Measured.
Footsteps.
Olive rose quietly, her heart thudding.
They’d searched the lodge top to bottom. So who—or what—was moving now?
Olive’s pulse drummed in her ears as she crept up the stairs behind Jason, the beam of her flashlight cutting through the dim hallway. The wind outside had settled into a steady roar, rattling the shutters and making the whole inn seem to breathe.
They moved quietly, their sock-clad feet whispering over the wood floor. The hall was lined with guest doors, all closed.
Except for one.
And Olive knew for certain she’d closed them all when she’d been up here earlier.
She and Jason exchanged a glance, and she nodded.
Jason pushed it open farther, and the beam of his flashlight swept the small guest room.
Just as earlier, the bed was neatly made, the curtains still drawn, and everything was still.
But something felt off.
She froze.
“What is it?” Jason asked.
“Do you smell that? It smells like coffee.”
He sniffed. “Maybe the scent drifted up from downstairs.”
“Maybe.” But she didn’t think so.
Then her gaze stopped on the bed, and she drew in a breath. “There was a blanket here earlier. Folded on the foot of the bed.”
“Did Warren come up here to collect blankets?”
“No, he got them from his suite.”
Jason frowned and stepped closer. “Are you sure there was a blanket here?”
“Positive. It was dark blue. Now it’s gone. Who would have come up here and taken it?”
Jason rubbed his jaw, hiding his frown. “No one.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
Olive’s heart kicked.“Something is going on.”
Jason’s gaze scanned the place. “Whatever it is, I don’t like it.”
She didn’t either.
They checked the small closet. Empty. Under the bed.
Nothing.
