Bred in the Bone (Widow's Island #4) - Kendra Elliot Page 0,2

but she suspected her brother, Logan, had gone a few times.

She didn’t want to know where the teens hung out now. Island life was slow, and people took their entertainment where they could find it. Sadly a lot of that entertainment involved drug addiction. The monotony was more bearable if you were stoned.

Cate had always loved island life. She loved the earthy and salty scents, the steep green hills, and the endless ocean views. People came from around the world to visit Widow’s and its neighboring islands. Some tried to stay, craving the silence or seeking nature’s therapy for broken hearts, ill health, and battered psyches. Something about the island offered comfort and healing to many in need. To Cate it was a piece of quiet paradise that happened to be invaded by tourists during the summer.

But by the time she had finished high school, Cate had been ready to leave and join the real world.

“This place hasn’t changed,” Tessa said in a low voice. “We have a call here every other week. Usually domestics.” She parked and then rested her hands on the wheel, staring at the apartment. “Damn, I hate this part.”

“How many times have you delivered this kind of news?” Cate was glad she’d never had the experience.

“Only once. It sticks with you, though.” Tessa threw open her door and immediately stepped out as if avoiding more questions.

Cate followed the deputy to the third squatty apartment, keeping Tessa between herself and the door. Tessa wore a ballistic vest; Cate did not. Her focus centered on the door, and the rest of the world fell away as sweat started under her arms.

Two months ago Cate had been shot on the job as she waited for someone to answer her knock; the agent with her didn’t survive.

Jon Gill’s door opened when they were ten feet away, making her heart rate skyrocket.

His hands were empty, and Cate sucked in deep breaths to slow the beating in her chest.

How can I return to my job if I can’t knock on a door?

Jon Gill appeared to be in his seventies. White tufts of hair surrounded a bald crown. The thick lenses of his glasses distorted his eyes as they looked from Tessa to Cate. He scowled at her. “Who’s that?”

“I’m Cate Wilde, Mr. Gill. I left a few messages for you last week.”

His face cleared. “Ah. Jane’s granddaughter. You’re the FBI agent that was shot. She talks nonstop about you and Logan.”

Cate didn’t know what to say. Thank you?

“Can we come in, Jon?” Tessa asked.

He stepped back and waved them in, and they sat gingerly on an ancient couch in the tiny living room. He took a seat in a wooden rocking chair and crossed his legs. His scowl had returned, a look of suspicion in his magnified eyes. “What’s going on? First the FBI calls me last week, and today it’s you.” He glared at Tessa.

“This isn’t related to Cate’s calls last week,” Tessa began, her voice steady. “Brad was in a bad accident a few hours ago, Jon. I’m sorry, but he didn’t survive.”

The man went very still, his face instantly pale, but no emotion appeared. “What happened?” he asked in a flat voice.

“It appears he was hit by a car while on his bike.” Tessa paused. “It was a hit and run.” She leaned forward, holding Jon’s gaze. “We’ll find who did it,” she said emphatically. “The island isn’t that big.”

Cate let out the breath she’d held since Tessa started to talk. She watched Jon closely, expecting signs of distress.

They didn’t appear.

“I didn’t do it,” he stated firmly.

Cate stopped her jaw from dropping open. How bad was his relationship with his son?

Tessa flinched. “I . . . I appreciate that, Jon. I didn’t come here to make accusations; I’m here to bring you the news.”

“You can check my truck. There would be evidence, right?” His gaze jumped between the women several times.

Tessa looked at Cate, her eyes wide. The deputy was speechless.

“If you’d like, we can look at your truck,” said Cate. Might as well address his concerns.

He was out of his chair before she finished speaking. Cate and Tessa were slow to stand but followed him outside and over to a small Toyota pickup. They dutifully circled the truck and examined the front. Tessa snapped a few photos.

Jon watched, his arms crossed on his chest. “I might not get along—have gotten along with Brad, but I wouldn’t run him over.” His eyes had reddened and were wet. “I