They were heading toward the small cabin that Robert Twist had rented for the three weeks he’d been on St. Lucy’s. There was little need for cars on the island, or so Mia informed her. One gas station kept the population of St. Lucy’s fueled all season long. So they walked.

Izzy had been daydreaming of warm leather seats and a well-working heater when she’d first realized someone was trailing them.

“Think it’s our guy?” Izzy asked, her fingers at her zipper. She tugged it down enough so she would have easy access to her gun and cursed whoever it was behind them as the bitterly cold air poured into the space between her jacket and shirt. “Or whatever you saw last night?”

Mia jerked her shoulders in what might have been a shrug beneath the layers of fabric and kept trudging forward, her hands securely in her pockets. Alert, but not worried. So different from how she’d reacted after the lighthouse last night. Izzy could still picture the torn-up snow left in Mia’s wake as she’d sprinted toward the trees.

“Don’t know,” Mia said “No one lives down here. It’s just the cabin. So whoever it is, they’re probably here for us.”

She and Mia were heading south of the village and had been walking for about ten minutes now, each step taking them deeper into the forest, away from help if they needed it.

“It’s weird Twist rented a cabin so far away from everyone he was here to talk to.” Izzy couldn’t imagine that had been easy, trekking into town every day in the midst of seemingly perpetual storms.

“Not many options. There aren’t any rooms for rent in the village.”

Out of all the weird things about this place, that one almost made sense. Izzy couldn’t imagine St. Lucy’s attracted enough visitors to warrant anyone running a hotel in town, or even renting out a room.

Izzy’s thumb brushed against her gun’s grip, a nervous habit she’d picked up after that one time she’d worked undercover for six months. The weight of the holster was a security blanket she still hadn’t learned to take for granted. “You said the artists all stayed at the Bell mansion, right?”

“Yeah,” Mia said, her voice calm and even, despite their tail. There was something about Mia’s gut that Izzy trusted—God knows it had saved her ass a time or two—and apparently Mia’s gut was feeling okay with whoever was behind them. “There was also an old house near the northern cliffs that used to board the transient workers who came during the boom. The Bells would have their staff get it ready enough for any overflow during the summers.”