“Why do you want it to be suicide?”

Mia tipped her head back toward the lighthouse that was almost out of sight. “So we can leave. This isn’t exactly my favorite place to be.” She held up a hand. “I still think it’s worth poking around, chatting to some folks in town. We’ll check out his notes, too. Try to figure if anyone cracked and talked to him.”

They walked in silence until they were nearly at the tree line.

“Murdoch must think it’s murder,” Mia said, putting voice to the vague idea that had been lurking behind all of Izzy’s unease. Why send two of your specialized cold-case detectives out to investigate a suicide? Even if it was because Mia was from St. Lucy’s, that didn’t warrant sending them out here for anything less than possible foul play.

“Did she tell you why?”

“No.” Mia shook her head. “Think she’s like you. Gut feeling, a few details that don’t add up.”

“We work the case then.” Izzy shrugged, because that’s all they could do. Strip away expectations, be smart about it, but also question anything out of place.

“Yeah,” Mia said, but her voice cut off, abrupt enough for Izzy to glance over.

Mia must have been caught midstep, because her position was awkward, wobbly. Her eyes were locked on the line of trees toward their left, the rest of her body rigid.

“What . . . ?” Izzy’s gaze ping-ponged between the darkness and Mia’s face.

“Quiet,” Mia snapped.

Where Izzy’s pulse had ticked up a notch before, that harsh command sent it rabbiting, fast and uncertain, as she reached for the gun she wore holstered beneath her jacket.

“Do you . . . ?” Mia rasped out, and then she was gone. Sprinting, full-out, across the short expanse, her boots sinking into the snow without any hesitation in her stride.

Cursing, Izzy followed, her limbs awkward from the layers, her feet unsure of the terrain. Mia pulled ahead easily, slipping into the forest along with the wind.

Izzy swore with each ragged inhale. Branches caught at her arms, at her face, as she tried, and failed, to follow Mia’s path. Her foot caught a buried root that sent her sprawling, and the hardpack against her face might as well have been tiny shards of glass slicing into the windblown, raw skin of her cheek.

She shoved herself up, shaking off as she did, assessing for injuries. Her knee throbbed beneath a wet patch, but there was nothing broken. Not that she could tell.

Once she was sure she could, Izzy started running again, desperately searching for prints to follow. While she was prepared to get lost in an effort to find Mia, it didn’t prove necessary.