He realised that Shelby had begun to softly snore. She’d passed out, probably as much from the emotion of the day as the wine. He took a throw rug from the back of the couch and laid it over her.

Why didn’t he want Ivy to know Davey was alive?

Because my loyalty is to Davey first. And if Davey hasn’t told her, I won’t tell her.

Besides, Davey probably has a plan. He organised to meet Forest, so he must have a plan. He’ll fix everything. That’s what Davey does . . .

Right?

CHAPTER 29

FOREST

Walking back to town from Huck’s fishing spot, Forest’s mind turned over what he’d been told.

What had happened to Jesse Dempsey? If he’d killed Alexandra and the real Forest – he only had Huck’s word to go on, but why would he lie – then he was still out there somewhere. He’d known from the start that Jesse was dangerous – a murderer – but if he was a drug lord, that changed things. A little shiver of anticipation rolled through Forest. Would he want to reclaim what used to be his? Now that the media embargo was up, if Jesse saw that his son had returned . . . would he come finish the job?

Or Jesse knows I’m a fake, so he doesn’t care. It’s probably better for him that I’m here – I’m the perfect cover for his son’s death. If I’m around, no one will ever come looking for a body.

As long as I keep my mouth shut. I can’t tell anyone anything, otherwise Jesse will kill me. Or maybe Blackbeard will.

He reached a path that ran away from the beach, through the low yellow button scrub. He missed his dog, and he wanted to lie down. Instead, he had to go see Frankie. His nemesis. He might as well get it out of the way now, while his mind was sparking after his interaction with Huck. It was better to deal with Frankie when he was alert.

The path turned into a potholed street, where he passed some vaguely hostile local youths on bikes and skateboards. When he reached Frankie’s fancy Airbnb – Ivy was paying, after all – the door was wide open. Jacaranda trees stood either side and a creeping vine ran across the purple wall.

He cracked his neck and stretched his arms, as though gearing up for a game of football. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down even for a moment.

Frankie had chosen a spacious, light-filled room that faced the ocean through big windows. He took a seat in a plush recliner while she finished typing something on her laptop. When she was done she came over and handed him a sequined pillow, one of those where you rubbed it back and forth and it changed patterns. Incense burned in the corner – vanilla spice.

‘What’s with the pillow?’