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Authors: Loreth Anne White
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night of the blizzard, Ike had returned to the police station to pick up a plug-in cable for his vehicle. That was when he’d witnessed a fellow SHPD officer in the dark, with a flashlight, removing the photos from police evidence. The officer had however been interrupted by someone else coming down the hall, and he’d hurriedly trashed them with department waste that was destined for routine incineration in a few hours.
Ike had waited until the coast was clear, then he’d retrieved the photographs and hidden them himself while he tried to figure out what was going on.
The photos were of bootprints taken outside and inside the Sodwana headframe building, and of prints inside the mine allegedly made by the bomber.
Muirinn’s pulse accelerated.
It was Ike’s belief that the prints documented in these photos had been compromised by someone in the SHPD before the FBI team could get in, contaminating the scene and thus sabotaging the investigation.
Muirinn scrolled faster through Gus’s notes, tension squeezing her chest like a vise.
But Ike had died before finishing his whole story. And for some reason, he’d never blown the whistle until speaking to Gus.
There was also no mention of which SHPD officer had originally taken the photos from evidence. Muirinn had no means of knowing whether he—or she—was still even a cop. Twenty years was a long time.
Blown away by what she’d just read, Muirinn sat back to catch her breath. According to Gus’s notes, more than one person in Safe Harbor had covered the tracks of the man who had killed her dad, and her mom by default. Nausea—and rage—began to swirl in her stomach.
She turned back to the computer. But the notes ended, the last questions posed: Did bomber use Sodwana shaft to access D-shaft where bomb was planted? Did accomplice stand guard at headframe?
Accomplice?
Perspiration prickled over Muirinn’s skin.
This was even worse than she’d imagined. This was a conspiracy. The burglar must have been after this information.
And there was certainly no way she could trust the cops now.
Hurriedly, Muirinn emptied the photographs onto the table, spreading them out. She separated the photos labeled missing from the rest, and she picked up the image of bootprints made outside the Sodwana headframe building.
Were these the prints of an accomplice?
She selected another photo—of the prints in black mud allegedly made by the bomber himself. A chill crawled over her skin as she wondered whether the man who’d made them still walked the streets of Safe Harbor.
She got up and started pacing in front of the windows, her heart beating fast. She wondered just how far someone would go to keep this old secret buried.
Could they have killed Gus for this?
Who could she turn to? Not Jett. No way. She’d made a vow—she wasn’t going to mess up his family.
She clasped her hand over the little bone compass at her neck. Whatever the answers, she owed it to Gus to find them, to see through what he’d started and secure the closure he’d sought so desperately for the last twenty years.
She owed her dad.
Her mom.
And Muirinn owed it to herself to finally put the past to rest. That Tolkin blast had torn her life apart. It was part of the reason she’d come to hate Safe Harbor, and had so desperately needed to leave it. And leaving had cost her so much.
Including her first child. And Jett.
Now she had a new baby on the way, a business to run. And she had a home she could really call her own—the childhood home that her father had crossed the picket line and died to keep, the home that Gus had stepped in to save from foreclosure after her parents’ deaths. This just made her more determined to stay. Muirinn truly had something to fight for now, and she was not going to let whoever had destroyed her past destroy her future, too.
She moved closer to the window, staring absently at Jett’s deck in the distance as her mind raced, and she was suddenly distracted by
Ike had waited until the coast was clear, then he’d retrieved the photographs and hidden them himself while he tried to figure out what was going on.
The photos were of bootprints taken outside and inside the Sodwana headframe building, and of prints inside the mine allegedly made by the bomber.
Muirinn’s pulse accelerated.
It was Ike’s belief that the prints documented in these photos had been compromised by someone in the SHPD before the FBI team could get in, contaminating the scene and thus sabotaging the investigation.
Muirinn scrolled faster through Gus’s notes, tension squeezing her chest like a vise.
But Ike had died before finishing his whole story. And for some reason, he’d never blown the whistle until speaking to Gus.
There was also no mention of which SHPD officer had originally taken the photos from evidence. Muirinn had no means of knowing whether he—or she—was still even a cop. Twenty years was a long time.
Blown away by what she’d just read, Muirinn sat back to catch her breath. According to Gus’s notes, more than one person in Safe Harbor had covered the tracks of the man who had killed her dad, and her mom by default. Nausea—and rage—began to swirl in her stomach.
She turned back to the computer. But the notes ended, the last questions posed: Did bomber use Sodwana shaft to access D-shaft where bomb was planted? Did accomplice stand guard at headframe?
Accomplice?
Perspiration prickled over Muirinn’s skin.
This was even worse than she’d imagined. This was a conspiracy. The burglar must have been after this information.
And there was certainly no way she could trust the cops now.
Hurriedly, Muirinn emptied the photographs onto the table, spreading them out. She separated the photos labeled missing from the rest, and she picked up the image of bootprints made outside the Sodwana headframe building.
Were these the prints of an accomplice?
She selected another photo—of the prints in black mud allegedly made by the bomber himself. A chill crawled over her skin as she wondered whether the man who’d made them still walked the streets of Safe Harbor.
She got up and started pacing in front of the windows, her heart beating fast. She wondered just how far someone would go to keep this old secret buried.
Could they have killed Gus for this?
Who could she turn to? Not Jett. No way. She’d made a vow—she wasn’t going to mess up his family.
She clasped her hand over the little bone compass at her neck. Whatever the answers, she owed it to Gus to find them, to see through what he’d started and secure the closure he’d sought so desperately for the last twenty years.
She owed her dad.
Her mom.
And Muirinn owed it to herself to finally put the past to rest. That Tolkin blast had torn her life apart. It was part of the reason she’d come to hate Safe Harbor, and had so desperately needed to leave it. And leaving had cost her so much.
Including her first child. And Jett.
Now she had a new baby on the way, a business to run. And she had a home she could really call her own—the childhood home that her father had crossed the picket line and died to keep, the home that Gus had stepped in to save from foreclosure after her parents’ deaths. This just made her more determined to stay. Muirinn truly had something to fight for now, and she was not going to let whoever had destroyed her past destroy her future, too.
She moved closer to the window, staring absently at Jett’s deck in the distance as her mind raced, and she was suddenly distracted by
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