Shadowlands (Shadowlands 1)

“That was Joaquin,” I replied, my legs quaking.

“The boy Darcy likes?” he asked, holding the door open for me. “Wow. He seemed really upset. He must like her, too.”

“Yeah,” I said vaguely. “He must.”

But had my dad not registered what he’d said, what we’d just seen? What was Joaquin doing, telling off a police officer? What did he mean “Who the hell do you think you are?” And what, exactly, did he know more about than Dorn did?

I sat on the back deck of our house two hours later, facing north, watching as the search party of locals bobbed into view up the beach, the beams of their flashlights weaving and dipping across the ground and sky. I’d been waiting all night to see it in action, and now, here they were, a whole, long line of about two dozen, walking shoulder to shoulder along the sand. The line stretched from the dunes all the way to the water, and they walked slowly, their eyes cast down, scanning the ground beneath their feet with their flashlights. In this way, I supposed, they were ensured they wouldn’t miss a thing. But as I watched as they approached my house, I felt a twist of discomfort deep in my stomach.

Why were their eyes trained on the ground? Were they looking for my sister or searching for a body?

I took a deep breath and looked up at the sky. The fog had rolled out as my father and I walked back to the house, and now millions of stars winked merrily o

verhead, clearly oblivious to the torture I was experiencing under their watch.

Where was Darcy? If Steven Nell truly wasn’t here, then where had she gone? Why had I heard her scream?

Off to my left, I heard raised voices. There was a white tent set up on an outstretch of land between the next two houses, a sort of makeshift headquarters for the search. Floodlights illuminated my father’s face as he argued with the two cops stationed there. One of them was Officer Dorn. The other, I didn’t recognize.

Then, in classic Dad fashion, he snatched the clipboard out of Dorn’s hands and flung it out over the beach, where it flew like a Frisbee for a good one hundred feet before skidding into the sand. He stormed off, and moments later our front door opened and slammed. He joined me out on the deck, and I could hear him laboring to get his breathing under control.

“They still won’t let me join the search,” he said finally, standing next to my chair. “Even though I told them you’d be here. What’s with these people? It’s like they’re some kind of insular clique. Like heaven forbid they let someone from outside the town inside in any way.”

I said nothing. All I could think was that the FBI could be wrong. Steven Nell was brilliant, that’s what Messenger had said. He very well could have led them on a wild-goose chase and come here while they were distracted. He could have Darcy somewhere on this island right at this very moment, and all we were doing was sitting here, waiting for her to come home.

A cold breeze lifted my hair from my neck. I glanced out at the water and froze. Tristan was standing on the beach down below, wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood up to cover his hair, gazing right at me.

“I’m going to go get a sweater,” my father said, rubbing his hand across my back. Still facing the oncoming search party to the north, he hadn’t noticed our lurker. “Do you need anything?”

I looked up at him and forced a smile, just wanting him to go so I could talk to Tristan. “No, Dad. Thanks.”

He looked at me sadly, kissed my forehead, then went. I got up, throwing the blanket off my legs, and raced to the guardrail facing the water, my heart pounding, dozens of questions crowding my brain.

But when I looked down at the sand again, Tristan was gone.

Thorns tore at my ankles. A wet branch whipped my cheek. I fell to my knees, a sharp rock piercing my skin. But it was all nothing. Nothing. Nothing compared with what Steven Nell was going to do to me.

When I tried to get up, my knee buckled and all I could do was crawl. If only I knew where I was. If only I could just see where I was going, but it was so dark. So very, very dark.

Then something caught my eye—something white and smooth looming in the darkness. Whimpering, I leaned forward for a closer look. White fingers with chipped nail polish. Darcy’s hand. Her arm stuck out at an unnatural angle from beneath a holly bush, the sleeve of her cheerleading sweatshirt soaked through with blood. Shaking, I pushed the branches aside. Darcy’s eyes were open, lifeless, the back of her head smashed in.

“Darcy!” I screeched. “No!”

I scuttled backward on my hands. Steven Nell had killed her, and I was next. I opened my mouth to scream again, and a gloved hand clamped over my lips.

“No!”

I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the ceiling of my room. I was still alive, but Darcy… The moment I remembered everything that had happened earlier, I sat up straight and screamed. Someone was sitting in my desk chair, dressed in head-to-toe black. His knees faced my mattress, his hood was up to cover his face, and his posture curled forward as if he was in mourning. As soon as I screamed, he looked up, the hood falling back from his blond hair.

Tristan.

“Shhhh!” he whispered, bringing a finger to his lips.

My chest heaved as I struggled for breath and tried to make sense of what was happening. I looked down and realized I was wearing nothing but a thin tank top with no bra, and I yanked my blanket up to cover my chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“We need your help,” he replied, ignoring my question. He leaned toward me, resting his forearms on his knees and rubbing his hands together before clasping them. I saw the woven leather bracelet peeking out from the cuff of his sleeve. His blond hair fell forward, grazing his cheekbones as he looked me dead in the eye. “Steven Nell has your sister somewhere on the island.”