Buzz.
The overhead lights flickered once, twice—then blazed to life.
Everyone blinked against the sudden brightness, eyes adjusting after so many hours in dim firelight.
An electric hum filled the silence.
The power had been restored!
As Rachel shifted in her chair, the blanket slipped just enough for a glimpse beneath her coat. For the briefest instant, something about the shape of her belly looked . . . off. Not round exactly. More defined. Structured.
Olive blinked, and the moment passed. It was probably just the angle or the way her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sudden light.
She was seeing danger when there was none. First, the couple’s backpack. Now thinking Rachel’s stomach looked off.
But as much as she tried to convince herself that was true, the unsettled feeling in her gut remained.
Michael set his bowl down with shaking hands, his eyes darting around the room. “The killer is here. I can feel it.”
“Don’t start,” Rex warned.
“Killer?” Bradford asked, concern filling his gaze.
“We have a situation we’re dealing with,” Rex said.
“What kind of situation?” Bradford stood. “Do I need to remind you that my wife is pregnant?”
“We’re well aware,” Rex said. “You being here isn’t ideal, but none of us really had any other choice. I assure you that we’re doing everything we can to keep the situation under control.”
Michael rose, his eyes wild. “You don’t get it. Someone wants to torture me until I give them what they want! They’re willing to kill people in order to get to me. And this person could be someone in this room.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nova snapped. “None of us are killers.”
Olive wished she felt that confident.
“Is it ridiculous?” Mitzi’s sharp gaze cut toward Nova. “We have one dead man—whose body was stolen—and one missing innkeeper. Unless there’s another hidden room around here, then the killer is in this room.”
Everyone looked at each other with wide, suspicious eyes.
Trick stood slowly, his eyes on Michael. “Who’s to say it wasn’t him? Maybe he didn’t come here for protection—maybe he came here to enact some sort of plan.”
Voices rose, accusations overlapping.
They all had too many fears and too much exhaustion.
Through it all, Olive sat still, her mind racing.
Because while everyone else was arguing, she couldn’t stop thinking about who might be guilty.
More than ever, she needed to find that answer now.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
The argumentstill hummed through the great room.
Olive eased back from the group, letting the shadows near the hallway swallow her. Her heart thudded steadily—not from fear this time, but purpose.
