“He married that other woman.”

“You can pretend he didn’t, or that it wouldn’t have worked. You don’t have to see him and Abigail have children. You don’t have to watch their children grow up, learn to drop lobster buoys, climb on the rocks, hike-”

“I was over Chris before he was married.” She tried to sound convincing, mature, not as if she was churning inside. “I was well over him before he was killed.”

“No, Grace, you weren’t. You aren’t over him now.”

She couldn’t stand Ellis’s scrutiny any longer and took off down a narrow path between the roses, their prickly branches slapping at her hips and thighs, soaking them with dew. A thorn scratched the top of one hand. The bank was short, fairly steep, but that didn’t deter her; she’d walked this path since she was a child. She and Doe Garrison would play dolls on the shore and wave to Chris and his grandfather as they puttered by in their lobster boat.

She’d loved Chris then, even as a girl.

To her relief, her uncle didn’t follow her down to the water. She looked up the hill and saw him heading back to the house, and she wondered if he regretted his bluntness. He was wise and understanding, in part, she thought, because he’d never married and had children of his own. She’d come to rely on his advice, his keen observations of other people. His patience. Who else could watch his own brother sell his beloved Maine house out from under him and not complain?

Yet Ellis had always lived in his brother’s shadow-just as Linc was living in her shadow. And as much as she adored her uncle, Grace didn’t want her brother to end up like him.

Owen walked up a sandy path through the junipers and low-lying blueberry bushes below the remains of his family’s original Mt. Desert house, pine and spruce saplings popping up here and there in the thin soil. He’d caught a movement up at the foundation and was off to check it out. He wasn’t practicing any measure of stealth. He was just tramping up the path.

Linc Cooper stood up from the spot where Mattie Young had drunk beer and smoked cigarettes, unwittingly terrorizing two young boys.

When he saw Owen, Linc gasped audibly and bolted, climbing over the chunk of foundation and scrambling for the woods behind it.

Owen shot out after him. He knew the kid’s capabilities-he wasn’t worried about catching up with him.

A few yards into the woods, on a rough path, Linc tripped on an exposed tree root and fell onto one knee, crying out in pain as he picked himself up and continued running.

Owen thought he heard the twenty-year-old sob.

“Linc-hold up,” he called.

But he ran faster, unimpeded by his bruised knee, grunting as he gasped for air.

Since he had to know who was after him and still didn’t slow down, Owen decided he was through with niceties. He barreled in behind Linc and knocked his feet out from under him, buckling him with one well-placed kick.

Owen pounced, pinning his wannabe protégé facedown on the ground, so that he couldn’t kick, thrash, bite or otherwise move. “Be still. I’m not going to hurt you. I just need you to calm down. Understood?”

“Let me go. I’ll press charges.”

“Fine. The police are at Abigail’s house right now. I’ll take you to them.”

Linc’s body went slack, and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out the corners. “Just leave me alone,” he said.

Owen eased up on his hold. “Don’t bolt. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.” He didn’t explain why. “I don’t want to chase you.”

“You ran like a maniac.” Linc sniffled, sitting up, pine needles in his fair hair. “I thought you were going to kill me. I forgot you were in the military.”

“Why did you take off?”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m walking out here on my land. How did that scare you?”

He picked a bit of bark off his lip, his natural arrogance returning fast. “I don’t know. I’m jumpy.”

“You were looking for Mattie, weren’t you?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You saw him out here Sunday night, didn’t you? Did you meet him, or did you just follow him here?”

It was like all the air went out of him. His shoulders slumped. Snot and tears ran into his mouth. “Shit. Owen.”

“You’re in over your head, Linc. The only way out is to tell the truth.”

“You don’t know what my life is like. My father. My sister. Even my uncle. I’m the low man on the totem pole around here. If I screw things up for them, I’m screwed.”

“You have to do what you believe is right and let the rest of it fall into place.”

“Or not.”

For the past couple of hours, since Abigail had spotted that dusty, lint-looking pearl on her back room floor, Owen had been trying to let the new pieces of what had happened seven years ago fall into place.

And one of them was right here, torturing himself.

“Linc, you were the burglar seven years ago, weren’t you?”

He sobbed, crying openly now.

“Chris knew,” Owen said, making it a statement.

He snorted in a lungful of air and coughed, pulling himself together. “He found me the night before he was killed-before Abigail was attacked.” As he spoke, Linc stared at the trees, as if he were seeing himself at thirteen, Chris Browning at thirty-one, confronting him. “He read me the riot act. And I quit. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“He believed in you.”

“Yeah.” Linc shut his eyes. “I’m so ashamed. But I didn’t steal Abigail’s necklace. I didn’t hit her. I swear. But who’ll believe me?”

“That’s why you never told anyone?”

He nodded. “I thought no one else knew. I thought whoever did it was long gone. That’s what I told myself, I guess.” Linc tucked his knees under his chin. “I never lied outright to the police.”

“Mattie knew you were the burglar?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “He’s blackmailing me. He wants ten grand.”

“How much have you given him?”

“Four.”

“Who knows?”

Linc took a breath. “No one.”

“You’re twenty years old, and you’re carrying this thing by yourself.” Owen put out a hand, and Linc took it, getting up onto his feet. “That’s not necessary.”

“I know. I’m stupid-”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Owen, I’m sorry. I opened my mouth a dozen times on our hikes to tell you, but I didn’t. My sister’s appointment-the house going on the market-” He swallowed, his panic rising again. “I was scared.”

“Linc,” Owen said quietly, “if I could figure this out, the cops can, too.”

Abigail ducked under a low branch that hung over the path. Owen knew she’d been there a while. “Did Mattie threaten you?” she asked.

Linc kept his cool at her presence. “Not with bodily harm, if that’s what you mean. He didn’t have to-just knowing what a screwup I am, knowing I could never let my family find out was enough. I never-” He raised his chin, but his lower lip quivered. “Chris died because of me.”

“Did you pull the trigger?”

“No!”

“Then he didn’t die because of you,” Abigail said. “He died because someone shot him.”

Linc obviously wasn’t used to that kind of clarity in the life he lived. “What happens now?”

“You tell Detective Lieutenant Beeler everything.”

“And the FBI?”

“They’ll be there, too.”

“Chris-”

Abigail nodded, as if she understood what Linc was trying to say. “He’ll be there in spirit. Think of that, okay? You can’t change what other people did. You can’t change what you did. All you can do is tell the truth and rely on it.”

“That’s what Chris said seven years ago.”

“I imagine it was.” She stood back, smiling unexpectedly, if a little weakly, at Owen, taking some of the tension out of the moment. “It was kind of fun seeing you in action. I got here just in time. I’m glad I didn’t miss that one.”

Owen pictured himself chasing her through the woods and smiled back at her. “I suppose you’ll want me to talk to the law?”