Chapter 6 - The Voice on the PierThe man turning toward me on the pier was in his late thirties, broad-shouldered, with thick grey-streaked hair, wearing a dark tailored suit jacket.
It wasn't Evan.
It was Owen MercerâEvanâs older brother.
Owen had been twenty-two when Evan diedâa quiet, brilliant architect who had left Maine years earlier to work for a major construction firm in Chicago.
When Owenâs dark brown eyes met mine across the wooden dock, he froze, dropping his blueprints onto the cedar planks.
âClaire...?â Owen whispered, his deep voice rich, rough, and trembling with disbelief.
I stood near my car, my heart hammering against my ribs. âOwen... what are you doing back in Blue Harbor?â
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Owen walked slowly down the pier, stopping three feet away from me. He looked at my face, seeing the seven years of silent grief carved into my eyes.
âI came back three years ago, Claire,â Owen said softly. âAfter Evan died... I couldn't stay in Chicago. I moved back here to finish what he started.â
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