Page 91 of Won't Back Down

“But he’s done so much for her since her grandfather died. Do you really think he’d hurt her?”

“I don’t know. I hope I’m wrong. But I couldn’t find either of them at the staging area. I’d much rather go in with metaphorical guns blazing and have to make some apologies than risk not taking action at all.”

“Whatcha need us to do?” Daniel asked.

I tried to think it through. If Willa had remembered something incriminating—or even if O’Shea suspected she might have—where would he take her? His office was in the middle of all the festival chaos. His house was inside the village proper, so I didn’t think they’d go there, either. Which left what? Sutter House? No one was up there but Roy. I didn’t see him risking a confrontation with a loyal pit bull. He’d want somewhere private. But private for what? To kill her? To scare her? If he’d had something to do with her ending up under Caswell’s questionable treatment, maybe he’d lean into those same tactics to traumatize her back into forgetting whatever she might have remembered.

Where better to do that than where it had all begun?

Osprey Beach ought to be deserted, with everyone gathered on the south side of the island for the parade and upcoming fireworks.

It was a stretch. I knew it. And if I was wrong, it could lead to a dangerous waste of precious time. But if I was right…

I turned to Daniel. “Do you have a boat?”

CHAPTER 41

WILLA

My head ached, and I was desperate for a dark, quiet room and the oblivion of sleep. Who knew how long it would take us to find Sawyer in the chaos of the Founders’ Day crowd? Then we’d have to make our way back to his truck and drive all the way home. Even thinking of the effort made me want to whimper.

Maybe I could get a text out and tell him to meet us somewhere. Lifting my head, I peered into the floorboard for my purse, but it wasn’t there. Had I left it back at the cemetery? I started to ask, then I registered where we were. Roland was driving northwest across the island, in the exact opposite direction from Sutter’s Ferry.

“Where are we going? This isn’t the way to town.”

He flashed a kind smile. “You’re still pretty shaken up. I thought it would be beneficial to go somewhere quiet for a little bit, so you have a chance to reset before you have to deal with the rest of the Founders’ Day stuff.”

“We’re gonna miss the parade.” We’d already been late.

His shoulders twitched in a dismissive shrug. “Miles will get over it.”

On the surface, his logic was sound. It was a kind and accommodating offer. It wasn’t as if I wanted to go back for the parade in my current shape. But something didn’t feel right. I wondered if it was my own paranoia in the wake of the flashback. Then he took another turn, onto a familiar road leading to the Atlantic side of the island.

“Are you taking me to Osprey Beach?” My voice came out admirably calm, considering that my heart was picking up speed again.

“Yeah, everybody on the island is down in the village, so that’ll be nice and quiet for you. Peaceful.”

There was nothing wrong with anything he’d said, but my inner alarms were clanging. Maybe it was simply that my beta blocker had worn off. There was nothing to counter my natural reaction to coming here.

You made it through that entire failed memory retrieval attempt. You can make it through this. He’s just looking out for you, same as he’s done since Granddaddy died.

But there were other places he could have taken me that were closer and still quiet, away from people. Why Osprey Beach?

As we neared the beach, he looked over, his brow furrowed. “Is your headache getting worse?”

I hadn’t said anything about having a headache. Of course, I absolutely had one, and maybe that was obvious. But he wasn’t a doctor, and somehow, he seemed way too interested in the answer to the question.

The closer we got to the beach, the faster the panic rose. I gripped my fingers together so tight, the knuckles turned bone white. I tried to hold it together. Tried to breathe through the fear. But it was too much.

“Turn around,” I whispered.

He cast another worried look from across the car. “Are you okay?”

“No, I can’t go here. Please turn around.”

He didn’t turn around, his focus more on me than the road. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“Please.” The word came out more as a wheeze now. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing it to loosen.