“Okay,” he said to the gathered group, “listen up.”

Waiting until they’d all turned to look at him and the murmuring had died down, he started with a detailed description of what Miriama had been wearing when she went missing. “Keep an eye out for any sign of her clothing, shoes, phone, or iPod. Report everything you find. We’ll make the call as to what’s relevant and what’s not.”

He saw a few people taking notes, but most would remember; like Will, they’d probably seen Miriama running in the same outfit multiple times. “I’m going to hand it over to Nikau to coordinate the search because he knows this area a hell of a lot better than I do.” Will ran with the other man nearly every day, but he’d still only explored a small part of the wilderness that surrounded Golden Cove. “Before I do that, however,” he said, “I want to make it clear you’re to take safety ­precautions—­we can’t help Miriama if one of you gets injured as well.”

It was a point he had to drive home because many of the volunteers were ­hard-­living types used to toughing it. “The more time we have to waste rescuing one of you,” he said, “the less time we have to help Miriama.” He got a few nods, knew that peer pressure would do the rest. They’d look out for one another, make sure people didn’t act stupid.

Nikau stepped forward. “What Will is too polite to say is don’t be fucking assholes.” His voice was harsh. “First up, we need someone to stay here and act as base command.”

A female voice sounded from the back. “That’ll be me.”

Will immediately recognized Matilda’s form moving through the crowd. “I’m too fat and slow to be any real help out there,” she said bluntly after thrusting a piece of paper into Will’s hand. “But I know how to run things like this. This isn’t the first time one of us has gotten into trouble.”

When Nikau didn’t dispute Matilda’s claim, Will realized once again that there was so much more he needed to know about Golden Cove. He’d never have thought that Matilda, gentle and with a tendency to fall for abusive men, had that kind of steel to her.

As he scanned down the written list of the people she’d called and what they’d said, Nikau parceled out the various areas, focusing the search in the direction Miriama had last been spotted. But, as there was a slight chance the young woman had decided to circle back and run on another route, he also sent a smaller number of volunteers in other directions. “Does everyone have flashlights and phones that will work through town?”

Nods all around.

“You’re dressed for the weather?” Nikau asked, and though it might have seemed like an obvious question, Will knew why the other man was asking ­it—­the weather around here could change in a single roll of thunder. If a volunteer did manage to injure themselves and got stuck out there in the dark, the rest of them needed to know that person wouldn’t succumb to exposure.

That was also what was worrying him about Miriama; if she’d become disoriented as a result of an injury and wandered off into the landscape around them, she’d be vulnerable not only to any injuries she’d sustained, but also to the cold. She was only wearing running gear, had no jacket or anything else that might protect her from the elements.

He saw the same solemn realization on the faces of all those gathered around. It was quiet Vincent Baker, an unexpectedly decent guy for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who said, “We’ll be careful.” Expression drawn, he asked, “What should we do if we find her, and we’re out of cell range? Signal can be patchy when the clouds move in.”

“That’s why I’m sending you out in pairs,” Nikau said. “One of you stays with her, while the other one heads back until you either get a signal or you meet up with someone else who has a signal. At that point, pass on the message, then go back to your partner. I don’t want anyone out there alone for a long period. Is that understood?”

Everyone nodded; Nikau might have a bit of a reputation in town, but no one would argue against his deep knowledge of the land in and around Golden Cove.

“Let’s go,” he said into the silence. “You get tired, you come back. No matter what, we all meet back here at dawn. If you need to leave earlier, tell Matilda so we don’t waste time looking for you.”

Matilda spoke up. “I’m going to do a roll call. If your name’s not on this list, give it to me before you leave.”

The teams began to disperse three minutes later.

Nikau had assigned himself and his partner one of the toughest and most treacherous trails. He hadn’t assigned Will a search ­area—­as they’d agreed on when Will first talked to him about how to handle such situations. Will needed to be open and available to respond to any possible sighting.

Nikau handed over a copy of the search assignments. “You going to see Ana?”

Will nodded. “If Miriama ran along the coastal route or went down to the beach, it’s possible she might’ve spotted her.”

Hands on his hips, Nikau nodded. “Look,” he said, “sorry about this morning. Not your fault you didn’t know.” With that, he jogged off to join his partner in the truck they’d drive to the entrance of their particular track.

Obviously, Nikau was assuming that Will must’ve done some research, figured out what it was that had set off Anahera and Nikau that morning.

He was right.

Getting into his SUV, Will turned in the direction of Anahera’s cabin just as Matilda came to stand at the entrance to the fire station, a strong woman who’d made some bad choices, but who knew how to love. Spotlit by the lights of the fire station behind her, she grew increasingly small in his rearview mirror as he drove away into the dark.

11

Flashlight beams cut through the pitch black on either side of the road, voices rising into the air as the searchers called out for Miriama. Will spotted several volunteers on the roadside itself, their task to check the ditches for evidence that Miriama might’ve been clipped by a car.

After that point, the world glowed red, lit by the taillights of the people who’d been assigned to the coastal area. All those Nikau had told to work the clifftop and the beach were either fishermen, ex-­Navy, or people who lived along the coast. They respected the ocean while not being intimidated by it.

Will turned off to the left when he came to the graveled drive that led to Anahera’s home. The others continued on straight, but he knew they’d be stopping within thirty seconds. That was as far as you could go in a vehicle; after that, the volunteers would have to search on foot, careful not to get too close to the cliff edge unless they wanted to use one of the narrow paths to scramble down to the beach.

That, too, would be a dangerous trip, but all these people had done it several times at least, probably in the last month. Dark and untamed and merciless though it was, this was their home.

His headlights spotlighted Anahera halfway up the drive. She was carrying an unlit flashlight, her body clad in jeans, boots, and a heavy outdoor jacket. Stopping his vehicle, he got out. She was the one who spoke first. “What’s happened? I figured something must have when I heard all the activity on the road. And don’t say you told me so about the phone. I’ve already put in a request for a transfer.”