Susan hadn’t gotten to see much of the five-and-a-half-acre island that first trip. They hadn’t been invited inside the 1929 nine-thousand-square-foot Tudor mansion at the center of the island. Instead she and Archie had talked to Jack and Leo near the castlelike stone boathouse on the private dock next to Jack’s sailboat. Susan had Googled the island several times since then, and through old real estate records and Google Earth she had put together a pretty complete mental picture of what she had missed the first time—namely, the helipad, formal rose garden, guesthouse, waterfalls, lakeside pool, sauna, and the nearly one mile of walking trails.

She and Leo had been dating for nine months and he had yet to invite her to the family compound. She got it. His father was a drug lord and Leo was secretly working for the DEA. There were a lot of secrets to keep straight. He was probably afraid that she’d blurt out something she shouldn’t over canapés with dear old Dad.

Cooper parked the car next to a smaller Tudor structure, built out of the same old-growth timber and basalt as the main house. This was the guesthouse. Susan had seen pictures of it online in an old issue of Oregon Home magazine. Apparently Jack Reynolds entertained a lot of guests—his guesthouse looked twice as big as her mother’s place.

Cooper got out of the car and came around and opened the backseat passenger-side door for her.

“This way,” he said, lifting his chin toward the guesthouse. She followed him without question. It wasn’t that she didn’t have questions; just that she had so many that she didn’t know where to begin. Activity swarmed around them. The guesthouse was situated behind the main house, and was clearly being used as a staging area for the party. A caterer’s truck parked next to a florist’s truck parked next to an event supply truck. Men wearing windbreakers with the word SECURITY across the back muttered into walkie-talkies. Caterers in black pants and white shirts and black ties unloaded cases of wine.

“When can I see Leo?” Susan asked.

They had reached the guesthouse. The entry was an enormous arched oak door, framed with stone. Wrought-iron lamps hung on either side of the door under gargoyles that had been carved into the stone. It all seemed a little ostentatious for a guesthouse, even an obnoxious one.

Cooper turned the knob and went inside and Susan scuttled in after him. The door opened into a cavernous room with a half-timber-and-stucco ceiling and walls paneled with gleaming dark wood. Arched leaded glass windows looked out on the lake. Twilight was giving way to bona fide evening. Susan could see the lights of the houses along the shore. The lake was black and empty, like a patch of starless sky.

“You were right about her size,” she heard Cooper say.