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chapter one
Veronica Martens stood in her empty kitchen, the stainless steel refrigerator door hanging open. Pale light cast eerie shadows on the white countertops and hardwood floors.
The fridge was almost empty.
An empty fridge meant she had to leave the house.
Her heart lodged in her throat, and she looked over her shoulder toward the front door of her small seaside cabin. That door was as terrifying as the entrance to a deep, dark, endless cave, and she had no interest in exploring what lay on the other side.
But she needed to eat.
She closed the fridge with a soft thud and glanced toward her phone on the kitchen counter. She could call Dad. He’d send groceries. All she had to do was ask…
Except the ask always came with questions and concerns, and she didn’t want to admit just how difficult it was for her to leave the house. He wouldn’t understand the crippling anxiety that gripped her every time she stepped outside, and he’d only worry. He already worried about her too much.
Besides, she couldn’t keep relying on him. She was a grown-ass woman and could take care of herself.
Not for the first time, she wished she had Wi-Fi. Her cell phone worked for calls in the cabin, but internet access was spotty unless she stepped outside. But Wi-Fi meant she had to interact with a stranger. Maybe even invite them into her home to have it installed, and the idea of inviting a man—because it would probably be a man—into her sanctuary gave her heart palpitations.
No.
She could live without Wi-Fi. She didn’t need to order groceries for delivery. She could go into town like a normal person.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her keys and headed towards the door. She could do this. It was just a quick trip to the grocery store. Nothing to be scared of.
As she reached for the doorknob, her palms began to sweat. The impulse to bolt back into the safety of her house was nearly overwhelming, but she steeled herself, drawing on the remnants of her Air Force pilot’s resolve. With trembling hands, she turned the knob and pushed the door open, taking a single step onto the porch.
The wind whispered through the trees, rustling leaves, and all she could think of was a predator hiding in the foliage, stalking its prey. The wind brought with it scents that should be comforting— damp earth, salted waves—but instead, it made her insides quake. She scanned back and forth between the dark woods to the left of her cabin and the rugged cliff that dramatically dropped into the restless expanse of the Pacific on the right. The vast horizon, painted with bright oranges and pinks from the setting sun, taunted her. Reminded her how she used to soar through open skies, fearless and free.
Would she ever be fearless again?
Probably not.
The suffocating presence of anxiety lurked like a bogeyman just out of sight, threatening a panic attack.
She couldn’t breathe.
Heart pounding, she retreated into the house, slammed the door shut, and locked it with all three deadbolts. The final snick of the last lock sliding home eased the tension in her chest, calming her nerves. She leaned her back against the door, taking deep breaths to steady herself.
Her phone rang.
Dad.
Goddammit.
The man had a sixth sense when it came to her panic attacks. Somehow, he always knew. And he always called.
She drew one last steadying breath and answered. “Hi, Dad.”
Shit, her voice came out fainter than she’d hoped, and of course he noticed instantly.
“Sweetheart, are you all right?”
He lived nearly ten hours away in Seattle, but she could picture the worried lines creasing his brow as if he stood right in front of her. Arthur Martens was a good man, a loving father who had always been there for her, even when she had pushed him away. And yet she couldn’t stop pushing him away.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“No, you’re not. I can hear it in your voice. What’s wrong?”
