The sharp scent of salt and rotting seaweed grew stronger as I approached the private beach.

Soon, the towering wrought-iron gates of the estate loomed through the thick coastal fog.

I avoided the main entrance, knowing Wade’s deputies might be watching the driveway.

I found the low stone wall near the old oak tree and climbed over, dropping silently onto the wet grass of the lawn.

The massive brick house was dark, silhouetted against the black, churning ocean.

Only a single lamp flickered in the window of my mother’s second-floor study.

She was awake, probably waiting for Caleb’s call to tell her I was dead.

I crept along the edge of the stone terrace, staying low beneath the dark windows.

I reached the glass door to the sunroom and turned the handle.

It was unlocked, just as it always was.

Margaret always insisted on keeping it slightly open for the ocean breeze, even in the dead of autumn.

I slipped inside, the warmth of the house hitting my cold face like a slap.

My wet boots squeaked slightly on the polished marble floor.