Page 10 of Tempt Me

“Thanks,” I say quietly.

“You ready to talk about it?”

I shake my head.

“Okay. I’m here when you are.”

I nod.

“And next time you feel like disappearing, tell someone first, okay? You do realize you were Suspect Number One in your mother’s death.”

My eyes pop. “What?”

Noah shakes his head. “Man, you need to get better at thinking like a cop if you want to solve this case. You know how suspicious that looked? Your mom gets shot and the next day, the eldest son, the heir to the Everton fortune, up and vanishes. Leaves the country without a trace. That’s some shady ass behavior right there.”

I can feel my mouth hanging open. It never occurred to me that I would be suspected. I wasn’t even there. I was with Isla.

“And it isn’t like we were all just sitting on our thumbs,” Noah continues. “Your dad was a man possessed. Calling the station every day. Demanding to know what the status of the investigation was, what we were doing to find the man who killed your mother. I swear, Sheriff Briggs was going to have a nervous breakdown.”

It’s some bleak consolation that Dad was so ardent about getting justice for Mom. Last time we spoke, he’d been back to business. Unfeeling. Only concerned with how Mom’s death or me seeing Isla would look for the winery. How it might “tarnish the brand.”

But I’m heartened that Noah is telling me things. Maybe if I get a couple of drinks in him, he’ll forget about all his police rules and procedures.

Noah’s face breaks into a wide grin. “Damn, Caden, it’s really good to see you again.”

“It’s really good to see you too.”

“Have you been working at that winery in Argentina this whole time?” Noah asks.

“Mostly. Four years now.”

Noah’s eyes trail across my arms.

“Nice tats,” he says. “They suit you.” Then he chuckles. “Your dad is going to lose his shit when he sees them.”

My lips pull into a brittle smile. “Probably.” I run my thumb over one of the thick vines that snakes up my left arm, right on the spot where a cicada perches.

Noah checks his watch. “I’m off duty,” he declares. “Let’s get a drink, celebrate your triumphant return.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“The Crooked Screw. Obviously. You can congratulate Jake in person.”

My knees lock and it takes great effort to walk normally, following Noah to the front stairs. Isla might be at the Screw. We used to hang out there a lot. I always felt like it was our spot.

What does she think of me now? Does she even think of me at all? Maybe I’m just a ghost to her. An old flame that sputtered out too quickly to be remembered. Or maybe she hates me. Maybe she never wants to speak to me again. I left her, after all.

But if I’d stayed, I wouldn’t be the person I am now.

Would Isla still want this version of me?

I can’t deny the hope that creeps into my chest at the thought. Even as I tell myself I’m not staying. I’ve got until the end of the summer to make some progress in the case and then it’s straight back to Catarina Azul.

But what if Isla asked me to stay?

Alistair is waiting for us by the newel post. “And where might you gentlemen be off to?”

“The Crooked Screw,” Noah says.

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