The bell on the coffee shop’s door greeted me as I stepped inside. The jingle was light. Cheerful. The chime did nothing to stop the tornado of anticipation and dread that had been twisting my insides since I’d climbed out of bed at three this morning.
The five cups of coffee I’d guzzled hadn’t helped my frazzled nerves. Pacing my hotel room had made me feel like an animal trapped in a cage, so well before dawn, I’d set out to explore Quincy, as I had last night.
The air was cold, my breath billowing as I walked. My boots left tracks in the frost that coated the sidewalks. The sun was beginning to creep toward the mountaintops, burnishing their tips in gold, but the sky was still dark. The only light in town came from streetlamps and porch lights. Nearly every building on Main was dark, save The Eloise Inn.
And Eden Coffee.
The café was empty. The tables on each side of the aisle were lined in neat rows. The chairs were pushed in, ready to be shifted and filled.
The barista from yesterday rushed out from the back hallway, a towel in her hands. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I said.
“What can I get you?”
Before I could answer, Lyla emerged from the same hallway. Her steps faltered, only slightly, when she spotted me.
I could still hear her whistle from last night. It echoed in my mind, just like the sight of her standing in the coffee shop’s doorway seemed imprinted on my brain.
Beautiful. Brave, Lyla.
“Hi.” Her voice was just as jagged as it had been yesterday. “I’ll take care of him, Crystal.”
“Okay.” Crystal nodded, then hurried away.
“Hi.” I came to a stop at the counter, taking in Lyla’s face, searching for any sign of doubt. A hint that she’d changed her mind. But if there was any uncertainty racing through that pretty head, she didn’t let it show.
We hadn’t spoken last night. We hadn’t traded details or phone numbers. There’d just been that whistle.
Then she’d retreated inside the coffee shop while I’d lingered outside, watching as the lights went out.
“Would you like anything before we go?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black.” I reached for my wallet but she waved it off.
With practiced efficiency, she filled a paper to-go cup and fitted it with a collar and lid.
No scarf today. Lyla wore a black turtleneck sweater to cover her throat instead. It fit her frame, molding around her slender shoulders and the curve of her breasts. The collar itself climbed her jaw, concealing nearly every bruise save for those directly below her ears. But she’d kept her long, dark hair down today, the silky, chocolate strands draping nearly to her waist. The loose waves hid most of what the sweater didn’t.
“Five minutes?” She set my coffee on the counter.
“Take your time.” I took my coffee and walked to the front windows, sipping the scalding liquid as I peered out at the sleepy street. A single truck had rolled by in the time it took Lyla to gather her coat and pull a slouchy knit hat over her hair.
She tucked her phone in her coat pocket. If I had to guess, she’d turned on her location services. Or maybe she’d told Crystal or a friend where we were headed in fear that I was a serial killer.
“Would you like to drive?” she asked, tugging on a pair of gloves.
“Sure.” I opened the door for her—earning more of that happy jingle—then I led the way to my truck, parked outside the hotel.
Lyla nodded her thanks when I opened the door for her, then she climbed in as I made my way to the driver’s side.
“How are you feeling today?” I put the truck in reverse but kept my foot on the brake. “You sure about this?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. The catch in her voice had nothing to do with a change of heart, just the lingering effects of her wounds. “Head north.”
“All right.” I let go of the brake and followed her instructions.
As we hit the edge of town and sped down the highway, my pulse quickened. I wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety or mine, but the tension in the truck became so thick, so heavy, that I could hardly breathe.
This was breaking all the rules. This went against every protocol, every courtesy, that had been drilled into me since the academy. By rights, I should have checked in with the local authorities yesterday.
I’d always played by the rules. I’d always been considerate of other departments. Where had that gotten me?
Cormac was still on the lam, and I’d spent four years ducking under red tape.
Risky as it was, I was forging my own path this time. I’d make my own rules. And if I actually found Cormac, well . . . I’d pray the FBI didn’t care how he was found, just grateful that he’d be one less person on their most-wanted lists.
Lyla shifted in her seat, her knees bouncing as she pointed down the road. “Take a left up here.”
“’Kay.” I eased off the gas. Part of me wanted to ask again if she was okay. Give her another chance to turn this truck around. But I was too desperate. Too scared she’d take the out if offered. So I took the left and drummed up some idle conversation. “How long have you lived in Quincy?”
“Other than for school, my whole life. My family founded Quincy.”
“No kidding.”
“You’re staying at The Eloise, right?”
“I am.” It was the only hotel around.
“My great-great-grandmother was Eloise. Now my younger sister, her namesake, owns it. There’s an ongoing joke around town that you can’t throw a rock down Main without hitting an Eden.”
“Ah. Would I have met any other relatives?”
“My brother Knox owns Knuckles and is the head chef.”
“I was planning on dinner there tonight. Anyone else?”
“Probably not.” She cleared her throat and I expected her to stop talking, but she kept on going, like if she stopped, her fears would win out. “My twin sister, Talia, is a doctor at the hospital. My parents live on my family’s ranch. So do my other brothers. Both are on the search and rescue team along with my dad. My sister-in-law is Winslow Eden. She’s the chief of police.”
For fuck’s sake.
So much for steering clear of the local authorities. Goddamn it. What were the chances?
I dragged a hand over my face, feeling the scrape of my whiskers against my palm.
Lyla was my only connection to Cormac, and given my typical shitty luck, she was also related to the chief of police. Hello, red tape.
My captain in Idaho would undoubtedly be getting a phone call. And that would lead to questions. Lots and lots of questions.
Fuck. I didn’t need the mess at home infecting what I was trying to do here in Quincy.
“Listen, Lyla.” I glanced over, her striking blue gaze waiting. “I haven’t spoken to anyone in Quincy about this. If I was following protocol, I should have checked in with your sister-in-law already.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“I guess you could say I have trust issues with other cops.” An understatement. In more ways than she’d ever understand. “Like I told you yesterday, I’ve been searching for Cormac for four years. There’s never been much to go on. He disappeared and has been slippery.”
Another understatement.
Lyla’s attention stayed fixed on my profile as I spoke. Her hands remained clasped in her lap. For her sake, I’d spare her the details of Cormac’s crimes. But for my own, I needed her to stick with me. To see this through, just for today.
“Early on, when the media was all over the story, tips and sightings poured in like a spring flood. Most of them were bogus. People claimed they’d seen him but couldn’t provide any details. Still, we followed up on nearly every tip. Then the FBI got involved. The agent in charge shoved us local cops out of the way. Didn’t want any input.” Especially from me.
I was too close to the murders. Like being invested, dedicated, was a bad thing.
“I spent a year watching them chase their tails until they moved on to other cases and this one fell to the wayside.”
That first year, it hadn’t been easy gleaning information from the federal team, but I’d kept my ear to the ground and had done everything in my power to stay in the loop.
“Will the FBI come here?” Lyla asked.
“Maybe.” There was a chance that the agent assigned to Cormac’s open case would come across the APB. That they’d put the pieces together too. But I was counting on sluggish federal processes to delay their involvement. Maybe it would get overlooked entirely.
The sad truth of it was, without media attention or pressure from family members, cases were often forgotten, especially those that had been open for a significant amount of time. And when it came to Cormac, the only person who truly seemed to care about justice for the girls was me.
“After the FBI basically gave up, I started my own investigation.” Not exactly legal, considering I’d been using police databases to glean information, but I hadn’t been caught. Yet.
“I watched for crimes and criminals who matched Cormac’s description,” I told Lyla. “Most of the time, it led me on a wild goose chase. A couple years ago, a man matching his description robbed a gas station in Oregon. Eighteen months ago, there was a guy who’d stolen a truck in Wyoming with red hair and a similar build. I went to Oregon. I went to Wyoming. I talked to the local authorities. The man in Wyoming was someone else. But I’m fairly confident Cormac was in Oregon. In both cases, by the time I convinced the local cops to let me into the loop, any chance at finding Cormac was gone.”
“So this time, you came straight to the source.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t,” I told her. “It was a guess.”
“Good guess.”
I kept driving, waiting for her to order me back to Quincy. Waiting for her to call her sister-in-law and blow my plan to smithereens.
“See that turnout up ahead?”
“Yeah.” That was where she’d tell me to flip this truck around.
“That’s where I parked. We’ll walk from there.”
Thank fuck. I slowed, easing into the turnout. When we were parked, I faced Lyla, about to give her one last chance to call this off. But she was already gone, opening the door to step outside.
Beneath my coat, my Glock was in its shoulder holster. I snagged my pack from the back seat, stowing my keys, then I joined Lyla outside.
She stood next to the truck, her eyes aimed at the forest ahead. “My family is protective.”
“They don’t know you’re here with me today.”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Why’d you come?” When she’d left the table at the coffee shop yesterday, I’d expected that to be the last I’d hear from her. But here she was, shoulders pinned, hands fisted.
That bravery I’d seen in her last night shined as bright as the dawn.
“Winn is a good cop.” She looked up at me, waiting until our gazes locked. “I’m not here because I don’t have faith in her. But she has enough to worry about.”
“They are protective of you. And you’re protective of them.”
She gave me a single nod. “I want him to rot in prison for the rest of his life.”
“Are you expecting me to argue?”
“I’m expecting you to do what you came here to do. Find him.”
The ferocity in her voice, the steadiness. There was no rasp. No crack. “Then let’s go.”
She released a breath, then marched into the trees, taking a rough path that hadn’t seen much use. This trail was likely only used by locals. Fishermen. Hunters.
We walked in silence, the only sound coming from the forest itself. Birds chirping. Leaves and boughs rustling in the breeze. A twig snapped beneath Lyla’s boot as she walked. My own thudded on the cool, damp earth.
In the distance, the rippling sound of the river grew louder. The rush and trickle of water over rocks soon overpowered the other noises.
Lyla turned course, stepping off the path to weave past trees. When we emerged from the forest onto the riverbank, she stopped.
Her hand came to her throat as she swallowed.
“You good?”
Lyla’s face whipped to mine. She blinked, like she’d forgotten I was standing at her side.
Damn, but she had beautiful eyes. Blue. Broken.
This hike wasn’t just about saving her sister-in-law some heartache, was it? It was about Lyla facing this place on her own terms.
“You can do this.”
“I can do this,” she whispered, her eyes falling closed. When she opened them again, the fear was gone. In its place was iron.
She walked ahead, following the river’s path.
I stayed close. Alert.
The scent of rot drifted on the wind. The caw of a crow split the air.
Lyla stopped walking and lifted a hand, pointing to where the large black bird jumped from a rock and took flight. “That was where the gut pile was. From the elk he killed.”
Scavengers had picked the area nearly clean. Larger animals, like coyotes or bears, must have dragged the rest of the carcass to a different place to feast. All that remained were a few dried bits of entrails and a circle of black-red dried blood.
“After he let you go, any idea which way he ran?”
“No.” Lyla shook her head. “I was out of it.”
“Do you remember hearing water splash?”
“I don’t think so.”
There was a chance Cormac had crossed the river. Or maybe he’d gone upstream and crossed out of sight.
“They’ve been searching up here for days,” Lyla said. “Winn came to the coffee shop last night. She told me that the dogs lost his trail. Do you think that’s because he went through the water?”
“Dogs can scent through water. But Cormac is very good at covering his tracks.” He knew how search and rescue dogs were trained. And he knew how to avoid detection.
I walked to the remains of the animal Cormac had hunted. It had to be for food. Meaning there was a chance he’d built himself a shelter around here. Possibly a place he’d intended to stay during the winter.
“Did Winn say anything about search and rescue finding the remains of the elk he killed? You said he’d quartered it, right?” I asked Lyla.
“That’s what it looked like. I think I came across him when he was about done. There were game bags strapped to his pack. And his bow.”
An elk was a large animal. If he’d kept most of the meat, he’d have to dry it. Preserve it. Otherwise he would have gone after smaller game. Rabbits or fish were for a single meal. But an elk? That was long-term sustenance.
“How well do you know this area?” I stood, returning to Lyla. “Are there caves anywhere?”
“I don’t know. My brothers might.”
“I doubt they’ll be as willing to talk to me without the police in the room.”
She barked a dry laugh, wincing at the pain it caused. “Probably not.”
“That’s all right.” I turned in a circle, mentally committing a few landmarks to memory so that when the carcass of that elk was well and truly gone, I’d still have a reference point. “This gives me a place to start. Let’s head back.”
Before the local authorities came out exploring on their own today.
Lyla turned, about to lead the way back into the forest, but paused. She spun her own circle, slowly. Deliberately. “This used to be my favorite hiking trail.”
Used to be. Cormac had stolen it from her. “I’m sorry.”
“Why did he let me go?”
It was the second time she’d asked that question. The second time I couldn’t give her an answer.
One moment, she was staring forward, the next she whirled so quickly that her boot caught on a rock.
My arms shot out, catching her at the waist before she could fall.
Her hands gripped my biceps as she righted her feet. But she didn’t step away once she had her balance.
And I didn’t let her go.
Our eyes clashed, and for a moment, I let myself drown in those sapphire irises. The inner circle was a blue, bright and striated with white. The outer ring was dark, almost navy, like the sky before a thunderstorm.
My God, she had stunning eyes. I leaned in closer, drawn to that blue. Then my gaze shifted to that rosy pink mouth.
Lyla blinked and broke away. Her breath hitched and she ducked her chin, moving past me for the trees.
Fuck. What the hell was I doing? I scrubbed a hand over my face, clearing the fog, then turned away from the river.
Lyla led the way to the Dodge without a backward glance. She climbed inside as soon as I hit the locks.
I rounded the hood, stowing my pack in the rear seat. Then I took a deep breath, ready to apologize the moment I was behind the wheel. But just as I hopped inside, a sniffle filled the cab.
A tear fell down Lyla’s cheek. Without thinking, I reached out and caught it.
Her blue eyes snapped to mine.
Instead of taking my hand away, instead of obeying that invisible boundary across the console that marked her half of the truck from mine, I skimmed her smooth cheek. My fingertips forged the trail that tear would have taken. All while I let myself get sucked in by those cobalt pools once more.
What was it about this woman? What was it about those eyes I found so entirely tempting?
My heart pounded, skipping every other beat. I couldn’t seem to take my hand away from her face. My God, she was beautiful.
Her skin was impossibly smooth. She had a perfect nose, straight and pretty. Her chin came to a soft point. She smelled incredible, like sugar and vanilla and cinnamon.
Her mouth parted. And this time, it was her gaze that shifted first, dropping to my mouth.
I leaned closer, drawn by the magnet that was Lyla Eden, and a hard edge dug into my rib.
The Glock.
I was wearing my gun. Because I’d brought Lyla up here to track a murderer. Her attempted murderer. And for fuck’s sake, I was acting like I’d kiss her. Again.
I dropped my hand, shifting both palms to the steering wheel.
“I, um . . .” I hit the ignition. “I’ll drive you home.”
“The coffee shop. Please.”
“Sure.”
The silence on the drive to town was miserable. Neither of us spoke, about Cormac or the river or whatever the hell had happened between us.
Something. Chemistry maybe? I’d never felt anything like that in my life. Whatever it was, one thing was certain, I didn’t trust myself to stare into her blue eyes. So I kept my gaze fixed on the road, and Lyla studied whatever streaked past her passenger window.
When I parked in front of Eden Coffee, I expected her to fly out the door.
Instead, she twisted to face me. “I won’t tell Winn what you’re doing. Or anyone.”
“I’m not asking you to keep a secret from your family.” I couldn’t ask that.
“We all have secrets.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “Thank you.”
“What will you do?”
“Spend some time scouting the area. Start with maps. Make a grid. Check the boxes, one by one.”
“What makes you think he’s still around?”
“He might not be,” I told her, wanting to set her expectations for failure rather than success.
“But you’ll look anyway?”
I nodded. “I’ll look anyway.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Want some breakfast?”
Breakfast. She was inviting me to breakfast, even after I’d acted like a dipshit. The tension crept from my shoulders. My spine relaxed. “Yeah. I’d like breakfast.”
“Come on in.”
With my backpack over a shoulder, I followed her into the coffee shop. Gone was the quiet, still café from earlier. Customers occupied over half the tables. A line three-deep had formed at the counter.
Lyla headed that direction to help out while I took a chair at the same table I’d eaten at yesterday, the one closest to the window, so I could watch out across Main. Then I dug through my bag, pulling out the area maps I’d bought yesterday at the hardware store.
Twenty minutes later, a plate appeared in front of me. On it was what looked like a cherry turnover. Next to it, a breakfast sandwich. Lyla set down a steaming mug of fresh, black coffee.
We didn’t speak. To anyone else in the room, I was just another patron.
But those blue eyes found mine throughout the morning.
And in them, a flicker of hope.
Hope in me.
It had been a long time since someone had given me blind faith.
My resolve to find Cormac turned to steel. He’d pay for hurting her.
Tomorrow, I’d begin my search.
For Norah. For the girls.
For Lyla.
