Though the air was clear of the scent of rain, the -cloud--heavy sky held no stars, no moon, and it felt to Will as if the entire town was suffocating under a blanket of darkness. Miriama’s disappearance had stained Golden Cove’s heart. Nothing would scrub away that stain until they found her or discovered what had happened to her.

Spotting a huddle on one particular corner, he came to a stop by the curb and rolled down his window.

41

“You should all be at home,” he said to the teenagers loitering outside the closed fire station.

Kyle Baker flicked off some ash from his cigarette. “We were just discussing Miriama. Thinking about what else we could do, where we could search.” Insolence in his eyes but pious worry in his tone. Kyle was putting on a show for his fans, and, interestingly, many of those fans were younger than him.

“That’s a good thing,” Will said, “but, if anything happens to any of you, it’ll make a bad situation even worse.” He wasn’t surprised to see a number of faces familiar to him from the other -night—-in a place this small, “hanging out” was a popular nighttime activity for the underage crowd. “The town can’t afford to squander its resources right now. I need you to follow the rules so I don’t have to worry about that and can focus on finding Miriama.”

One of the girls bit down on her lower lip. “Sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just that we’re so worried about Miriama and Kyle said maybe we could meet up and come up with some ideas.”

Kyle shot the girl a -narrow--eyed look that she didn’t notice but Will did. He made sure his own eyes caught Kyle’s on the return journey, the message in them clear: anything happened to that girl and Will would come for Kyle.

Shrugging her off as unimportant, Kyle took another drag of his cigarette. “You’re absolutely right.” He slid back into his golden boy persona without missing a beat. “We’ll all go home. But we want to join in the search tomorrow.”

“The search has been suspended.” When he’d spoken -to—-then -sober—-Nikau on the drive back to Golden Cove, he’d agreed with the other man’s call that there was nothing and nowhere left to search.

“Do you think she’s dead?” Kyle asked, eyes devoid of empathy mocking Will.

“For Matilda’s sake, and the sake of everyone else who loves Miriama, I hope not.”

His words made several of the teenage girls tear up, the boys nearest them taking the opportunity to put their arms around the girls’ shoulders. “Claire, Mika,” he said, “hop in. I’ll give you a lift home.” The sisters lived the farthest away. “Kyle, I know I can trust you to see the others home safely.”

The -nineteen--year--old stilled, realizing too late that he’d been led into a trap. “Of course,” he said at last and Will knew he’d keep his word. Kyle Baker might be a psychopath, but he was a psychopath who liked being the top dog in teenage circles in town.

Nodding -good--bye to the other kids, Will turned his SUV in the direction of Claire and Mika’s home. They were quiet on the ride but thanked him when he dropped them off. Will, however, wasn’t done. He spent the next ten minutes getting in touch with the adults in charge of the other teenagers and alerting them their kids should be home within the next quarter hour.

Not all the adults who answered the phones were sober.

After hanging up, he swung by the two homes where a missing child might not immediately be noticed or reported. Catching sight of a teenager’s lanky form through the open window of one, and spotting the other sitting safely on the back stoop of her home sneaking a cigarette, Will continued on his way. He felt no surprise when a -low--slung car with its headlights off fell in behind him as he turned into his own street.

Kyle Baker didn’t like being told no.

Halting the police vehicle in the middle of the otherwise empty road without warning, Will got out and pointed a flashlight directly at the driver’s seat of the car sitting on his bumper. Kyle jerked up a hand to block the glare before backing up and screeching into a U--turn to head back the way he’d come.

The rest of Will’s drive home was unremarkable.

Once inside, he made himself a cup of coffee, then opened Miriama’s journal. This time, he read sequentially, his focus no longer on discovering the identity of her lover.

Many entries were simple descriptions of her day, or of something she’d seen that had caused her to pull out her camera, but she’d also filled the pages with dreams. Of travel, of passionate love, of creating a better life for her children than she’d had herself.

I love Auntie, but I’ve always missed having a mother. A proper one. One who’d take me shopping for my school shoes, and teach me how to cook and put on makeup.

Auntie did a lot of that, and I’d never disrespect her by saying how much I wanted my -mother—-except without the drugs and the -men—-but it’s a hole inside me, that need. I can’t ever have a real mother, but I can be one. I’m going to have babies and I’m going to do all those things with them. Not just yet, not before I’m ready and strong enough to take care of a child, but one day.

It was months later that she mentioned the topic -again—-after her breakup with Vincent, and soon after she’d begun to see Dominic.

I asked Dominic if he wants children. It’s a scary question so early into a relationship, but it’s important to me. I can’t be with a man who doesn’t want to build a family.