My heart thunders, but I force myself to analyze it like I’m someone who’s not at the party. Who hasn’t been threatened by Joe Causey. By someone who’s not afraid.

“It’s not a terrible gift,” I admit to Emily. “It’s something she likes. And obviously crafted. That takes time.”

“It’s proof.”

Beau’s voice floats to us from over by the fire. “I’ve never seen a more perfect marshmallow.”

Paige giggles. “Are you serious?”

“I’m serious. Put it right here on the chocolate, and then you can eat it.”

“Proof that he’s still thinking about you?” I ask the question, but I don’t really want to know the answer. I don’t want Joe to have sent anything to Paige in the first place.

“Proof that he can get to my daughter even when he’s in jail,” Emily says softly. “It’s not a gift. It’s a threat.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Beau Rochester

How the hell did Joe Causey send Paige a gift?

Well, I know how. We’ve tracked the package through the post office. It was dropped off at a blue container in a remote part of town. The return address is bogus. The handwriting doesn’t match Joe’s. There’s no way to pin it on him, but we know he’s behind it.

I don’t like it. I don’t like any damn thing about it. Mateo and I both sent a string of text messages after Emily showed us the note. His were probably more charming than mine. I’m pissed. Nothing from Joe should have gotten through to Paige’s birthday party.

I pace the first floor of the house, checking the locks on the doors and windows. Lights glow in the windows up at Emily’s. We’re both still awake, or she’s leaving them on tonight.

The cliff is locked up tight. I know that. Drones are the only things that can get up here, and nobody’s tried that yet, far as I know. It doesn’t make me feel any more relaxed.

I send another text to Liam North.

Beau: Anything?

He’s quick on the draw.

Liam: No. I added people at the access road and up by the houses. Nothing’s getting through.

I check the locks one more time. The house doesn’t have bulletproof windows, but it does have a security system that will cause a hell of a racket if somebody breaks one of them.

One more loop to turn off the lights, and I climb the stairs to the second floor. The boards have no give. They’re all brand-new. Coach House made constant noise. Old houses like that are always complaining. I wouldn’t mind the warning now, but we’re not in Coach House anymore. We’re in our new life.

New life, old ghosts. Joe Causey’s still hovering over everything, that bastard.