscles. My mind was whirling with repressed memories that fought to release themselves. I didn’t like this road—I didn’t know why—I just didn’t like it.

Livia straightened as Detective Walker pushed to his feet. He eyed me, assessing me as much as the search grid.

“Do you think she’s—” Livia bit off her ominous question.

“Let’s hope for the best.” Detective Walker set his mouth in a firm, determined line.

I knew he banked on the fact that my helping in the search might unlock some memory or some clue inside me as to the Serpent Killer and my own story.

I knew he thought there might be a tie to my old case.

He wasn’t wrong to think that. Anyone with any sense would be concerned that three young women had gone missing recently.

The only difficulty was—and this is why I’d attempted to stay withdraw from it all—that there wasn’t anything similar to tie the disappearances to my case.

Ten years ago, there’d been three dead corpses before I’d disappeared. Three very murdered woman, with the Serpent’s artwork carved into their necks. Then there had been more women who had vanished, and whose bodies were never found—assuming there were bodies to be found.

Three murder victims, additional women missing, and then I had been abducted.

Only, I had finally turned up, walking alongside a road not terribly far from this one, covered in dirt and bruises and wounds.

He had thought I was dead. I wasn’t. I was a survivor—but I couldn’t answer for the other women.

I knew they existed. I had felt them. Heard them.

Talked to them. But then, I’d left them behind.

So the only strong piece I could add to the puzzle was, when I’d been taken, the other women were still alive. Because I’d witnessed them. Which meant then, that I was supposed to have been dead corpse number four. Instead, I was live victim number one.

That must have driven the Serpent Killer wild.

Or maybe it had scared him into hiding instead?

Ten years was a long time to stay dormant.

That was another reason my gut told me Sophia Bergstrom was not related to the Serpent Killer, in spite of the dead snake beneath her window.

If she was, then what had he been doing since the day I limped back into town a walking miracle?

And what had happened to the ones I’d left behind?

I squeezed my eyes shut, until they burned and enough tears were created to ease them. When I opened my eyes, Detective Walker and Livia were several yards ahead of me and I still stood at the culvert. A last glance at the dog collar and I hurried to catch up to them.

Detective Walker pointed down the road. “So the lake is about half a mile down. We’ll hike to there and that’s where our grid ends.”

Stillwater Lake was an old landmark in these parts.

It also was just big enough not to be a pond but also small enough not to sail anything larger than a canoe on it.

Tucked in the woods, locals went fishing there from time to time and pulled out crappie and bluegill.

It was mostly retired old men who fished there, and boys who were too young to drive themselves to somewhere with better aquatic potential.

The detective’s combat-style boots continued to crunch along the gravel shoulder. Livia hiked alongside of him, her toned legs keeping stride.

“Sophia!” Livia shouted.

I lagged behind. I had to pull myself together.

Something about Stillwater Lake heightened my anxiety, and I could feel it as we approached.

The oak trees’ branches met over the road in a canopied arch.

Another time, another place, another life, and they would have been beautiful.

Reminiscent of a scene right out of Anne of Green Gables , the one movie I’d watched on repeat growing up.

Because I related to Anne. She was an orphan, in the Victorian-era version of foster care.

Only she ended up with Matthew and Marilla, and then Gilbert—Mr. Prince Charming.

I shut down my thoughts and caught up to the detective and Livia. We hiked beneath the leaves that rustled in the dusk. I could smell Stillwater Lake. A hint of fish, of algae, of earth . . .

That alone was a memory. Inside of me. The scent of moisture. The oppressive weight of dirt, and the suffocating panic of breathing in earth. Clogging my nostrils, my throat?—

“Noa?”

Livia’s voice broke through my recollection. It was thick with concern.

In a matter of a moment, I had gone from being present with her to crouching on the shoulder of the road. I’d wrapped my arms around my knees and now I buried my face in my knees like a kid.

“I don’t think this was a good idea.” There was condemnation in Livia’s tone as she directed her statement to Detective Walker.

God bless Livia for being so protective of me.

“Noa?”

Detective Walker had crouched next to me, and his use of my name was a gentle demand for my attention.

I gave it to him, only because I was drowning. The world around me was spinning. I could smell it—the dirt—I could taste it—and the scent of the lake on the air exacerbated it all.

“Noa, stay with me.” Detective Walker didn’t touch me. It was good he didn’t. I would have turned feral and clawed him if he had. I knew that because I felt cornered. Buried. Trapped.

“It’s me.” The detective reminded, even though I already knew it. “Reuben.”

Reuben .

I’d only ever called him “Detective” or “Ghost” when I felt especially snarky. The use of his first name jerked me out of my stupor.

“S-sorry,” I muttered.

“It’s okay.” Reuben—because he started it and it was a lot easier than “detective”—assured me. “Can you tell us what happened?”

I looked past him to Livia. Her dark eyes were intent and she gave me a short shake of her head. “You don’t have to answer that,” she stated.

I wanted to. I didn’t want to. But I did.

“I’ll be fine.” I pushed to my feet and Reuben was quick to follow. “I just—needed to breathe for a second.” And forget that I’d once been buried alive.

I shoved past both of them then, because Stillwater Lake was calling.

I could feel it. In my soul, I knew—and I wished I didn’t.

I wished I wasn’t attuned to others who had experienced what I’d experienced.

I wish I could look at Livia and reassure her, like I had earlier this morning, that it hadn’t been that long yet.

That Sophia Bergstrom would be found alive.

But I knew.

I knew what no one else did because I could feel it. That connection was raw and deep. I could hear the echoes of Sophia’s screams. I could feel the mind-numbing terror of being powerless to fight. I could taste the fear.

It tasted like blood.

Reuben shouted at me to wait up. Livia was jogging beside me trying to keep up.

I was going to the lake. I was going to find Sophia’s body. Because that’s all that was left to be found.

I knew that. Even though no one else did.

I broke away from Reuben and Sophia. I was going to search on my own, from a distance. Just me—and the voice that was calling to me.