GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN INNOCENT

When a drug-smuggling ring rocks a small coastal town, the DEA sends Agent Owen Matthews to shut it down. A single father with a deaf son, Owen senses that the town’s number one suspect—the high school’s new principal—doesn’t fit the profile. Miriam Hunter hoped to shrug off the stigma of her hearing impairment when she returned to Stepping Stones, Maine. But her recurring nightmares dredge up old memories that could prove her innocence—and uncover the truth behind a decades-old murder. Yet Owen’s help may not be enough when someone decides to keep Miriam silenced—permanently.

Focus on the case, Matthews. This was not an accident, and you need to figure out how it’s related, Owen told himself.

Miriam inhaled sharply. Her head shook back and forth, her face a mash of different emotions. Shock, denial, disbelief paraded across it. She obviously had read his lips accurately. She jumped to her feet; her words sped so fast her hands tripped over each other. “Someone stole my car? This is crazy! I have never done anything to the people in this town. Why do they want to hurt me like this?”

Owen backed a step away, reaching for his cell phone to put his mind on a different, more innocuous, track. “I’ll call Wes to report the stolen car,” he announced. “How far could it go on this island anyway? I’m sure we’ll find it.”

At the same time Owen would find out who was behind the threats and put a stop to them. Because there was only one thing worse than being responsible for destroying a pure heart.

Not protecting one.

KATY LEE

is an inspirational romantic-suspense author writing higher-purpose stories in high-speed worlds. She dedicates her life to sharing tales of love, from the greatest love story ever told to those sweet romantic stories of falling in love. She is the children’s ministry director for her church as well as a leader of a Christian women’s organization. Katy and her husband are both born New Englanders, but have been known to travel at the drop of a hat. As her homeschooled kids say, they consider themselves “world-schooled.” But no matter where Katy is you can always find her at www.KatyLeeBooks.com anytime. She would love to connect with you.

Warning Signs
Katy Lee

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.

—John 10:27

Do not fear, for I am with you;

do not be dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you and help you;

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

—Isaiah 41:10

To the lovely ladies Sue and Val, who are our interpreters for our deaf brothers and sisters in Christ at my church. Your dedication to interpret every service allows many to “hear” the Lord’s message. God bless you and your ministry.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

Drug Enforcement agent Owen Matthews gripped the wheel of his rented sports boat as he coasted through the North Atlantic at barely half throttle. The Maine island town of Stepping Stones urged Owen to rush forward to the safety of its shores, but his newly acquired phobia of boats wouldn’t let him speed up even one knot. At this rate the sun would be gone before he arrived at his next assignment.

“What we do for friends,” Owen mumbled through clenched teeth, thinking about his old academy roommate, and the island’s sheriff, Wesley Grant. Even though Wes had chosen small-town law enforcement and Owen had taken the federal route with the DEA down to the Mexican border, the two kept in touch.

Wes had called, needing Owen’s undercover expertise to take down a recent marijuana problem at Stepping Stones High School. No job was too dangerous or too far for Owen when it came to extinguishing the distribution of illegal mind-altering substances. Even if the job brought him back to these Maine waters, where his guilt ran deep and he’d vowed never to go again.

Owen inhaled the old and familiar salty air...and cringed. He needed to get off this boat. He needed to get this job done and get back to Texas where he belonged.

He steered his focus to the few facts Wes had given him about the case, specifically on how the drugs had appeared about six months ago, soon after two new residents had moved to Stepping Stones.

Wes was a good cop, but he probably didn’t want to believe a fellow islander could ever bring such harm down on one of his own. Since Owen grew up on the mainland and not with these people, he could offer a more unbiased investigation of all the inhabitants, new and old.

Plus, Owen knew firsthand how the ones closest to us had the power to destroy us. And he knew this not because he’d been on the receiving end, but because of the people he’d destroyed. His past offenses convinced him that anyone could be a suspect—including the owner of the fishing boat coming at him.

At first, the vessel bobbed alongside a huge rock and lighthouse up ahead. When it shot off like a bullet, Owen questioned its hurry. Was its retreat an innocent maneuver, or had Owen intruded on an illegal happening of some kind?

He kept his undercover status in mind and prepared to make all neighborly with the captain of the... He strained to read the name of the fishing boat scrawled on its hull.

The Rita Ann.

A harmless enough name. Although typically a drug trafficker wouldn’t be advertising its wares on its exterior for the world to see. Owen observed more of the rusty, white fishing boat with its tall, lit masthead. A rule follower, it would seem, with his adequate safety equipment. But if one were carrying illegal cargo, it would be in his best interest to keep the lightbulbs in working order. Why risk the chance of being pulled over?

Owen searched the tinted pilothouse windows for the captain, but only the reflection of the setting sun glinted back at him. He closed in, waving his hand high, then slowed to an idle to wait for a response.

Instead, the Rita Ann increased its speed and changed its course—directly at him.

Stunned, Owen felt his hand slip off the gearshift. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. The sun was setting, but he could still be seen. The last time it had been pitch-dark. This didn’t make sense.

Snap out of it, Matthews! He ordered himself to reengage, but his stiff hands might as well have been petrified wood. He had to move, but past visions of a splintering boat flying sky-high immobilized his reflexes. Six years of time dissolved into this moment as he relived his first crash.

No. He wouldn’t let history repeat itself. Move! Now!

A surge of adrenaline pushed him to hit Reverse. He blasted back out of the Rita Ann’s path. The fishing boat jetted past him without an acknowledgment.

Owen questioned whether the driver had seen him or not. How could he not, though? He watched the Rita Ann chug out to sea. Owen forced his hand to turn the wheel to follow. He would flag it down to find out, but first he would need to speed up to catch it.

Duty called, and Owen’s previous driving-with-caution vaulted to the wind. He kicked up his speed a notch, then another and another. The front bow parted the rolling waves into a frothy wake as he set his sights on the Rita Ann.

With his attention drilled straight ahead, he nearly missed a gray object flying past him on his starboard side. Immediately another followed. Owen’s head whipped from side to side while his mind registered what they were.

He slowed a bit to identify them as flat rocks, smaller, less visible than the large one with the lighthouse on it. Some even submerged. The sight of the solid, unmovable masses caused him to slam back the throttle, jolting the craft to a rumbling crawl.

The Rita Ann raced on ahead without him.

It wasn’t the fact that he let her go that choked him, but rather that he could have had a disastrous collision if he had been a few scant feet more to his left.

At least no one was in the boat with me this time. Owen blew out a breath of anger at his stupidity. I have no business being out on these waters. Not even for a job.

With tighter fists than before, he gripped the steering wheel again. In an anxious cold sweat, Owen drifted with the tiniest bit of gas sent to the engine. In such a slow motion, he realized more and more of the rocks protruded up from the ocean floor around him, leading up to the island of Stepping Stones.

The island apparently got its name from these rocks. The lighthouse was built on the largest of them, while the others dotted a sporadic path. A beautiful scene for a painting, but in reality the rocks posed a deadly threat to boats cruising their way up the coast of New England. How the ferry could dock here was beyond him. Maybe that’s why it only came in once a week. Too risky with these formidable pieces of stone that required a wide berth.

Owen slowly made his way back to the lighthouse. As he approached, something red and gold caught his attention. It looked like a person’s hair fluttering on the sea breeze. Upon closer inspection he saw the strands belonged to a woman.

She lay motionless on the rock. His mind reeled with concern. Was she injured?

Owen swung his gaze back at the departing Rita Ann. Perhaps the woman had been hurt by the same hands that piloted the boat. That would explain the hasty departure. Had someone on the Rita Ann dumped her there? Thrown her overboard? Owen’s stomach twisted at the thought. Time was critical if that was the case.

He steadied his gaze on her, but from his vantage point all he could make out was her shock of long red hair, glinting with gold in the sun’s rays. The tresses fanned out against the rock like the rays themselves. He leaned over the steering wheel as if that would get him closer faster.

With the engine of his boat chugging, he hoped she would hear him approach and lift her head or wave a hand, but she didn’t. Not even when his boat sidled up to the rock and bobbed idly in the waves.

“Miss?” he called out over the rattling engine. “Miss, do you need help?”

No answer. No movement, either.

Owen cleared his throat and tried again louder. When that turned out the same, the words deathly still crossed his mind. Apprehension niggled at the back of his neck. He rubbed it and the horrid thought away and called out again. “Miss?” he yelled forcefully, but he couldn’t deny the waver of uncertainty in his voice.

He hadn’t seen someone this still since his wife, Rebecca, lay in the sand, paramedics going through the motions of saving her only because he begged them not to stop. Owen’s throat filled with a golf ball–size blockage. He shot a jittery gaze toward the island, willing someone else to come help this woman.

The docks glimmered in the sunlight, waiting for his boat to find its place beside them for the night. Oh, how he wanted to do just that. To allow someone else better qualified to help her. He was good at chasing bad guys, not rescuing women. But not one person came into his view. Not one fisherman. Not one loitering teenager. No one at all stood on the pier for him to wave at for assistance.

Owen cut the engine. It has to be me. He dropped his shoulders as he dropped anchor.

He thought about radioing for help, but maybe the woman was just in a deep sleep. Just in case she was hurt, though, Owen grabbed the lifesaving equipment stored in the rear stern under the padded seats. He yanked open the compartment to find a first-aid kit and blanket, along with life vests. He scooped up the blanket and kit and went port side, reaching out to grab at the crusty barnacle-covered stone.

Swells rocked the woman in and out of his view. With every rise and sway of his boat, he caught sight of her one-piece red-and-blue bathing suit. He thought it was a mishmash of flowers or something but didn’t concentrate enough on it to be sure. His full attention was given to the state of the woman’s wellness. In a quick scan, his eyes followed from her bathing suit down her long, muscular limbs of milky white to a set of small feet sprawled motionless.

“I’m coming, okay?” he assured her loudly as he threw his load up on the rock and hoisted his body to follow. Please be sleeping. “Don’t move. You may have a neck injury.” Like Rebecca when she was thrown.

The woman didn’t move. Not even to acknowledge his presence. He watched for any sign of a twitch or breathing as he scraped along the sharp barnacles. Pain sliced through his palms and bare forearms. He used the discomfort to propel him up and forward, but was glad for the protection of his denim jeans. Lying flat, he came face-to-face with the still, delicate features of the woman. Long, light lashes rested on pale freckled cheeks. He hesitated to touch her. Would he find her asleep? Dead? Had his rescue not come in time?

“Miss, can you hear me? Are you hurt? Do you need help?”

Nothing.

His hand reached for the curve of her neck and gently felt for her pulse on icy-cold skin. She moaned, and her heart’s life-beating sound brought Owen a mix of relief and elation. She might be hurt, but at least she was alive. Thank you, Lord, Owen’s reflexive prayer of thanksgiving had him wiping an old bitter aftertaste from his salty lips.

“God had nothing to do with saving this girl,” he muttered. “God’s not here. I’m here.”

Owen reached for the scratchy wool blanket behind him and stretched it over her arms and chest to warm her. Instantly, her eyes flashed open wide and another short sound deep in her throat escaped her pale lips. A moan of pain? A quick jerk of her head triggered him to brace her in case.

“Miss?” He gripped both sides of her face and peered into stark gray eyes, as gray as the stone she lay on. Fear shone up at him. “Don’t move. You could have a spinal injury. Can you tell me if you hurt anywhere?”

She struggled beneath the blanket, arms fumbling and pushing with a strength that caught him off guard. Owen pressed her arms down and shushed her. He couldn’t safely move her to the boat like this.

She moaned again, more forcefully, louder. It didn’t sound like a moan of pain now, but rather anger. She was mad at him? For helping her? She shoved harder at the blanket between them. Her lips parted for the loudest, most forceful sound yet. It sounded like the word “off” without the pronunciation of the f’s. It took him a second before her word hit him like a left hook to his gut.

Owen jumped away from the muffled sounds he would recognize anywhere. They were the same kind of sounds his son made when he tried to speak—ever since he’d lost his hearing the night he’d nearly drowned in the crash.

This woman wasn’t injured at all. She didn’t answer him because, like his son, she was deaf.

* * *

Miriam Hunter fumbled under the attack of a strong-armed man. The scare tactics to get rid of her had turned physical. Ever since she’d arrived, the islanders had made it known she wasn’t wanted. First, the nasty notes and emails, then the late-night crank calls. And now this...this assault.

How dare this guy sneak up on her in this secluded place? The one place she could fully get away from their angry stares. As though it was her fault drugs had come to their precious island.

Just because the marijuana showed up after she arrived didn’t mean she’d brought it with her. The bag of marijuana found in her office had been placed there by one of the very townspeople who wanted her gone—perhaps even by this guy leaning over her.

Angrily, Miriam heaved at the heavy material scratching her skin. She didn’t have to think twice as to why he’d covered her with it. He might as well have sealed her lips with duct tape. She strained against him to free her hands—her voice. He wouldn’t understand a word she signed, but it would make her feel better to put him in his place. She wouldn’t sit here and allow him to silence her. She pushed at him again, but his strength wouldn’t relent.

Who is this guy? Miriam didn’t recognize him as a parent. He seemed too young to have a child in high school. Thirty-two, tops. His dark cropped hair screamed military, not shaggy, salt-drenched fisherman.

But the eyes...

She stilled to study the rich black-currant irises inches from her face. Sharp and assessing eyes, not accusing and vindictive. She thought they held a message of caring, but before she could decipher it clearly, all emotion dipped behind their onyx surface like the secrets of the sea, safely hidden beneath murky depths.

His tensed lips moved, too close for her to read. Then as much as she abhorred talking, Miriam broke her vow and opened her mouth to tell him to get off.

The look on his clean-shaven face abruptly changed from determination to...shock? Her deafness surprised him? If he didn’t know she was deaf, then he wasn’t from Stepping Stones. He was a stranger—and she was alone on a rock in the ocean with him.

Every self-defense move Miriam had learned in college jumped to attention in her head. She tried to recall if there was a maneuver for when someone had you pinned under a blanket. Never did she think those tactics would be used, but perhaps this was the moment God had prepared her for through all those classes. Stay with me, Father, she signed her prayer of petition in her head because her hands were still secured under the blanket. Give me strength and the knowledge to break away. She mindfully pulled out the scripture tucked in her heart for times of darkness.

Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

Miriam used the words from Isaiah 41 to hurl all her strength at the man again. This time, he jolted back as though she’d burned him. Without waiting another second, she sat up, flung off the blanket and scooted back.

He fell onto his haunches, hands raised in surrender, but her flight reflex still had her retreating farther away until she’d reached the edge of the rock. Her heart raced, pounding adrenaline through her head and body. Even being deaf, she could hear it coursing through her.

He hadn’t moved from his place, but he spoke again. Miriam studied his lips as her breathing steadied. He said something about kelp. She shook her head in confusion and a bit of annoyance. People always thought deaf people could read lips. She supposed she could read them half the time, but that left a lot of room for error, which is why she usually traveled with her interpreter—except in the afternoon when she swam out to the lighthouse to be alone. Never did she think she would need Nick way out here.

The stranger’s tall, lean frame bent to pick up a box labeled with the symbol of a red cross. He held it up to her and clarity came swiftly.

He hadn’t said kelp. He’d said help. He thought she needed help.

But why? What gave him the idea in the first place?

Miriam searched the island and figured it to be about five hundred yards away. Not a huge distance for a former competitive open-water swimmer like herself. But this man wouldn’t know she swam out to the lighthouse for exercise each day. He probably thought only a stranded and injured person would be this far from land.

Miriam supposed she could try to speak aloud to explain, but a long time ago she’d vowed only to use her voice when absolutely necessary. And giving this stranger her personal information wasn’t necessary.

In fact, the only thing necessary was to get off this rock quickly. Miriam didn’t believe she faced any danger from him anymore, but she also wasn’t inclined to be friendly.

She cagily followed his movements to the other side of the rock, where his boat was anchored.

He gestured with his hand for her to climb in, pointing toward the island.

Before thinking, she naturally lifted her hands to sign. After the first few signs, stating she would swim back, she stopped and waved her hands to say forget it. He wouldn’t understand anyway. She stood on the edge, still keeping him in her sight while preparing to dive in. But before her feet left the rock, Miriam glanced back at him one last time and froze.

His hand pointed to his chest, then rose to the side of his temple. She watched his index finger slowly point up toward the sky. “I understand,” he signed.

She nearly stumbled over. He knew her language? Would he say more? She waited, hating herself because deep down she hoped he would. How quickly she willingly trusted this man just because he understood her.

For so long, though, she’d been a foreigner in this hearing world, desperately seeking companionship. Now she stood face-to-face with the one thing she sought. Forever on the lookout for someone like her, or someone who understood her. Or at least wanted to try.

Poor Nick earned his pay and then some. But there were only so many current events and prime-time television shows to talk about with one person.

Miriam knew her traitorous face was lit in anticipation of finding a friend, but even so she tried her hardest to be nonchalant about the situation. Tentatively, she raised her hands and swirled her fingers in circles. “You sign?” she asked in her language.

His eyes darkened to those murky depths again. He gave one negative shake to his head and averted his gaze past her shoulder.

He didn’t sign.

Miriam did her best to express a lack of caring with a blasé shrug even though disappointment washed over her like a cold wave. Then her mind reminded her of the man’s answer to her question. If he wasn’t able to sign, then how did he understand her enough to answer her?

Unless he did understand her and didn’t want to talk to her.

Fine...whatever. She dismissed him and his possible insult with a wave of her hand and lifted off the rock in one clean arc. Miriam sliced through the cold water with precision, letting it cool off her piqued temper, amazed her anger could still boil over so easily. She thought God had helped her with that unwanted emotion a long time ago, but sometimes her anger reared its ugly head and reminded her she still had some things to contend with.

Another day, she told herself...again. She wondered if there ever was a good time to reopen old wounds. She thought not, but especially not right now.

She was in the midst of a troubling drug investigation. She had a drug supplier to find. Making friends and digging into her past were at the bottom of her list.

In fact, her past was one thing better left buried. Nothing good could come out of unearthing those dreams—or rather, nightmares. Miriam trembled, and it had nothing to do with the frigid northern waters she swam in.

The unnatural bulging eyes from those old nightmares stared at her from behind her closed eyelids; a large hand and a flash of something gold blinded her. Images as real today as they were when she was ten years old. She pushed through her strokes as she pushed the childhood terrors down into the dark abyss.

Mother always said they were figments of a child’s imagination. Except children weren’t supposed to be imagining such horrifying things.

No, I can’t go there. She swam faster, pushed harder. Her hands sliced through the water, propelling her forward. Miriam had a feeling if she continued to delve deeper into that nightmare, she would never emerge. Not even the dark-haired rescuer she left in her wake would be able to save her from the dangers of that dark and menacing grave.

TWO

“You really think the principal is your number-one suspect?” Owen waited with Sheriff Wesley Grant outside the high school’s glass entrance doors. The buzzer signaled their authorization for admittance, and Wes pulled the door open.

“Her assistant’s got a prior arrest for possession of marijuana,” Wes discreetly informed Owen over his shoulder as they entered the school. “They neglected to share that little tidbit with the school board and don’t know I uncovered it. I’m keeping it to myself until I have enough evidence for a search warrant of their homes.”

“You seem to be putting all your efforts on these two. What is it about them you don’t like?” Owen eyed a well-dressed man at the end of the corridor sweeping the shiny floors with an oversize dust mop.

“You’ll see why when you meet them,” Wes answered. “I feel like Ms. Hunter’s constantly laughing at me. I’m a big joke to her.” He sneered.

“Well, you are funny-looking.” Owen jutted a chin at Wes’s head. “And you need a haircut, man. Have I been gone from Maine so long that the ladies dig the unkempt look now? Perhaps your principal is one of them. Maybe she isn’t laughing at you at all. Maybe she’s sweet on you. How old is she? Fiftyish?”

The green-clad sheriff chuckled. “Not quite.” Wes pointed to a door off to their left. He cleared his throat a few times. “So, you haven’t mentioned Cole since you arrived yesterday. How is your son?”

Owen’s back tensed. “He’s still living with Rebecca’s parents over in Bangor. It’s best that way. So, how do you think the drugs are getting here? This island’s pretty secluded.”

Wes nodded, taking Owen’s cue. No more talk about Cole. “My guess is Ms. Hunter and her assistant have a connection with a Canadian drug cartel. They’re helping to get the marijuana across the border by coming through my island. Then distributing it to their dealers on the mainland.”

“But some marijuana was found on school property. Why release it and take the chance of shutting down their operation?”

“Well, that’s where you come in. I need your, um, eyes to listen in on a few conversations.”

“You need my eyes to listen? I don’t understand.”

The men reached the principal’s office and entered. “Hey, Steph,” Wes said to the cute, pixie-like secretary at her desk. “I’m here to see Ms. Hunter.”

“Yup, she’s expecting you.” Steph lifted a slender arm rimmed with gold clinking bracelets and pointed toward the door. “She told me to tell you to go on in.”

“Thanks, darling.” Wes flashed a smile Owen thought might send the dark-haired girl into a tizzy the way she bloomed into the same shade of red as the netted lobster hanging on the wall behind her. Too bad for the girl if she thought Wes’s flirtations meant anything.

Wes had cut women out of his life the day his fiancée ran off with another man. But unlike Wes, Owen had lost his girl by his own hand.

Twice in two days memories of Rebecca caused his stomach muscles to twist in guilt. He let the feeling remind him to never forget. She was so young and beautiful, glowing with that new-mother look that made him fall in love with her every time he watched her snuggle their son or every time she reached for him, honoring him with her complete and total trust. His jaded heart would swell over her pure one. She was genuine and didn’t deserve to die.

But she had, and Owen had vowed to never ruin another pure heart again. Not another woman’s and not his own son’s. A solitary life would be his punishment.

“Uh, Owen,” Wes held the door handle to the principal’s office and spoke over his shoulder in a hushed voice. “There’s something you need to know.”

“What’s that?”

Wes cleared his throat again, putting Owen on the defensive. Suddenly, the door opened from the inside, yanking Wes’s hand along with it. Whatever Wes planned to say was cut off by a wiry-looking man, about five-eight, with blond hair and gold-rimmed glasses. Owen summed him up in two seconds as a nonthreat.

“Welcome back, Sheriff. We’ve been waiting for you.” The man swept a scrawny arm wide to invite them in, but his tight-lipped words implied they weren’t really welcome.

Owen extended a hand to the shorter man. “I’m Agent Matthews from the Drug Enforcement Agency.”

The man eyed Owen’s hand hanging in midair for an exaggerated second before placing his smaller, skinnier one into it. “Nick Danforth. I’m Ms. Hunter’s interpreter. Where she goes, I go.”

Interpreter? Did she not speak English? Owen thought Nick’s response odd, but he shrugged it off. “Nice to meet you.”

“Owen,” Wes called from the front of the desk. A woman stood beside him, her hair twisted up loosely at the back of her head. Her slate-gray eyes grew wide as he leveled his own gaze on her. Even without the golden-streaked red hair flowing down her back, he remembered her from yesterday out on the rock.

She was the school principal? And the number-one suspect? Could that really be true? A deaf principal in her early thirties didn’t strike him as the drug-smuggler type. Yet he supposed he’d seen all types in his line of work and knew he needed to treat everyone as a suspect.

“This is Ms. Hunter. She’s deaf,” Wes announced matter-of-factly.

Owen caught Nick signing to the principal. An interpreter for a deaf principal. Nick’s earlier response now computed. Nick shut the door behind them and sidled up beside Owen, ready to do his job.

Ms. Hunter raised her hands and signed, “It’s nice to meet you, Agent Matthews.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Matthews,” Nick said from beside Owen, interpreting Ms. Hunter word for word. Only, neither of them knew Owen didn’t need an interpreter. He understood her signs fine.

Owen turned away from Nick for a pointed look at his so-called friend. He could tell by Wes’s prolonged stare and slight shake of his head that he wanted Owen to keep his sign language knowledge under wraps. A little heads-up would have been nice.

“I’ll explain later,” Wes said. “For now I would like you to get acquainted with Ms. Hunter and her staff so we can start the investigation.”

Then it clicked why Wes had brought him there. Owen would be able to spy on what was said between these two when they thought no one else understood. If they really were the smugglers, then Owen stood a chance of solving the case pretty quickly.

Owen fisted his hands at his side. “You, too, Ms. Hunter,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nick translate his words to sign language. Owen continued, “It’s my hope we can work together to get to the bottom of this problem on your island and in your school. I appreciate your help.”

She visibly relaxed and her lips quirked up at the edges as she signed, “I want that more than anything.”

“Grea—” Owen started and stopped, almost forgetting to wait for the interpretation. He deserved a swift kick for nearly giving himself away already.

“I hope you mean that,” Nick translated.

I hope you mean that? What? Owen tilted his head and tried to figure out what he’d done wrong. He thought for sure she’d said she wanted to work together more than anything. Maybe his skills were rusty for lack of use. God knows he rarely used them. Having Nick might be a good idea, Owen decided.

He shrugged off his misinterpretation. “I understand I will be a teacher undercover. My goal is to find a leak that will lead me to the source of the drug supplier and then to the person smuggling the drugs to the island.”

Nick signed as Owen spoke, staying at about three words behind him. But Owen noticed Nick signed more than what was said. Owen recognized the extra signs as, “Don’t forget. This guy is here to investigate us. Not to help us.”

Ms. Hunter’s lips twisted and a flash of humor sparked from her eyes. Then she signed to Owen, “I’ve made preparations for you to teach English in Mrs. Standish’s classroom. She’s out on maternity for another three weeks, so you’ll be her substitute teacher. I’m hoping we won’t need more time than that. Nick, stop translating. This is between us. I met Agent Matthews out on the rocks yesterday. He came to my aid when he thought I was hurt. I think he can be trusted.”

Even though Nick stopped translating her final words, Owen kept on reading. He honestly didn’t fault her for sharing their first encounter with her interpreter. He supposed he used secret codes in his line of work, too.

But never had he taught an English class in his line of work.

“Would there maybe be a gym class I could teach instead?” Owen asked. “Shakespeare never made much sense to me. Plus, teaching a class like that would take up too much of my investigation time.”

“You and lifeguards,” Nick signed to Ms. Hunter, ignoring everything Owen had said. “Just because a man comes to a swimmer’s aid does not make him trustworthy. Your breakup with Lifeguard Andy should have taught you that lesson. Although I’m glad to see you’re keeping the investigator busy and out of our hair. Your plan is brilliant. He’s not too happy about teaching English, but he said fine.”

Owen jerked. That’s not what I said at all. Owen now knew he was not misinterpreting Ms. Hunter’s signs, and he needed to inform her that her boy Nick was not translating correctly. But to do so would blow his cover and ruin any chances of “listening” in on these two and their conversations.

Wes believed Ms. Hunter guilty of covering up something. If sticking him in an English classroom had been her idea, Owen thought Wes might be onto something.

It was no wonder his friend had asked him to come all the way up from Texas instead of going with an agent from the Bangor field office or even Boston. These two were probably talking circles around him. Poor guy.

“It’s a good thing, then, Agent Matthews isn’t a lifeguard,” Ms. Hunter signed. “Or I would be in trouble for sure.” Her lips twitched again as she cast a glance at Owen. “Because he is not hard on the eyes.”

Owen clamped his teeth together. It took every ounce of strength for him to pretend he didn’t understand.

“Ms. Hunter says the English class is all she has available, and I’m to show you to your classroom,” Nick translated.

“Did she, now?” Owen bit the inside of his cheek.

“You can follow me,” Nick mumbled.

“I was kind of hoping Ms. Hunter would join us so we could go over the plan of action in more detail.” Owen directed Nick to ask.

Instead Nick signed to Ms. Hunter, “He’s not your type. And you better be careful what you say around him. I think he’s going to be harder to fool than the sheriff.”

Interesting. So Ms. Hunter was in fact fooling the sheriff about something.

Owen searched her eyes. A mischievous twinkle relayed that she definitely found something humorous. Owen now understood what Wes meant when he’d said she laughed at him. He was starting to feel like the butt of a joke, too.

The lights flickered overhead.

“That’s my TTY phone,” Ms. Hunter signed to Nick for him to translate information about her teletypewriter phone. Owen knew all about a TTY from calling his son, but he kept quiet as she explained through her interpreter. “It could be a parent trying to reach me. No one on the island has a TTY machine to type their message into, so they have to use a TTY service operator—a real live person standing by to take the caller’s message and transcribe it for me onto a screen. I can’t keep them waiting, but you go on,” she signaled with a wave of her hand and then turned the machine to face her, pushing the button to answer.

Miriam hit the button to read the message as they were about to leave. When her pleasant eyes iced over, their steps halted.

Owen zoomed in on the screen, but she hit the end call button before he could read it.

Nick raced forward.

“What did it say?” Nick’s signs demanded an answer.

Ms. Hunter shook her blanched face. “Not now.”

“Tell me.” Nick’s refusal to take her lead had Owen paying closer attention to their words. His signing secret already proved to be beneficial.

Ms. Hunter’s jumpy glances passed between Wes and Owen before she signed to her interpreter, answering his question. “Get off the island if you know what’s good for you. Now go. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Another crank call? That’s the third one this week!” Nick’s hands slapped out, seemingly unconcerned with cutting the two hearing people out of the conversation...or so he thought.

“I said not right now.” Ms. Hunter tilted her head toward Owen as she signed to Nick. Owen read the silent message loud and clear, but apparently Nick didn’t. The guy’s inability to keep his emotions at bay suited Owen just fine.

“It’s got to be someone with a TTY so they can send you the message directly,” Nick signed. “Using the operator service would be too risky. I’d give my right hand to know who on this island has one.”

“Yes. Me, too.” Ms. Hunter signed, then cringed. She studied her hands before continuing. “Well, maybe not my right hand. That would be like cutting out my tongue.”

Owen understood Ms. Hunter wasn’t worried about the pain of losing her right hand, but rather losing the only voice she had. It reiterated that his son would have the same hardship all his life—because of him.

Owen squinted up at all the diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall. There were a lot of letters after Miriam Hunter’s name. He couldn’t fathom how she’d achieved such great success. He didn’t dare hope the same for Cole.

“I still think you should report these pranks,” Nick signed quickly.

“Chasing pranks is not important right now.” Miriam signed back. “Finding a drug supplier is.”

“But what if they’re related? What if this is more than an upset islander who thinks you shouldn’t have this job?”

Owen tuned in to see what she thought about Nick’s idea. Owen thought he was onto something. The only thing he caught was a spark of anger from Miriam Hunter’s eyes. She apparently didn’t like the idea of people thinking she wasn’t worthy of her position. But come on, Owen scoffed. A deaf principal for a hearing school? She couldn’t possibly do the job right.

“I think you should take that tour now,” she signed with pinched lips. Nick’s about-face out of the room made it clear the person in charge around here was Miriam Hunter. Her authoritative expression reminded Owen of his own adolescence spent in the principal’s office.

But he had to wonder if her bravado was a cover-up for the fear he’d witnessed when she’d received that call. He hadn’t missed the pasty hue that had marred her smooth complexion. Miriam Hunter feared someone or something. But why keep it from the police?

Unless she worried alerting them would bring something else to light.

Owen followed Nick and Wes and watched them take a left out into the hall. As Owen passed by the secretary’s desk, he called out, “Give me a second, guys.” He approached the desk. “Stephanie, right?”

“Yup. Can I help you?”

“Do you have a notepad I could use?”

“Sure.” She pulled a pen from behind her multi-ringed ear and a notepad from her drawer. “Here you go.”

Owen scrawled out a message for Ms. Hunter on the notepad and tore it off. The note included his cell phone number as well as an invitation to meet later to discuss how they could work together on the case. Buddying up might get her to open up, even if they had to spend the night writing everything down.

He stepped to the open door of her office. She had her back to him. Her folded arms pulled the back of her pale blue suit coat tight. She faced the window, looking out at the distant horizon of endless water beyond the rows of the fiery foliage. For a moment, her profile came into view. He could see her worrying on her lower lip.

Knocking would do nothing to alert her to his presence. Again he wondered how a deaf person qualified for a job such as this, and he thought of the prank call he’d witnessed. It very well could have been someone who thought her disability inhibited her from doing an adequate job.

Owen thought of his son and of his future limitations because of his deafness. Owen had to agree with the prank caller. He couldn’t see how Ms. Hunter could perform her duties adequately. She obviously had the ability to fool a lot of people to get her position.

He stepped to her side, causing her to flinch. For a split second, Owen caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes. It retreated as quickly as the tide, leaving nothing but sparkles of wonder behind.

He’d never seen anyone so expressive before. She gave an elegant tilt of her head and an encouraging smile, and he could tell she was asking him what he wanted, even though she said not a word.

Owen handed her the paper, at a loss for words himself. A full smile blossomed on her face as she read the note. He wasn’t expecting to see such joy—or to undergo the effects it seemed to have on him. His invite wasn’t meant to make her happy, but for some reason he was glad it did.

A slender hand reached out toward him with graceful fluidity. It took him a second to realize she meant to touch him. Her hand landed with a slight squeeze on the arms he crossed at his chest. So much for a barrier. Alarm bells rang through his mind. Her touch felt like a branding iron leaving its mark on him. Owen belonged to no one. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

He stepped back and gestured to the note. “Tonight,” he said clearly, demanding that she read his lips and his body language.

She nodded as her countenance slipped to the same stunned look she’d had when she’d received the crank call. Good. She read him loud and clear. Let’s hope she didn’t forget it so easily.

Unlike Owen who could feel himself forgetting his punishment with each expressive thought she displayed on her upturned face. Her pale beauty and endearing freckles sprinkled across her cheeks made him think of sandy beaches on summer days. Her gray eyes washed over him with each cleansing bat of her lashes fooling him into thinking his sins could be washed away so easily.

Owen headed for the exit with quick steps. Speed became critical. He needed to close this case and get off this island before the charmingly beautiful principal made him forget his reason for being there.

Before Miriam Hunter made him forget his punishment permanently.

* * *

Lord, have you sent Owen Matthews to help me get to the bottom of the drug issue, or is he here to make me leave, too?

Perhaps she would have figured out by now who had placed the bag of marijuana on her desk if it weren’t for people trying to scare her away. She felt the edges of her lips bend down and pressed them hard to rein in her emotions. Regardless of what the islanders thought, she cared about these kids and this school. And even this town.

Miriam straightened, breathing deeply. And whether they liked it or not, she wasn’t leaving.

Not even for her dark-haired rescuer.

Miriam reread Agent Matthews’s note. He wanted to work together. The idea of the two of them working side by side conjured up romantic images of late-night dinner meetings.

Stop it! This is serious, she told herself.

She blinked hard to get her mind back on track. Agent Matthews wanted to meet tonight. Should she cook? Or should they go to a more public place? The topic of discussion needed to be kept private from overhearing ears.

Miriam had an overwhelming urge to make her lemon chicken dish. She’d wanted to serve that since she’d come to the island. The thought of having her first guest elicited a spark of excitement. Of course, she never thought it would take this long, or that the first guest to sit at her table would be a DEA agent.

And a very handsome one at that.

Her hand still tingled where she’d laid it on his forearm. The sensation had surprised her, but it was the yearning to touch him again that really threw her. Maybe working together wasn’t such a good idea after all. I should do this on my own. I can’t be losing my focus whenever Agent Matthews shows up. I might as well pack my bags and buy a ticket for the next ferry.

Not willing to give up just yet, Miriam opened her top desk drawer and tossed the note in with the three other notes she’d recently received. She noticed how they were all written on yellow legal paper.

Agent Matthews’s note didn’t tell her to leave the island like the others, but she wondered if they all came from the same pad...and the same desk.

Stephanie’s desk.

Miriam instantly disregarded that idea. Most likely every teacher in the building had oodles of these pads lying on their desks for someone to tear a sheet from. Following this line of reasoning sure wouldn’t identify her threatening pen pal anytime soon.

Miriam reached for a student’s file from the top of the pile on her desk. She’d been poring over any and all documented details about each student’s past and home life that might point her in some direction.

Name: Colin Steady

Age: 16

Address: 285 Bluff Point

Parent/Guardian: Sam and Vera Steady

Miriam read through the past teachers’ reports on Colin. All favorable descriptions of a boy who’d never had a detention and made himself at home on the honor roll. Always willing to lend a hand to teachers and help peers in their learning.

In other words, the dream student.

Miriam closed the file and moved on to the next.

Name: Deanna Williams

Wait. Miriam slapped the file closed. She’d been reading them in alphabetical order and knew of at least one student whose surname began with a T.

Ben Thibodaux aka Troublemaker.

She rustled through the remaining files. The final four of the full high school enrollment total of fifty-two. She checked her notes, counting the number she’d already explored.

Forty-seven.

I’m missing a file. Miriam hit the buzzer on her intercom for Stephanie. When her secretary failed to appear in the doorway, Miriam went in search of her.

She approached Stephanie’s unmanned desk; the girl’s opened diet cola had been left behind. The clock above the entry door read 3:40 p.m. Stephanie didn’t usually leave until four o’clock, so she still had another twenty minutes to go. Miriam saw her secretary’s coat hanging on the coat rack beside her own and Nick’s. She was still in the building.

The girl had probably taken a bathroom break. Miriam decided to check the file cabinet and skirted around the desk to the cabinets lined up on the wall. She pulled the heavy metal drawer wide and flipped through each file, starting back with the A’s until she reached the end of the line with the S’s. The rest were on her desk, all except for Ben Thibodaux’s.

A quick glance on Stephanie’s desktop showed no sign of it there, either. Her gaze drifted to the cabinet beside Stephanie’s desk. Her secretary considered it her personal drawer, so Miriam didn’t want to open it, out of respect.

After another five minutes, Miriam walked to the hallway and peered down the empty expanse toward the faculty restroom.

She always carried a notepad and pen in her pocket in case Nick wasn’t with her and she needed to write something down to a person. She patted her right suit pocket to be sure the items were there and struck off down the empty hall.

Miriam reached the bathroom marked Faculty Women. Knocking would serve no purpose, so she pushed the door and entered, letting it swing closed behind her. The room contained two stalls, one of which was closed.

Mariam refused to speak. She hated speaking. She hated not knowing what she sounded like. She hated the looks people gave her when she tried. There had been a time when her mother and teachers had urged her to speak, even forced her to, but no one could force her now.

She crossed the yellow-tiled floor to the stall door and pushed on it. It opened easily. Empty. Stephanie wasn’t in there, after all.

Miriam headed back to the door. She curled her hand around the cool metal handle and pulled.

It didn’t budge.

She shook the handle a few times, wrenching it toward her, but no matter how much muscle she put into the pull, the door stayed shut.

Is it locked? But the door didn’t lock on its own. It had to be locked with a physical key. A key that Stephanie kept on her desk. Had Stephanie locked the door for the night, thinking no one was in there? Wouldn’t she have checked first to make sure?

Miriam pounded on the door. If Stephanie was still out in the hall maybe she would hear the banging and come back. Miriam fisted her hands and kept up the banging.

Please hear it, Stephanie, please! Miriam’s words were only in her head. But in the next moment, the lights went out, and Miriam opened her mouth to speak aloud.

It was now necessary.

She hoped she was getting the words out correctly and loud enough for someone to hear. Her fists pounded harder. She fumbled in the pitch blackness for the door handle and yanked again and again. She banged and yelled some more. She banged through throbbing hands. She banged until they were numb. Someone had to still be there. Someone had to walk by sooner or later. If she let up, they would never know she was in there.

She pressed her cheek to the cool wood, feeling her drubbing vibrations pick up speed to a level of thrashing. Her heart rate joined the pace until sweat drenched her and she couldn’t stand on her feet any longer. Her pounding weakened and slowed as her strength fizzled. She had no idea how long she’d been in there. It felt like at least an hour. Everyone was surely gone by now. Slowly she turned her back to the door and slid down to the floor.

Where was her dark-haired rescuer now? Probably down at the pier having dinner with one of the pretty local girls, laughing over something that wasn’t even funny and making friends with people who could understand him.

Someone not like her. The freak, as Mother always said.

Miriam touched her face with pulsing hands and felt hot wet streaks of tears. She vaguely wondered when she had started crying as she stared off into the black room. She accepted she would be spending the night locked in this dark room as though she were ten years old again and being taught a lesson. And like all those other times of punishment, Miriam wasn’t sure what she had done wrong this time to be locked away, once again isolated into a cold, dark world, when all she ever wanted was to find a home.

She closed her eyes, preferring the darkness behind her lids to the darkness around her. It gave her a sense of control in a situation where two of her senses were lost. Her hands moved by memory, calling on her heavenly Father as she had all those times of punishment in her mother’s home. And once at her grandmother’s when she’d come to Stepping Stones to visit with her mother.

That had been the worst darkness ever. So much so that Miriam, to this day, tried to block the horrifying images out, never wanting to relive the terror of that room in her grandmother’s basement again. With its damp dirt floor and salty, musty air, it had been so much scarier than the closet at home. Her chest tightened. Pain ripped through her lungs from the remembrance. Images that could only have been the workings of her wild imagination still haunted her.

A woman with bulging eyes. A man’s hand grabbing at her.

No one had been in that room with her. Mother had told her she’d made it all up. But if that was the case, why did it feel so real? So real that even though she now lived in her grandmother’s house, she still refused to enter that room. It was locked, and it would stay locked forever.

Breathe, she told herself. I’m not there now. I’m in a bathroom at school. Nothing scary here. Please, God, find me. She leaned back and called on her true rescuer—the only one who could find her in the darkest of places.

THREE

The radio at Wes’s belt chirped out a code that referenced a disturbance at the docks. “That’s my cue to hightail it out of here.” He headed for the classroom door. “I’ll call you tonight to go over the plans for the impromptu locker searches tomorrow.” He stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and Owen? Thanks for not being too mad at me for leaving out the fact that Ms. Hunter is deaf. I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew. I know it’s a tough topic for you...with your son and all.”

Owen glanced up from his chair behind the teacher’s desk. He could see that Wes was worried. “I’m over it.” He hoped he sounded convincing and picked up the English class syllabus to change the subject. “Besides, the fact that Ms. Hunter gave me this intense of a class when I’m supposed to be investigating only makes me think you might be right about her. If the signing duo’s guilty, their secret won’t last for long.”

Wes relaxed with a grin. “Great. I knew calling you was the right thing to do. Good to be catching the bad guys with you again, buddy. See you tomorrow.”

Owen jerked his head as a goodbye, but his attention was fully absorbed by the syllabus still in his hands. It might as well be Greek. He let the paper flutter to the desk. How was he ever going to teach this class? Why couldn’t he be a substitute gym teacher or maybe a lunch aide?

He picked up a copy of the book the students were presently reading. The Sonnets of William Shakespeare. He hadn’t been kidding earlier when he’d made that remark to Ms. Hunter about understanding Shakespeare. Apparently the jokes were on him now. He shouldn’t be surprised she’d put him in this class. She was probably in her office now, laughing about it with her lackey.

Owen fanned through the paperback book, noting the number of poems that raced by on the flipping pages. “There’s over a hundred of them. How am I going to pull this off?” he said, wondering if teachers could tuck cheat sheets up their sleeves. He made a mental note to make some tonight. He had to appear as if he knew what he was talking about, if for no other reason than to put the laugh back on Ms. Hunter.

After folding the syllabus, he stuffed it into the book and stood from his hopefully very temporary desk. He slipped the book in his back jeans pocket and hit the lights to the classroom.

The hall lights were all off except for red emergency lighting that lit up the corridors like a runway. He followed them back, turning at the corner of his wing into the main hall. The office door was sealed shut at the end of the long stretch. Had everyone gone home and left him there without as much as a goodbye?

What about his note to Ms. Hunter? Had she stood him up? All right, maybe stood up was the wrong phrase. That sounded too datelike, and a date was the furthest thing from his calendar.

He glanced at his watch; the red hue made it hard to read the little hand on the six. Through the glass entry doors, the last rays of sun filtered in, casting shadows on the walls and floor at the end of the hallway. Miriam Hunter and her sidekick were probably having dinner without him right now, thinking up ways to make his job harder. As if things couldn’t get any harder than finding a drug supplier while teaching English.

Owen made his way to the exit. He didn’t have a key yet, but he knew the doors would lock as soon as they closed. A jingling sound came from behind him. His rubber soles squeaked on the tile and echoed through the long empty hallway. He circled around, an ear tuned for the sound again. Something metal, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“Hello?” he called down the hall. “Anyone here?”

Nothing.

His hand went to his back for his concealed weapon. With his gun at his side, he took a silent step. His eyes darted to each closed classroom door. Anyone could be behind any of them. Any student could have hidden out after dismissal, waiting for an opportunity to make a drop or to get something in or out of the school while no one was there to see.

A door clicked behind him. Owen whipped around. The sight of Nick unlocking the entrance doors from the outside had Owen releasing his breath and reholstering his Glock.

Nick stepped inside, but didn’t notice Owen standing halfway down the hallway. Owen cleared his throat to make his presence known. With a gasp, Nick grabbed at his chest in surprise. “Oh, man, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What are you still doing here?”

“Sorry.” Owen walked toward Nick. “I was on my way out, but I thought I heard something. I was checking it out.”

“It’s an old building. It’s always making weird sounds. You’ll get used to it.” Nick headed to the office and fumbled with a set of keys. When he attempted to insert a key into the doorknob, he missed the keyhole and dropped them to the floor with a clatter.

Skittish or clumsy? Owen debated while he watched Nick bend to pick the set up and try again. “Hopefully I’m not here long enough to get used to it. But while I am here, could I get a key?”

“Oh, well, technically, I’m not authorized to hand them out. But under the circumstances, I’m sure Ms. Hunter won’t mind me giving you one.”

“Right, you’re just the interpreter,” Owen reiterated. The question Owen wanted to ask was: What else was Nick Danforth to the principal? “How can I reach Ms. Hunter? We were supposed to meet tonight. I have a few things I need to speak with her about before tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you her cell number. You can text her. Unless you happen to have a TTY machine.”

“I do,” Owen answered, but he wasn’t about to elaborate, even with the dumbfounded look that appeared on Nick’s face.

“Oh, I guess you came prepared, huh?” With a turn of the key, Nick unlocked the door and opened it in one clean movement. He flicked a wall switch and flooded the office with white fluorescent lighting, a harsh difference from the red emergency lighting in the hallway.

“I’ll wait here while you write her number down.” Owen stayed put, still wondering if someone else was in the building. He wanted to be in a place where he could observe if someone snuck out of one of the rooms.

Nick approached the secretary’s desk and opened a drawer beside it for a pad of paper and pen. “Well, I’ll give them to you, but you won’t be able to reach her right now.” Hunched over the desk, he scrawled the pen across the pad in quick movements.

Owen stood in the doorway, his arms crossed at his chest, legs spread. “Why’s that?”

Nick shrugged. “She left early tonight. She was gone after I returned from giving you the tour.” His chin jutted at the coatrack. “Her coat’s still here, but her car is gone.”

Owen cast a glance at the lightweight blue Windbreaker. She’d probably figured it was warm enough and didn’t need it tonight. But what was the rush that she didn’t even tell her interpreter she was leaving? At least it wasn’t only me she neglected to bid adieu to. “Is it normal for her to leave without saying goodbye?”

Nick tore the paper from the pad. “No, but the season for swimming is coming to an end. She probably wanted to get some exercise in before the sun set.”

Owen nodded once, remembering he’d found her out on the rock about this time last night. Apparently it was part of her summer routine.

“I’ll be right back with your key. Wait here.” Nick unlocked Ms. Hunter’s office and disappeared through the door. After a quick minute of sliding and slamming drawers, Nick reappeared with key and note in hand. “Here you go, Agent Matthews. I put my number on there, too, in case you need anything else. Anything at all.”

Nick seemed much friendlier than he had earlier in the day.

“Great. Thanks.” Owen turned to leave, pocketing the key and note in his jeans. “And, Nick, you should get into the habit of calling me Mr. Matthews. So you don’t blow my cover.”

Nick smacked his forehead. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think of that. Good thing I didn’t make that mistake with the kids around, huh? All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr. Matthews.”

“Yeah, sure.” Owen inched toward the exit, thinking something didn’t feel right. Almost as if Nick was giving him the brush-off. As though he was in Nick’s way. Owen pivoted to find the guy still in the office doorway. “Out of curiosity, what brought you back here tonight?”

“I forgot something.” He thumbed over his shoulder, insinuating whatever he’d forgotten was in the office. “I’m gonna grab it and get out of here. Have a great night.”

Owen didn’t move, still not completely sure about the whole scene. “Where do you recommend eating on the island?”

“Eat? Um... The Blue Lobster on Main is great. There’s also a German restaurant if you’re into beer steins and lederhosen.”

Owen smirked, picturing Hansel and Gretel Hummel dolls. “Nah, embroidered velour isn’t my style.”

“Yeah, me neither, but the pretty little aprons the waitresses wear are something to see at least once while you’re here.”

Owen nodded. “I’ll make sure I put it on my list. See you in the morning.”

“You, too.”

Owen made it to the door and placed his hand on the metal bar to open it. As he pushed, the jingling sound he’d heard before sounded again. He scrutinized Nick over his shoulder. “Old building sound?”

Nick nodded, his face set firmly. “Old building sound.”

Owen surveyed the hallway, peering into every dark corner the red lights didn’t reach. Something did not sit right at Stepping Stones High. His hand dropped from the bar; he debated whether to check out the classrooms or to take Nick’s word.

Seriously? He inwardly scoffed that he’d even considered the word of Nick Danforth.

Owen backed away from the bar and strode away from Nick, who in Owen’s estimation was becoming more weasel-like with each passing moment. “I’m gonna check the rooms out anyway.”

Nick scurried out of the room to come alongside Owen. “Is this really necessary?”

“Nick, I’m here to investigate a crime, so I would say yes, this is necessary.” Owen opened the first classroom to his right and flipped the light switch. A scan between desks turned up nothing.

The same for the next two classrooms.

“There’s no one here,” Nick said from behind Owen. “See? Nobody. Nada. Nothing but an empty school.” Nick’s voice rose an octave with each word.

To alert someone, perhaps? Owen eyed Nick more closely. “Why do I feel like you have something to hide?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Nick huffed, and exited the classroom. He went to the next room and opened it himself. He continued to expose room after room, flicking lights on to prove his innocence. “Like I said, no one is here.”

Owen had to agree, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be digging a little more into who Nick Danforth was and where he’d come from. But for tonight, Owen had exhausted his search, and there was nothing left but to go home and continue his investigation in the morning.

They walked back down the hall, classrooms closed up tight once again. “What time do you arrive in the morning?” Owen asked.

“I get here at seven. Ms. Hunter is usually here— Hey, now where ya going?”

Owen had noticed a closed wooden door he hadn’t checked behind yet and he bisected Nick’s path to cut across the hall. He pushed on the door marked Faculty Women, but it didn’t budge. Locked. “Where’s the key?”

“I guess on Stephanie’s desk, but I don’t know why she locked it. The bathrooms aren’t usually—”

“Just get the key.” Owen cut off his rambling.

“Right.”

Owen gave the handle two more yanks out of impatience while waiting for Nick to return.

A thudding sound came from behind the door. Owen stumbled back in surprise. More banging alerted him to the fact that someone was on the other side. “Who’s in there?” he shouted over the rising noise.

No answer. Only more banging.

“Please, calm down and tell me who you are.” Owen turned his head and hollered down the hall. “Hurry up with the key, Nick. Someone’s locked inside.”

Nick came running out of the office, searching for the correct key on a ring of many. “Here, try this one. I think that’s it.” He thrust the keys into Owen’s hand and Owen inserted one into the lock.

With the person on the other side, he couldn’t push through as he wanted to. The person was obviously distressed. “Move back so I can open the door,” he instructed, but it didn’t help. The pounding continued. Was it a student who’d been left behind?

Owen pushed in a little, hoping the person would see the door opening and move out of the way. With the door ajar, he saw no light coming through. The poor thing was locked in the dark. He spoke through the crack. “You’re all right, but you need to let us in to help you.” He pushed a little more and suddenly the banging stopped.

Owen could now hear snippets of a voice. Little squeaks, followed by a moaning much like the one he’d heard yesterday.

Miriam.

“Miriam!” Nick said it in the same moment Owen thought it. The smaller man elbowed Owen out of the way. He succeeded, but only because Owen allowed him to pass.

With no other lighting besides the red backlight, Owen could only make out the outline of Miriam clinging on to Nick for dear life. Obviously, he was someone special she went to for comfort. He was more than an employee to her.

“Bring her out here.” He held the door open to allow Nick to guide her out of the dark. Owen walked behind them down the hallway, listening to Miriam’s sobs muffled in Nick’s shirt. Each sound squeezed his chest and built in him a need to reach for her as Nick had.

It wouldn’t take much to push Nick aside. Owen gave himself a mental shake. The direction of his thoughts confounded him. What was wrong with him?

He put himself back on the task of figuring out how Miriam had gotten locked in the bathroom in the first place. How long had she been in there? Was it Stephanie who’d locked her in? Had it been an accident? Or another, more daring, prank? And why were the lights off?

How did Miriam bear that?

Her sobs quieted to murmurs, but Owen thought perhaps she hadn’t borne it very well at all. He wondered when she’d given up hope of being found for the night, and thought of Cole and how his eight-year-old son needed to sleep with a night-light. The dark posed more than the absence of light to him. It meant he was silenced. It meant he didn’t exist anymore.

Owen followed the two into the office and watched Nick gently put a disheveled Miriam in a chair. The hair that had been twisted up in the back so neatly a few hours ago now hung in thick, teased clumps around her shoulders. No trace of the earlier humor in her eyes remained.

Nick reached his hands out to hold her face and to pull her attention to him. His thumbs gently wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. He knelt in front of her and signed to her slowly. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you. No one is going to hurt you anymore. This is going to stop now. If you won’t call the police, I will. You understand?”

Miriam didn’t reply. She looked over at Owen with red-rimmed eyes full of fear. The fact she didn’t hide it now twisted Owen’s gut. He took a step closer to her, not sure what he meant to actually do when he reached her. He wished more than anything the mischievous twinkling would fill her eyes again.

That he could be the one to restore it.

Focus on the case, Matthews. This was not an accident, and you need to figure out how it’s related.

“Are you sure her car is gone?” he asked Nick, trying to put the pieces together. He remembered that tidbit of info Nick had told him earlier.

Understanding of where Owen was going with that dawned on Nick’s face, and he nodded emphatically. “It’s not in the parking lot. That’s why I thought she’d left.”

“Then someone stole her car.”

Miriam inhaled sharply as her head shook back and forth, her face a mixture of different emotions. Shock, denial and disbelief paraded across it. She obviously had read his lips accurately. She jumped to her feet; her words sped so fast her hands tripped over each other. “Someone stole my car? This is crazy! I have never done anything to the people in this town. Why do they want to hurt me like this?”

Nick began to translate, his voice filled with deep sadness, projecting the pain she felt with each word. He obviously knew her well enough to know her words were not filled with anger. Owen wondered how deep their relationship went—and why he cared.

He backed a step away, reaching for his cell phone to put his mind on a different, more innocuous, track. “I’ll call Wes to report the stolen car,” he announced. “How far could it go on this island, anyway? I’m sure we’ll find it.”

At the same time Owen would find out who was behind the threats and put a stop to them. Because there was only one thing worse than being responsible for destroying a pure heart.

Not protecting one.

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