She stared at him, at this man who was forcing her to confront the past, and she -wondered… “Why the sudden desire to know my past? Am I still on your suspect list?”

“No.” He closed his fingers around his beer but didn’t drink.

“Then what’s with the questions?”

“Because I want to get to know you.” Those gray eyes, so difficult to penetrate. “The sex, I could’ve had if I’d wanted it. I’m no prize, but there aren’t that many single men around for competition.”

Anahera wondered if he truly believed that, if he truly didn’t understand the magnetism of his intensity and quiet competence. It kindled a compulsion to unravel him, see beneath that disciplined control. Ironically, one of the things Anahera had loved most about Edward was that he was an open -book—-and look how well that turned out. At least Will was up--front about his secrets.

“I feel so special.” She took a sip of wine. “What sets me apart from the herd?”

He didn’t flinch at her sharp tone, didn’t set his jaw or look away. “You’re unapologetically you,” he said. “Complex, difficult, gifted.” The slightest upward tug of his lips, the faintest whisper of a smile. “I’m a cop. We love solving mysteries.”

“The only mysteries about me are sordid,” Anahera said, suddenly tired of pretending. “They involve a cheating husband, a pregnant mistress, and a case of -deep--vein thrombosis that led to a fatal pulmonary embolism.” Such an unfair way for healthy and fit Edward to die, such a senseless waste. “Mystery solved.”

“No, that’s just a splinter of you.” Will held the dangerously intense eye contact. “You’re a creature of mystery and you always will be. I’ll never solve you.”

Anahera didn’t know why, but she said, “Leave the mattress by the fire.”

As she lay down on the mattress next to Will later that night, she knew this was nothing like what she’d had with Edward. That had been a bright, hopeful thing with butterfly wings. She was harder now, her wings torn off to be replaced by scar tissue.

Will was the same.

What would come of that? What could come of that?

Will’s arm crept around her waist, hugging her to the heat and muscle of him. But Anahera’s eyes stared out into the darkness sketched in shadows by the firelight, her ghosts loud tonight.

She woke to the sound of movement. Her eyelashes lifted, her body heavy with the kind of sleep she hadn’t had for a long, long time. Still drowsy, she watched Will put on his clothes and boots, and wondered if he’d sneak out of the house, doing his version of a walk of shame.

But, of course, that wasn’t Will. She saw him grab a small notebook she’d left on the counter, begin to write a note.

“Will.”

Abandoning the note, he came to crouch by the mattress. Brushing her hair off her face with one hand, he said, “I have to go. A local found something not far from the rubbish dump. The call just came in.”

Anahera had a vague memory of hearing an annoying buzzing.

Sitting up, she let his hand drop away, her attention fixed on his face. It gave her nothing. “What do you mean they found something? Is it Miriama?”

“I hope not.” Hard lines bracketing his mouth. “Because that area was heavily searched. I asked Nikau to send extra teams out there.”

Anahera sucked in a breath. “That means if it is her, somebody deliberately returned to put her there.” She had to say it out loud to get the horror of it straight in her mind. “I’ll come with you.”

Will shook his head. “You’d just have to sit in the car. I can’t take a civilian into a possible crime scene.” He rose along with her. “I’ll call you the instant I know anything.”

Frustration gnawed at Anahera, but she didn’t argue. This might be a small town, the rules not as hard and fast, but Will was a cop, a good one. And Anahera wasn’t about to mess up a future trial by being where she shouldn’t be; evidence mattered, blood splatter mattered. “I’ll keep my phone with me.”

Walking him to the door, she thought about if she should kiss him -good--bye, but what they’d done in the night wasn’t quite settling in the pale dark before dawn.

“I’ll call you,” Will repeated before heading out across the porch. He was halfway down the steps when he turned and came back. Closing one hand around the side of her face, he pressed his lips to hers.

Embers low in her belly ignited, but this was no long burn. Will drew back almost at once and jogged over to get into the police SUV. She watched him reverse into the mist, her lips burning from his kiss and her face bearing the imprint of his palm.

47

Will’s radio crackled as he drove away from a woman for whom he’d never planned. Despite not having any staff who might contact him, he wasn’t surprised by the static. Something about the area did funny things to his radio every now and then. One of the old bushmen had been with Will during a previous static burst; he’d immediately made the sign of the cross.

“Ghost,” he’d muttered. “Never figured one would want to haunt a cop car.”

Will wasn’t afraid of ghosts. It was the -real--life monsters walking around that terrified him. Not for the first time, he thought about Vincent Baker and how his mask of grief had slipped when Will mentioned speaking to his wife, how quickly Miriama had changed from his true love to an object he’d used and discarded.