Robert had never heard of it, but he was a goddamn genius. He could find it.

CHAPTER 4

Antonia stood on a mound of sand, beach grass and bearberry down a narrow path from her borrowed cottage and, once again, concentrated on trying to relax. A white-crested wave pushed onto shore. The tide was up. The air was warm, decidedly not hot, the wind nearly constant. A lone bird—some kind of raptor, she thought—rode the breeze overhead.

She exhaled, feeling the tension release in her muscles. She was safe. It’d been a good idea to come down here. She’d bought herself a few days to work, think, rest.

“It’ll be okay,” she said aloud. “It really will.”

How could it be otherwise on such an incredibly beautiful day? It was late afternoon, but she’d removed her watch once she’d arrived at the cottage and didn’t know the exact time. Still, there was no mistaking that it was September—the sun was setting earlier and earlier. She’d never been out here in winter.

She was alone on a beautiful, peaceful island refuge, exactly, she thought, where she needed to be right now.

Shelter Island was a stopover for migrating birds, and home to shore birds, seabirds, waterfowl. Dozens of different species rested, fed and nested on the small island. Sandpipers, plovers, terns, ducks, gulls, owls, falcons, eagles. Antonia had learned to recognize some of their calls and signs, but she was still a beginner at birdwatching—she didn’t have her sister’s skill or patience when it came to birds. But she recognized that she was the intruder here, and she did what she could to keep her impact at a minimum.

Only Carine knew where she was. Antonia had sworn her sister to secrecy, probably a bit of unnecessary drama on her part, but it had seemed to make sense at the time. She’d wanted someone to know where to find her in case of emergency, but she didn’t want Carine involved in whatever was—or, more likely, wasn’t—going on with her possible stalker.

She hadn’t given Hank any specifics. The less he knew, the better. He couldn’t worry about, act on or say anything about something he didn’t know. A few days off on her own—it was all the specifics he needed.

The wind hinted of the tropics, tasted of higher humidity. It was a reminder that Hurricane Hope remained a danger. Antonia’s crackly National Weather Service radio indicated a hurricane watch could go up for Cape Cod and the islands by morning—meaning hurricane conditions were possible within thirty-six hours. Evacuation orders would no doubt follow for exposed areas like Shelter Island.

Antonia wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. The storm still could turn out to sea before it reached New England. It was tempting to take her chances, bet on Hope instead of her stalker.