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case.”

    An odd mix of disbelief and disappointment gripped Nick’s gut. She’d seemed so rational last night. As a cop, he appreciated rational people. Why did she have to go and spoil his opinion of her?

    “What case?” he asked, knowing full well which case she was referring to, hoping he was wrong.

    “The Douglas murder-suicide.” She said the words as if he were dense.

    “You mean the one that has been closed for twenty years?” he asked dryly.

    She pursed her lips as if he were trying her patience. The feeling was mutual. If she hadn’t been so damn good to look at in her snug jeans and lavender T-shirt, he might have already tossed her out of his office. But he’d always been drawn to her. A lifetime ago, the feeling had been innocent and vague. As a man there was nothing vague or innocent about what he felt for Sara Douglas. Attraction. Maybe with a hint of adult male lust mixed in.

    Setting her cup on the corner of his desk, she leaned forward. “Nick, I think the police may have been wrong.”

    “And you think that because…?”

    She hesitated, and for the first time Nick got the impression she wasn’t telling him everything. That she was keeping secrets. What secrets? What could possibly have been important enough to prompt her to fly all the way from San Diego to Cape Darkwood after all the terrible things that had happened here?

    “I have my reasons,” she said vaguely.

    “I guess it’s safe to assume you’re not going to make this easy and tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”

    “Let’s just say I have reason to believe there was a fourth person involved.”

    “A fourth person?” Intrigued, he leaned forward. “Like who?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Then how can you be so sure there was one?”

    “I’m not.” Frustration tightened her mouth.

    “That doesn’t leave me with sufficient grounds to reopen the case.”

    “Maybe you could do it…unofficially.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “You’re the cop. All I’m asking is for you to take a look at the file. See if all the loose ends were tied up.”

    “Sara, the case was closed. I’m not real big on conspiracy theories.”

    “Neither am I,” she said firmly. “But if certain things didn’t come to light twenty years ago, don’t you want to know about it?”

    “Certain things like what?”

    He stared at her, vaguely aware of the din of rain, that his heart rate was up just a tad. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve remembered something about that night?”

    “No,” she replied quickly.

    The accepted supposition amongst the residents of Cape Darkwood was that seven-year-old Sara Douglas had witnessed the murders, but the experience had been so horrific, her young mind had blocked it. Had the memory finally resurfaced? Why wouldn’t she tell him?

    “If you want me to follow up, you’re going to have to give me something a little bit more concrete to go on.”

    “I don’t have anything concrete.”

    “Then at least level with me. Tell my why you’re here. Why you came back.”

    “There’s no hidden agenda, Nick. All I can tell you is that I came to find the truth.”

    “Are you telling me your father didn’t kill them?”

    “I’m telling you I’d like the police department to revisit the case and prove beyond a shadow of doubt that he did.”

    Nick thought of the words written in red on the rear window of her car and an uncharacteristic rise of concern went through him. “Have you told anyone else about your suspicions?”

    “No.” She hesitated just long enough for him to believe otherwise.

    “Any idea who vandalized your car?”

    “No. Kids.” She shrugged. “Someone who doesn’t want me poking around and asking questions.”

    Her answer gave him a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

    She got to her feet. “Look, I’ve wasted enough of your time.”

    Nick rose. He knew it was silly, but he didn’t want her to leave. There was a part of him