Island Of The Hidden Heir

Her assignment was simple: assist security, watch the doors, report anything unusual. She had accepted it because the island’s private security firm paid well and because standing near powerful people often revealed the things they believed no one important enough to notice.

At the east corridor, a waiter hurried past with an empty tray.

“Where’s the prince?” Mara asked.

The waiter stopped too quickly. Champagne sloshed over his cuff.

“Which prince?”

“The one everyone has been pretending not to watch.”

His eyes flicked toward the service passage. “Mr. Vey went through there.”

“Alone?”

“I think so.”

Mara followed.

The music dulled behind the heavy doors. In the service passage, the walls narrowed and the floor changed from polished marble to rough slate. A draft pushed through the corridor, carrying rain and the metallic tang of the ocean. At the far end, a door stood open onto the lower terrace.

Mara pressed her radio.

“East corridor check. I’m going down to Blackrock overlook.”

Static answered. Then a burst of voices, too broken to understand.

She stepped outside.

Rain had begun, fine and cold. The lower terrace clung to the cliff beneath the pavilion, bordered by an iron rail rusted orange at the joints. One lantern swung from its hook, striking the stone wall with a hollow, repeating knock.

A shoe lay beside the rail.

Mara stopped.

It was black patent leather, one silver buckle torn loose. A dark smear marked the stones beyond it.

She drew the compact flashlight from her belt and moved forward without touching anything. The beam found Adrian Vey beneath the broken lantern.

He lay on his back, one arm twisted beneath him, his white jacket opened by a narrow, spreading stain. His eyes stared toward the sea. A knife rested several feet from his hand, its blade turned toward the cliff.

Mara’s first thought was that the storm had made the blood look black.

Her second was that the prince was dead.

She crouched just outside the stain and held two fingers near his throat. No pulse. His skin was already losing its warmth.

“Control,” she said into the radio. “Blackrock lower terrace. I need medical response and a full security seal. Adrian Vey is down. Possible stabbing.”

This time the radio answered immediately.

“Repeat.”

“Adrian Vey is dead.”

For three seconds, only the sea replied.

Then every light on the island went out.

The pavilion vanished behind her. The music stopped mid-note, leaving a silence so complete that Mara heard rain ticking against the railing.

A siren began at the harbor.

One long blast. Then another.

Emergency lamps glowed red along the terrace wall. Above, doors slammed and voices rose in panic.

Mara stood and drew her flashlight across the body, the knife, the shoe, the railing. She needed to secure the scene before a hundred frightened guests trampled through it. She turned toward the stairs.

A voice shouted from above.

“Don’t move!”

Mara aimed the light upward.

Chief Attendant Vale stood at the service door with two guards behind him. One held a pistol. The other gripped a coil of yellow barrier tape.

“Get medical down here,” Mara said.

“No one moves,” Vale replied.

“He’s dead.”

“I heard you.”

“Then call the police.”

Vale’s face tightened. “The island is locked down.”

Another siren answered from the far side of the bay. Red beacons appeared along the cliff road, one after another, sealing the route to the villas.

Mara climbed three steps. “The harbor is less than a minute away. If the killer left by boat - ”

“The boats are being secured.”

“By whom?”

Vale did not answer.

Behind him, the guard with the pistol spoke into his radio. “All gates closed. No departures. Repeat, no departures.”

A woman screamed inside the pavilion. The sound was swallowed by a roar of confused voices.

Mara looked back at Adrian. Rain gathered in his open eyes.

“Then get everyone away from this terrace,” she said. “And keep them away from the evidence.”

Vale descended until they stood level with one another. “You are not evidence staff.”

“I found the body.”

“You are security support. That means you preserve the scene and wait.”

“For whom?”

“The island investigators.”

Mara glanced toward the dark water. “How long?”

Vale’s jaw worked. “As long as it takes.”

The harbor siren changed rhythm. Three short blasts.

Somewhere below, an engine coughed and died.

Mara moved past him.

Vale caught her arm. “Where are you going?”

“To the harbor.”

“You heard the order.”

“I heard a dead man’s killer may have a boat.”

“You’ll create a panic.”

“The panic already exists.”

She pulled free and ran up the stairs.

The pavilion had become a maze of overturned chairs and frightened faces. A diplomat in a velvet jacket pounded on the locked glass doors. Two guards blocked the main entrance while staff moved through the crowd, repeating the same words: remain calm, remain inside.

Mara reached the harbor corridor and pushed through a side exit.

Cold rain struck her face. The path descended in sharp switchbacks toward the docks, slick beneath her shoes. Halfway down, the harbor master’s truck lurched across the road and stopped broadside.

A man in a yellow oilskin jumped out.

“Back to the villas!” he shouted.

Mara recognized him from the arrival briefing. Elias Rusk, harbor master. His beard was white, his hands scarred from years of rope and salt.

“Did a boat leave?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did anyone reach the docks?”

“No one leaves Blackrock.”

“I found Adrian Vey stabbed on the lower terrace.”

Rusk’s expression changed, but only for an instant. “Then you understand why nobody leaves.”

“I understand why the killer might.”

He stepped in front of her. “The harbor is sealed.”

“Show me.”

“Go back.”

“Show me the boats.”

Rusk looked toward the water. Beyond him, every vessel sat beneath the dock lamps, mooring lines taut. A patrol launch idled at the mouth of the harbor, its searchlight sweeping across the waves.

“No one came through,” he said.

“Who checked?”

“I did.”

“Then you’re my first lead.”

His face hardened. “Careful, Miss Dalloway.”

“Did you see Adrian tonight?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone leave the pavilion?”

“Half the island was moving before the lockdown.”

“Not the answer I asked for.”

Rusk stepped closer. Rain ran from the brim of his cap. “I saw a man in a dark coat on the upper path. He was heading away from the pavilion.”

“Who?”

“Couldn’t see his face.”

“Height?”

“Tall.”

“Build?”

“Average.”

Mara almost laughed. “That narrows it down to every man at the gala.”

“He carried something.”

“What?”

“A case. Black, hard-sided.”

“Did he go toward the harbor?”

“No. Toward the old villas.”

The first useful thing anyone had said, and it pointed away from the body.

Mara turned uphill.

Rusk seized her sleeve. “You heard Vale. Everyone returns to the villas.”

“Why?”

“Because that is where the security teams are gathering.”

“Or where someone wants us gathered.”

His grip tightened, then released. “If you go up there, you go with an escort.”

“Find me one who can keep up.”

She ran before he could answer.

At the pavilion, the red emergency lights had been replaced by battery lamps. Guests crowded the corridors, whispering names and rumors. Mara pushed through them toward the service passage.

A young attendant stood beside the door, trembling so badly that the silver tray in his hands rattled.

“You,” Mara said. “Did you see a man carrying a black case?”

He stared at her.

“Answer her,” Vale ordered from behind.

The attendant swallowed. “I saw someone near the lower terrace.”

“When?”

“Before the lights went out.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark coat. Tall. He had - ” The attendant’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He had a red mark on his hand.”

“Blood?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did he go toward the old villas?”

The attendant nodded.

Mara reached for the door.

“Wait,” he said.

She turned.

“He wasn’t carrying a case.”

“Then what was he carrying?”

The attendant’s fingers tightened around the tray. “A pouch.”

“What kind?”

“Evidence pouch. Clear plastic. Sealed.”

Vale came forward. “You’re certain?”

“I saw the red strip.”

Mara’s pulse steadied into something colder than fear. “Where did he go?”

The attendant pointed toward the lower terrace.

Mara went back down.

The rain had strengthened. Vale followed, along with one guard and the attendant, who kept his head lowered as if the stones might accuse him. Adrian’s body remained where Mara had found it. The knife lay untouched. The shoe had not moved.

Mara swept her light along the wall, beneath the railing, across the wet stone.

There.

A small clear pouch rested in a notch between two rocks near the body. Its red security strip was unbroken. Inside lay a folded paper, a narrow metal tag, and something dark that might have been fabric.

Mara crouched.

“Don’t touch it,” Vale said.

“Get gloves.”

“We have no forensic team.”

“Then get me something clean.”

The guard produced a pair of latex gloves from his pocket. Mara pulled them on, lifted the pouch by its sealed edge, and held it beneath the flashlight.

A handwritten label showed three lines.

ADRIAN VEY.

BLACKROCK PAVILION.

KNIFE REPORT.

The attendant made a choking sound.

“That wasn’t there,” he said.

Mara looked at him. “You said you saw it.”

“I saw the man carrying it. I didn’t see him put it down.”

“You said the pouch was sealed.”

“It was.”

Vale reached for the evidence pouch. Mara kept it out of reach.

“Give it to me,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m in charge of this scene.”

“You were upstairs when I found the body.”

“And you were about to run to the harbor.”

“To stop the killer.”

“To disobey orders.”

Mara turned the pouch toward the light. The paper inside was folded twice. The metal tag bore a number stamped in black.

Vale’s radio crackled.

“Chief, report from the forensic room.”

Vale lifted it. “Go ahead.”

“The knife report has been logged.”

Mara glanced at the knife on the stones.

“What tag number?” Vale asked.

The voice answered through static.

Vale’s eyes shifted to the pouch in Mara’s hand.

“Repeat,” he said.

The number came again.

Mara looked down at the stamped metal tag.

It did not match.

The attendant whispered, “But that pouch was already checked.”

Mara closed her fingers around the sealed evidence pouch.

Behind her, the sea struck Blackrock with a sound like a door being forced open.

End of chapter one. 39 more chapters in the full book.