Everyone went silent.

“Reckon we should search the beach again,” Matthew said. “It’s bloody dark with the clouds so heavy, eh, maybe we missed something.”

“The tide’s coming in,” was the rumbling contribution from the man who’d once been a violent and drunken part of Anahera’s life.

The cop nodded. “Jason’s right. But we have time to take another look behind the rocks and anywhere else where Miriama might’ve fallen if she stumbled on the cliffs.”

Parting in silence, the two teams began their grim task. If Miriama had fallen from up on the cliffs, she’d be in bad shape, especially if she’d fallen onto the rocks. But, on the evidence of other accidents in the area, it was possible she’d survived the fall. They just had to find her in time.

Anahera clambered over rocks, almost slipped twice. The third time, strong hands gripped her at the waist and put her gently on the ground.

“Be careful,” the cop said, his voice mild.

Anahera narrowed her eyes. She wanted to snap at him even though she knew he had nothing to do with this. He was an outsider. How could he possibly know the secrets that tied together the residents of this town? How could he hope to understand the wounds the man they’d just seen had hammered into her with his big fists and cruel words? How could he divine the chill in her blood as her mind tugged at a faint, disturbing thread of memory that had nothing to do with her parents?

He couldn’t. She should cut him some slack. But he was the only one here, and she felt as if she’d explode if she didn’t release some of the tension building and building and building inside her. “I’ve been climbing and falling off these rocks since I was three years old,” she said. “I think I can handle myself.”

He ran the beam of his flashlight over a hollow between two boulders, then went down on his knees to check underneath. “Actually,” he said, “you’ve been away from Golden Cove for years. And you spent that time in a big city, so could be you should give yourself a little time to reacclimatize.” No anger in his tone, the words so even that he was either a psychopath who felt ­nothing—­or he was a man who felt too much and was doing his damnedest to feel nothing.

Nikau had told her Will was a good guy after the cop left this morning. She’d also seen that for herself in his determined search for Miriama. Many outsiders would’ve shrugged and waited for morning to come, for Miriama to just turn up. Will had initiated a ­full-­scale search. And at this instant, he was crawling his way under a bunch of rocks that formed a shallow cave, even as the sea waves inched closer.

She turned her flashlight beam on him, giving him as much light as possible.

“Nothing.” Getting to his feet, he dusted off the sand from his jacket and swung his own beam out toward the ocean. “We have to go up.”

Anahera wished she could argue with him, but he was right. Stay on the beach any longer and they risked being trapped. With the waves so violent, they probably wouldn’t survive to morning even if they managed to climb onto the highest rocks. “Follow me.” She led him to a path closer to their current position than the one by her cabin.

Despite what he’d said about her being away for years, some things didn’t change; these rocks had been here for untold decades before she was born and would probably be here for untold decades after her death. The path was exactly where she’d remembered it being.

Anahera took care as she began to ­climb—­going up was actually easier than coming down with this path, but all it would take was one slip and she’d be falling. There wasn’t much to grab onto here, maybe a few grasses or jagged edges of mostly buried rock. She’d never thought about that as a child, had just assumed she was safe because her mother and father were watching.

At her weakest, she’d wished she could return to that carefree childhood when she hadn’t known the truth, when she hadn’t understood that her happy family was a mirage that would one day shimmer out of existence. Until she’d realized those years had been her mother’s prison and that going back would be to put Haeata behind bars again.

Hearing a scrape behind her, she paused and glanced back. “You okay, cop?”

When he ran his flashlight beam behind him, she realized he was standing on the path looking down at the beach. “I’m making sure no one else is still on the beach.”

Anahera hadn’t thought to do ­that—­she just expected the locals to not be stupid. But she should’ve remembered that people were people and emotions were running high. Joining him, she looked out for any other sources of light, but all the ones she spotted were of searchers climbing back up from the beach. “I don’t see anything,” she said. “You?”

He turned off his flashlight, then did a second careful scan. “No,” he said, switching his flashlight back on before he turned cliffward again. “Let’s keep going. I need to get a report from Matilda, see what areas have already been covered and what hasn’t. The beach searchers can be reassigned.”

Anahera moved quickly up the path, aware of the cop keeping up with her, his breathing even and his stride steady. Not a total townie, she thought with a corner of her mind. He’d done some climbing at least.

After reaching the top, the two of them made their way to his police vehicle and got in. They saw several others driving back into town when they turned onto the road, and by the time they arrived at the fire station, at least fifteen others had reported in.

“No one’s had any news,” Matilda told them, her voice firm, her fear held back with a strong hand.

Behind her was a whiteboard on which someone had written out a ­detailed description of Miriama’s clothing, shoes, phone, and iPod. No mention of a watch or earrings and Anahera couldn’t remember if the girl’s ears had been pierced. But the other items were distinctive. Anahera took note.

“The ones doing the bush tracks are still out,” Matilda continued, “but we haven’t got anyone really searching the rest of the town. What if she got hit by a car or something like that?”

Anahera knew that was unlikely. Someone would’ve spotted Miriama if she’d been on or near a road, especially with search volunteers having come in from every corner of Golden Cove.

The cop didn’t crush Matilda’s hopes. “It won’t do any harm for a volunteer to drive through the streets Miriama might’ve cut through,” he said.

Vincent, who’d just returned and come to join them, put up his hand. “I can do it.” His blond ­hair—­like gilt when in the ­sunlight—­was wind tousled and messier than it ever was in the publicity stills used for the family charity or his business interests. “My car’s got those special high beams and they cut pretty well through the dark.”

“I’ll go with Vincent,” his search partner said, her face seamed with life but her gaze alert. “Better to have two sets of eyes than one.”

Anahera smiled tightly at Vincent as he moved past her, thinking that this wasn’t how she’d wanted to run into her former schoolmate again, but Vincent didn’t even seem to see her. Likely, he was already planning his route for maximum coverage. That was Vincent for ­you—­he’d been the cleverest of them all. Always turned in the cleanest reports, had the most thoughtfully ­worked-­out equations.