But it’s quiet again.
Maybe it was just a deer, or a raccoon.
Maybe it was a bear, plodding through the woods, searching for another meal as it prepares to go into hibernation in the fall.
A predator lurking in the trees might have quieted the rest of the animals in the area, and it certainly could have caused a branch or twig to break.
Shit.
I picture the handgun Connor left for me, now sitting next to my computer on the table in the cabin.
Why didn’t I bring it with me?
Because I’ve grown complacent.
Because I’ve felt so goddamn safe the entire time I’ve been up here that I never for a second imagined I might not be.
Because I let Connor’s reassurances convince me I was untouchable.
No other sound comes from the trees, and I slowly release the breath I’ve been holding and continue my way down the path toward the clearing and the safety of the cabin.
Once I’m inside and have that gun in my hand, any potential threat won’t stand a chance—Connor made sure of that.
When I step out of the treeline and into the clearing, my eyes immediately dart to where Connor usually is, at the piles of logs and tools he left scattered around on the ground as if he plans to pick them right back up as soon as he returns.
My heart drops, even though I knew he wouldn’t be there.
He’s only been gone for half a day…
He probably is just reaching where we left the ATV now, or maybe even the homestead, considering how much faster he can move without me with him, but he’s not going to come back tonight.
It would be too strenuous, even for someone in as good of shape as him.
That deflates a little bit of my confidence as I rush across the clearing toward the cabin. I throw open the door and step inside, but the moment I do, that confidence in my safety evaporates instantly.
A man sits at the table, the gun, my only protection, resting underneath his hand, and a slow smile spreads across his lips as I stand frozen just inside the door.
One of his dark brows rises. “Raven Perry, I presume.”
I don’t breathe.
I don’t swallow.
I don’t move a fucking centimeter.
What the hell do I do?
In all my years as a reporter, I’ve covered topics and written stories that pissed off a lot of people. But never anyone who would resort to sending a hitman after me.
Looking at the man in front of me, there isn’t any question that’s exactly what he is and why he’s here.
My eyes dart from him to the gun, then back up again, and he offers me a hard look with eyes that lack any sort of emotion.
I thought Connor’s gaze was dark, even onyx sometimes, but this man’s eyes have a fathomlessness that suggests he lacks a soul, and maybe never had one.
“Don’t even think about it, Miss Perry.”
Fuck.
