“That’s him.” Vivienne grabbed her bag, checking for her compass, the vial of cove water, the other tools she might need. “I’ll call every hour.”
“Be careful.” Dawn pulled her into a quick embrace.
“I know. That’s why we’re going to stop them.”
She slid into Brooks’s passenger seat. He glanced at the manila folder she carried.
“What’s that?”
“Evidence. My cousin Dawn drove down from the state park. She spent the morning researching the Aldrich family’s business dealings.” Vivienne opened the folder, showing him the highlighted property transfers. “Every disappearance in Westerly Cove corresponds to the Aldriches acquiring property.”
Brooks studied the documents at the next red light. His expression hardened. “This is good work. Can I keep these?”
“Dawn made copies and has the originals somewhere safe.”
“Smart.” He handed them back as the light changed.
Outside, the sky darkened as they drove the coastal road. The barometer dropped; Vivienne felt it in her sinuses. Already the waves struck the shore with greater force.
“Storm coming.”
“The forecast mentioned nothing.”
“The ocean knows before the meteorologists.”
The lighthouse grew larger through the windshield, its white paint stark against darkening sky. Pressure built behind her eyes—her abilities responding to violence that had soaked into this ground.
Brooks parked near the keeper’s cottage. Wind off the ocean carried the scent of coming rain.
As they rounded the final bend toward the cottage, wind carried voices to them—male, authoritative. Vivienne gestured for Brooks to stop, pressing herself against rough stone. He moved beside her, his body angling to shield her.
They positioned themselves where the cottage wall formed a shallow sound chamber.
The voices became clearer.
“. . . must be sealed properly this time.” Mayor Winston Aldrich’s patrician tones carried immediate authority. “Sullivan scheduled an official search for four o’clock. Nothing can remain accessible.”
“The stone mechanism is already disabled.” A second voice—Jeremy Aldrich. “But what about the artifacts?”
“Just the ledgers and the most recent shipment.” A pause. “What about the woman?”
“Secured at the secondary location.”
Vivienne’s breath caught. Brooks’s hand found hers, pressing gently—a warning to stay silent.
“Good. After the storm passes and Sullivan conducts his pointless search, we’ll handle her the same way we handled the Morgan girl.”
Ice shot through Vivienne’s veins. Brooks’s grip tightened.
“What about that psychic? The Hawthorne woman keeps asking questions.”
“Let her ask. Without evidence, she’s just another eccentric making wild claims. Besides, we know how to handle Hawthorne women who become too curious. Her mother learned that lesson.” Winston’s laugh went cold.
Vivienne’s body went rigid. Brooks pulled her closer, his arm around her shoulders, anchoring her as rage and grief threatened to overwhelm her control.
The voices faded as the Aldriches moved away. Brooks waited a full minute before speaking.
“Are you all right?”
