Eyewitness

“Do you want to do some exploring before the sun goes down?” Devon pushed up from the rock and extended her hand to Michael.

He nodded but brushed her hand aside as he jumped from the rock, immediately scooping up smaller pebbles from the sand.

Devon shoved her hands into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, twisting her fingers together. Michael’s small show of independence had to be a good sign.

Scuffing along the dry sand, Devon kept an eye on her son as he took a zigzag route toward the sea cave at the end of the beach, his ubiquitous blue backpack bouncing against his back. Surely time would heal his shock over what had happened to Mrs. Del Vecchio.

The SFPD had ruled Mrs. Del Vecchio’s death a murder. The autopsy had confirmed death by drowning. The welts on her neck had been where her killer had grabbed her, forcing her head into the kitchen sink filled with water.

Devon crossed her arms, hunching her shoulders. Why would someone murder an eighty-year-old woman like that? As far as the cops could tell, the killer hadn’t stolen anything from the apartment even though it had been ransacked. The murder had spooked enough of the residents that several of them had taken extended vacations—including Devon. She’d taken a leave of absence from the hospital.

Now she just wanted her son back.

Michael hesitated at the mouth of the cave, twisting his head over his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.” Devon jogged across the sand and grabbed Michael’s hand. This time he returned the pressure and they ducked into the cave together.

The waves crashing against the walls of the cave created an echoing bass sound that made Devon’s chest tingle. The moist walls dripped salt water on their heads and Devon inhaled the briny scent.

Michael squatted next to a tide pool, almost dipping his nose in the water.

“It’s hard to see in here this time of day, but we’ll come back one morning.” She jerked her thumb toward a small opening at the top of a pile of rocks. “Do you want to climb up there and peek through the little window?”

Like a mountain goat, Michael scampered up the rocks and shoved his head into the opening in the side of the cave, which seemed bigger than Devon had remembered it. Time, wind and sea water had done their part to erode the rock.

Michael thrust his entire head and shoulders through the hole and Devon sucked in a sharp breath. “Come out of there, Michael.”

By the time Devon placed one foot on the first level of rock, Michael’s upper torso, backpack and all, had disappeared. “Michael!” Her voice bounced off the walls of the cave, merging with the deep booming.

The opening became a living entity sucking Michael’s body farther into its depths. Devon knew only more rocks and a sheer drop into a rough sea awaited Michael on the other side of that hole.

As Michael’s legs wriggled through the opening, Devon screamed, flinging her hands in front of her in a desperate but empty move to grab him. She couldn’t fit through that hole. Her only hope of saving her son was to exit the cave and circle around on top of it…and valuable seconds were ticking away.

She jumped from the rocks, her feet landing in a pool of water. She sloshed her way out of the cave, her chest heaving with sobs, incoherent prayers tumbling from her lips.

Stumbling from the cave, she blinked in the light and lurched toward the boulders scattered up the incline toward the road. She banged her knee as she clambered on top of the first rock.

“Michael!” She crawled onto the next rock and craned her neck to get a clear view of the top of the cave. Her teeth chattered and her hands shook as she gazed at the empty expanse of rock.

Oh, God, he must’ve fallen into the water.

Devon staggered to her feet, flinging her arms out for balance. Adrenaline pumped through her body. She’d make it to the edge of the rock and then she’d jump in to save him.

“He’s here. He’s safe.”

Clasping her hands to her chest where her thundering heart threatened to burst through, Devon spun around toward the male voice. A tall man with windswept black hair had one hand clamped on Michael’s shoulder.

Devon ran her tongue around her dry lips and swallowed. The relief weakened her knees and she sank to the ground.

Michael struggled against the man’s hold, and Devon realized he was keeping her son off the dangerous rocks. But Michael didn’t like strangers…not anymore.

Devon scooped the salty air into her lungs and rose to her feet. “It’s okay, Michael. Stay with the man. I’m coming.”

She straightened her spine and on trembling legs, she strode toward her son and the stranger who had saved him. The man’s long hair blew back from his face, a black patch covering one eye.

Great. Before Mrs. Del Vecchio’s murder, Michael would’ve pegged the man as a pirate and would’ve been as excited as all get-out. Now he’d view him as another scary stranger.

Devon jumped from the rocks to the sand and her step faltered. The way the man held his head. His lean muscular frame. She drew closer. The set of his jaw. Her steps quickened. The black, black hair like a velvet midnight sky.

She choked and tripped. She extended her arms like a blind woman, no, like a woman staggering through the desert toward an oasis.

When she fully focused on the man’s face, Devon fell to her knees, crying out in indescribable shock and joy.

Her fiancé, Kieran Roarke, had come back from the dead.

Chapter Two

Kieran dug his long fingers into the boy’s bony shoulder. Was his mother injured? Relieved to see her son?

Or had she just seen a ghost?

The squirming boy broke away from his grasp and flew to the woman still kneeling on the ground. Holding the boy against his will had pained Kieran. He had frightened the boy when he’d plucked him from those rocks and carried him down to the sand, but he’d probably saved him from a tumble over the edge and into the sea.

Maybe he should’ve allowed the other man making his way toward the boy a chance to save him. He turned, but the man had disappeared.

Kieran had been watching them—the boy and his mother. He’d been watching them for a few days and knew the woman would come to Columbella House. Just as Kieran, through the foggy memories of his messed-up mind, had been drawn to this small town and the house looming over the sea, the woman had been lured here as well. He’d recognized the woman as soon as he’d seen her on the street—recognized her from his dreams.

When the ethereal blonde had dropped to the ground, Kieran’s first response had been to rush to her rescue. But when she looked up at him, she was laughing…crying…laughing and crying at the same time.

Now she stumbled to her feet, gripping the little boy’s hand, a smile of pure joy lighting her beautiful face. She reached her other hand out to him and breathed his name. “Kieran.”

Pain sliced through his head, pooling in his damaged eye. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out, allowing the memories to crisscross his brain. He’d heard his name on her lips many times before—in laughter, in anger, in desire. He tried to focus, but as usual, the strands of his life floated away out of reach.

“Are you okay?” He took a step forward.

Her eyes widened and a haze of confusion shifted across her face. “A-am I okay? I thought you were dead.”

Did she expect him to sweep her into his arms? Assure her he’d never leave her again? Shoving his hands in his pockets, he dug his heels into the grains of sand littering the rock. He couldn’t do that—not now, not ever.

After he’d escaped from that hellhole in Afghanistan and made it to safety, the army had sent him to a hospital in Germany. They’d told him his name and a few other basics, but then the military sent him to Walter Reed. They wanted to debrief him in the States and scheduled him to see an army psychiatrist to help him regain his memory.

But he’d had enough of people telling him what to do.

Kieran squared his shoulders and took a deep breath of moist, salty air. “I don’t know who you are.”

Her face crumpled and she looked ready to pitch forward.

He had to do better than that. He dragged his hands out of his pockets and held them out in supplication.