PROLOGUE
OLYMPIC PENINSULA, WASHINGTON COAST
FEBRUARY
Déjà vu.
A premonition.
Call it whatever you want. But Jo Cattrel had always had a feeling it would come to this. Her job as a maintenance engineer required long hours and, at times—okay, yeah, most times—the worst conditions, and she had to work in a way that caused the least amount of inconvenience to guests and even other employees.
She wasn't so good at the inconvenient part, or rather, she was great at the inconvenient part, possessing a real knack for inconveniencing others.
Like right now. In the dim lighting of this rustic cabin, the guest emerged from the bedroom wearing a winter mask and coat, ready to head out into the storm.
"A face mask is a good idea." She smiled. "I've inconvenienced you. I'll come back another time."
And try not to act like I saw those disturbing images on your tablet.
She'd always feared this exact scenario—that she would witness a crime or see evidence lying around. She spent too many nights reading crime fiction.
Retracing her steps to the door, she walked backward. Something—maybe her literary experience—told her not to turn her back. The guest had been informed she would be checking on that leaky sink and hadn't answered when she'd knocked, so she let herself in because the storm of the decade was moving in and she wouldn't be able to come back later.
She needed to finish all her tasks, eat dinner with Pop, and get back to her own quarters on the property, though she could expect to be called upon to answer some kind of maintenance emergency that kept her life exciting. She'd always had a knack for fixing things, just like Pop, and she loved her job.
She loved Pop too. Wanted to eat chili with him tonight like they'd planned.
The eyes behind the mask narrowed.
He knows.
He knew...that she'd seen too much.
She'd never been a good liar. People could read her emotions on her face, and that transparency came with a lot of negatives. Like now.
At least she had "Little Jo" in her back pocket if she needed protection, but a small handgun would have been better than her heavy wrench.
"I have to go now." She turned and rushed to the door like a fleeing coward, reaching in her pocket for the wrench.
Pain seared her shoulders as he gripped her and yanked her away from the door, throwing her to the floor. Little Jo rattled across the floor and slid under the bed, but she could reach it if she moved fast enough. Except he'd pinned her in place with the darkest eyes she'd ever seen. Her heart rate shot up as he studied her. Was he considering how best to silence her?
He held a knife at his side.
"Whatever you're planning, you're not going to get away with it," she said.
He approached, then dropped to one knee. Jo had the strangest sense of familiarity. Do I know you?
She wouldn't give up without a fight and twisted, scrambled toward her wrench, but her limbs failed to respond. At the prick in her neck, she jerked around, grasping at her throat. Realization dawned that she'd already lost.
She glanced again toward the knife but saw a syringe instead.
And he'd already won.
Dizziness pressed her body against the hard floor. Darkness edged her vision. He was going to throw her into the ocean where she'd never be found.
"This can't be the end," she whispered.
I'm so sorry, Pop!
