Page 1 of Fire Harbor

Prologue

Ten years earlier

Behind twenty-year-old Sofia Diaz, the sky spread out like an orange-tinted blanket as the sun dipped behind a sea of billowy clouds. She’d spent all day shooting a commercial on the cliffs overlooking Crab Shack Cove, a picturesque spot covered in orange poppies, pink verbena, and purple clover just ten miles south of Half Moon Bay. Never one to turn down a photo shoot in hopes of furthering her fledgling acting career, she’d stayed mostly out of the water. Although her feet and ankles had seen the most action. Her wrinkled toes were a testament to all that wading and splashing through shallow surf. After soaking up the sunshine and endlessly smiling for the director and cameraman, she’d repeated her four lines of dialogue over and over on cue, hoping to impress the powers that be to call on her again.

But now, the growing darkness and chill in the air had Sofia jumping into the backseat of her Nissan hatchback to change out of her swim gear and into jeans and a sweater for the hour and ten-minute drive back to Santa Cruz.

As she wriggled out of her dry swimsuit and into her jeans, she tried to assess how the commercial had gone. For most of the day, the forty-year-old director had kept a dour expression on his face that made him impossible to read. But she’d seemed to make a connection with the thirty-something cameraman, a good sign that she’d get another call from him, maybe as early as next week.

With that hope still running through her head that the right people might see it on local TV, she didn’t bother pulling on her boots. In a hurry to get out of there as darkness descended, she jerked down the blankets she’d used to protect her privacy and realized the entire crew had already packed up and were nowhere in sight. The vans that were there earlier had gone. Hers was the only car left in the lot. Glancing around, even the cameraman—who she thought would wait around to talk—had deserted her. As the sun plunged into the ocean, the tranquil dunes turned into a spooky place to be alone after dark.

Sliding over the console to get behind the wheel, Sofia quickly dug out her key chain, a fluffy ball of pink feathers, and jammed the car key into the ignition. After the engine roared to life, she fidgeted with the radio, switching back and forth between a jamming rock tune and a country ballad before finally giving up and sliding in a Justin Bieber CD. Singing along to the catchy lyrics, she steered toward the exit, made a left turn onto the roadway, and headed south. With any luck, she’d be home in time to take a hot shower and crawl into bed with Netflix to watch the Grey’s Anatomy episode she’d missed last Thursday night.

Racing past the beauty along the coastline, she pressed harder on the accelerator, keeping her eyes glued to the winding roadway as twilight cast deep shadows across the pavement.

Twenty minutes later, she approached the outskirts of Pelican Pointe, where Highway 1 became Ocean Street. Sofia checked her gas gauge to make sure she had enough to get home. At half a tank, she patted the dash of her 2008 Versa and thanked her dad for insisting she buy a fuel-efficient compact. After increasing her speed, she zoomed toward town.

When the lighthouse came into view on her right, she slowed her speed to keep it just under the limit. Across from the pier, she came to a complete stop long enough to let a teenage couple cross the street coming from the beach. When she spotted the picnic basket they carried, her stomach rumbled with hunger. She remembered she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

Another reason to hurry home, she decided, pressing down on the accelerator once again, speeding past the fancy restaurant on the corner, the smell of seafood wafting out the doorway.

South of town, Sofia picked up the coast road again, encountering lighter traffic. The occasional semi rumbled by heading north on the two-lane roadway to connect to 101.

She was in the countryside now, with rolling hills on her left and the ocean to her right. Sofia reached over and turned down the volume of the music, rolling down the windows so she could hear the waves slapping against the rocks.

Soon, her headlights landed on the concrete bridge ahead. The narrow crossing, built over a naturally forming curve in the coastline, was home to a lush landscape of tide pools and hiking trails. Nestled among the cypress and pine trees, the harbor provided shelter for a dozen species of migrating birds and wildlife, making it the perfect spot to birdwatch or trek through the sugar white sand on the dunes.

Sofia slowed her speed to try to catch a glimpse of the orange poppies that grew wild along the trails. In the process of gawking, she weaved slightly toward the double yellow line and had to brake in time to avoid hitting a deer.

She had barely caught her breath when she glanced in her rearview mirror and spotted red and blue lights blinking in the distance, gaining on her car too fast for comfort.

What had she done wrong? She hadn’t even crossed the double line. She quickly decided she might’ve been going a tad over the speed limit, but not enough to warrant getting a ticket.

As the red and blue lights drew closer, she could tell they were not on top of the vehicle like most police cars but instead located on the grill of a dark-colored SUV—definitely an unmarked police car—just her luck.

Reducing her speed to a crawl, she continued across the bridge—because there was nowhere else to go. Not until she’d driven the entire two hundred feet to the other side did she pull onto the shoulder, hoping the cop would pass her. But she realized this was a traffic stop when he pulled in behind her Nissan.

She inhaled a ragged breath, shoved the gearshift into Park, shut off the engine, and reached for her purse to dig out her wallet with her driver’s license. Knowing she’d need to show him her insurance card, she leaned over to open the glovebox to grab it.

When the police officer approached the driver’s side window and shined a flashlight straight into her eyes, she was ready to hand over her ID and paperwork. But this cop wore street clothes—jeans, a button-down shirt, and tennis shoes. She got a good look at his face in the side mirror. An unshaven cop seemed like a red flag.

Before she could ask what she’d done wrong, an arm snaked through the open window. One hand covered her mouth and nose with a foul-smelling white cloth while the other hand forced her head back.

She fought and clawed at his fingers, scratching at anything within reach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take out what looked like a syringe. He was about to prick her neck with a needle when she jackknifed her entire body up and away. With her last ounce of energy, she whipped out of his grasp. Then, out of nowhere, the cop’s body seemed airborne, propelled away from the car by an unseen force and thrown across the other side of the roadway.

Sofia heard a man’s voice yell, “Get out of here. Now! Drive!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. With her hands shaking, she turned the key in the ignition, threw the car into gear, and floored it, screeching and fishtailing her way toward home.

As she sped from the scene, heart pounding, Sofia gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. Her mind was a whirlwind of confusion and fear. Who was that man? What kind of cop would try such a thing? And who had come to her rescue? She couldn’t make sense of what had just happened, but one thing was clear—she needed to get as far away from that bridge as possible.

As the miles flew by, she kept one eye on her rearview mirror, half-expecting to see flashing lights coming up behind her again. But there was no sign of the dark SUV or any police car. It seemed the mysterious stranger’s intervention had scared the guy off. Relief washed over her, although a dozen questions still gnawed at her brain.

Anxious to find solace inside her apartment, Sofia continued along the coast road. The rolling hills and crashing waves that had once provided comfort now seemed ominous and foreboding. She couldn’t shake off the unease.

Only when her apartment building came into view did her anxiety ease. She sought out the brightest parking spot under a light pole and got out of the car, a ball of fear still lodged in her throat. As she ran through her complex to reach her unit, she told herself if she could just get inside, everything would be all right. When she reached her door, she couldn’t get it unlocked fast enough. Stepping over the threshold into the darkness—why hadn’t she left a light on?—she slammed the door shut, fumbled with the locks, and then stumbled her way to the lamp. Her hands were shaking when she turned on the light.

It was then and only then that she collapsed on the floor in the corner in a fetal position, terrified the cop would find her again.

---