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“Not many.”
“We’re all broken, aren’t we? We’ve all been chipped away at in one form or other. Beaten up. Beaten down. Lied to. Exposed, exploited. Betrayed,” he whispered. “We never arrive on sandy shores unscathed.”
“No. We don’t. We carry scars, little chips and cracks. They reveal our story, but there’s hope, Tiberius. There’s always hope that what was marred can be mended.”
His eyes filled with moisture. “I could use some hope. Some mending.”
Couldn’t they all? Without hope, there was no meaning in life. The ocean was vast and shadowy, always reminding her that darkness lurked and was immense, terrifying and unpredictable, but when dawn peeped over the horizon it brought light to the darkness and color. Vibrant and beautiful. That was hope—light piercing the darkness, overwhelming it with its glory and majesty, bringing a new day and fresh mercy. Light chased away shadows and sparkled on the shores, beckoning one to come and stand in its presence with outstretched arms and to be wrapped in its warmth. Yielding to hope was possible. For Tiberius. For anyone who wanted to come and partake.
A gust of wind whipped her hair in her face again, and Tiberius shook his head. “That hair yields to no one.” He brushed it from her face, tucking a thick lock behind her ear and holding her gaze, searching her eyes under the moonlight.
“I missed you, for what it’s worth,” she admitted. “I thought I’d die every day for that first year. Every milestone with Josiah was bittersweet. I truly am sorry and regretful.”
“Nothing’s wasted, though...right?”
What did he mean? Could they make up for the time eaten by fear and mistakes? “Right.”
He leaned in, placing the shell in her palm as he grazed her lips with his.
“I finished the sketch!” Josiah’s voice sliced through the moment.
Tiberius pulled away and tossed her a smirk. Then they walked in comfortable silence toward the house. As they drew closer, hairs rose on the back of Bexley’s neck. She hesitated, peering into the darkness and seeing nothing.
But a dark presence hovered. Watching. Waiting.
Inside, she locked the door and headed for her bedroom while Josiah showed Tiberius the sketch of Ahnah’s tattoo. She took out her contacts and put on her glasses, then pulled her hair up into a big clip. She glanced out the window and froze, her heart jumping into her throat.
Forcing herself to calmly enter the hall, she waved her hands and caught Tiberius’s attention.
“Someone’s outside my bedroom window again.”
Chapter Fourteen
Blue Harbor
Bexley Hemmingway’s home
Tuesday, September 4
9:20 p.m.
Tiberius bolted out the front door onto the porch, his eyes straining to see in the dark. Was that movement thirty feet north of him? With his Glock drawn, he eased off the steps and carefully headed toward the shifting shadow, using houses and cars for cover.
Whoever had been lurking was gone. Vanished like vapor in the wind.
Tiberius backtracked and stumbled at the sight of a small white box on the porch beside the front door. He hadn’t seen it in his chase after the lurker. “Bexley,” he called from the front door. “Can you bring me my bag I brought in, please?”
A moment later, she came to the door, a bat in one hand and a bag in the other.
“Nice. You need a gun.”
“I’m perfectly fine with my trusty bat.” She handed him the bag, and he opened it and found a pair of latex gloves in his kit. Once he had gloves on, he brought the box inside and laid it on the kitchen table. It was light, as if it might be empty.
Nerves taut, he carefully opened it. The killer knew exactly where to find Tiberius. He started to peel back the white tissue paper, fearing a finger or toe would be inside, then hesitated. “Bexley,” he said, his voice clogged. “I need you to go into the living room, and I’ll call you in after I open it. Where’s Josiah?”
“I sent him to his room and told him to stay there until we said it was safe.”
“Good. You go too. Okay?”
