I dropped down, seating myself on the edge. After a while, my phone dinged with a message from the Uber driver. She was in the parking lot. I ignored the message and muted my phone. I didn’t care. I curled into a ball right there, the lapping sound of the lake against the boards a soothing calm.
I fell asleep. Or I passed out from hunger, exhaustion. I’m not really sure which. All I know is that I was staring out over the lotuses as the lake breathed them in and out with the rising tide, then…nothing. Blackness blots out that period of time.
There are flashes, glimpses of blood in the water. A red stained lotus. The crushing pain in my chest as I struggled to breathe. An outline of a man…his hand.
That’s all I have now.
Real, recovered, or false memories my mind fabricated to fill the blank.
The next thing I recall is waking up in the hospital.
10
Discovery
Lakin: Now
The Tiki Hive is just one of the many “tiki” establishments that scatter the Florida coast, and it was the last place of employment for the victim. Unlike other beach bars, with their cheap tiki torch theme, this one is a mix of refined beach life and elegance. A bar for the more affluent residents and tourists of Melbourne.
Sheer white curtains billow in through floor-to-ceiling windows. The scented breeze of ocean and coconut drifts inside, infusing the beachfront restaurant with a lively current of youth.
Mike Rixon was a person of interest further down our list, but Bethany Delany’s maternal instinct bumped him up to number one. He was originally questioned due to the flow of drugs around the food and beverage scene. With Joanna’s history of drug use, the case detectives already explored this angle, but we can’t write anything off; every angle has to be looked at again.
Joanna’s toxicology screen was clean of any known street drugs, but that doesn’t mean a drug link from her past can be completely ruled out.
Rhys and I are seated across from the restaurant owner at the bar as he dries tumblers. Slowly. Mike Rixon is taking his time, putting us off. He doesn’t realize that, with cold cases, he can take his sweet time. We’re in no rush. We’re the ones who take a fine-tooth comb to the case, going over details that may have been overlooked the first time during a hasty investigation.
After we left the crime scene—fled, more accurately—Rhys and I went door-to-door in the neighboring apartment buildings, seeking anyone who might have seen the victim the night of her murder. We turned up nothing. So we decided we’d take a lunch break at the Tiki Hive. Two birds, one stone.
Mike sets a glass down on the matt. “I’m not sure what I can offer you that would help. I told the other guys everything I knew a year ago.” He slings a white towel over his shoulder.
Deja vu tickles the edge of my awareness. The action triggers a memory from that night at the Dock House, and Torrance the bartender flashes in my mind. His suave moves. Good looks. The way he winked at Cam.
I push away from the memory and clear my throat. “Let’s go over it one last time, anyway.”
At his indifferent shrug, I pull out my phone and start recording. While Rhys directs the interview, I try to ignore the sense of familiarity sneaking over me. My heart is a pulse too fast. Palpitations mute my hearing every time Mike smiles.
That smile.
It must be paranoia, the sight of the white lotuses at the crime scene still fresh, but when Mike Rixon looks at me…I swear recognition steals across his sharp features. Something about him feels so familiar.
“She worked that day,” Mike confirms with another shrug. “Last I saw of Joanna. I found out two days later she’d been killed when the police showed up here to question me and my staff.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Who was questioned?”
He pushes out a long breath. “Me, Sal, Romero, and Jessica.”
That doesn’t seem like a full staff. I glance around the restaurant floor, noting at least twenty tables.
Rhys catches on. “Do you remember who worked with Joanna during her last shift?”
Mike drives a hand through his wind-tousled hair. “I really don’t. I’ll go print out the schedule for you, okay?”
“Thank you,” I say.
He nods and turns to head to the back, but pauses to add, “Oh, and Torrance.” My heart stutters at the name. “He was also here with me that afternoon.”
“Wait,” I say, stopping him from leaving the bar area. Stalled, I rack my brain for how to press for more information about Torrance. “This person wasn’t mentioned in the case file.”
Mike shrugs. “Tor wasn’t here the day the cops came by.”
Rhys studies my profile. I lean closer to the counter, out of his view. “Why not?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my brother that himself.”
My heart knocks painfully against my chest. Brother. “He’s here? Now?”
“Yeah. I’ll grab him from the back.”
Panic flares in my veins, blood rushing. As he pushes through the swing-door, I slide off the stool. I can’t be here. If it is the same bartender from the night of my attack, I could compromise the investigation.
Rhys catches my upper arm before I can slip away. “There’s more than one Torrance in Florida, Hale. Just like there is more than one lake with lotuses.”
“I know.” Rhys knows my case as well as I do. He questioned Torrance the bartender. I read the interview he conducted, the probing questions, as he attempted to build a narrative of that night.
The urge to snap the band at my wrist rises up. I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “I know there are,” I say again, “and Torrance’s last name isn’t Rixon. Mike said his brother. So likely, not the same person. But if there’s even a slim chance… I need to go.”
His mouth curves into a tight frown. If this is the same man from my past, Rhys knows this investigation will change drastically.
“Two women,” I say, my voice low. “Both attacked in parallel fashion.”
I don’t have to say the rest. One dead. The other not.
“Rhys, if this is the same person, he might not recognize you. Not if I leave.”
But the both of us together will be hard to dismiss.
Rhys nods once. “Go.”
I head to the outside deck, my feet heavy, the world at a tilt. My mind is already leaping from connection to connection, linking the two cases together. That’s not a good thing. We have to keep them separate to investigate Joanna’s murder; it would be a disservice to her to muddy the water before we’ve even started.
I press my back to a beam underneath the deck canopy, making sure I’m out of eyeshot. Taking even breaths, I slow my heart rate, letting the salty ocean air cleanse my lungs.
I rub the band, twisting it against my skin.
Torrance had a solid alibi for the night of my attack.
Cameron.
But his brother…
I turn and peer around the beam. The kitchen door swings open, and Mike leads his brother toward Rhys. It’s him. My chest flutters as adrenaline climbs over my nerves.
No one questioned the bartender’s brother about the night of my attack. Why would they look at Mike Rixon? There was no feasible reason to interview him, to look at people connected to Torrance.