Children who trusted me.
A man I desperately wanted to kiss again.
“Well,” I murmured. “This is new.”
The rain had stopped by the time I cleaned the kitchen and extinguished most of the lights. The cottage settled into nighttime silence around me. Normally, I would have welcomed it. Tonight, the quiet made me restless.
I had just started toward the hallway when a knock sounded at the front door. I froze instantly. Nobody ever came here.
Nobody.
Emil visited occasionally but never unannounced. Millie didn’t know my address. And humans generally avoided remote forest cottages at night unless they were starring in deeply disturbing horror films.
Another knock. Something cold slithered through me. Deep inside, I recognized the energy behind that knock. My body moved toward the door before my mind caught up. Every instinct told me to stop. Every instinct told me to run. Yet something deeper pulled me forward anyway.
I reached the entryway slowly. The porch light shone through the frosted glass beside the door. My hand tightened around the knob. Then I opened it.
Silence lingered for one terrible heartbeat.
“Hello there, Poppet,” a familiar masculine voice drawled from the darkness beyond the porch light. “Did you miss me?”
20
CONRAD
Monday morning didn’t go as I’d planned. I was halfway through making coffee when I realized Winnie should’ve arrived already. At first, I didn’t panic. I reminded myself that traffic was a thing. Sometimes people slept through their alarm. Perhaps my kids’ favorite nanny had finally snapped and decided to sleep for twelve consecutive hours after dealing with our family for months.
Honestly, I wouldn’t blame her in the slightest. Still, by the time the coffee finished brewing and the grandfather clock in the foyer ticked past six-thirty, unease had started crawling under my skin.
Winnie was never late. Not even once.
I checked my phone again. No texts and no missed calls. Odd.
CJ wandered into the kitchen in pajama pants and mismatched socks, his beloved notebook tucked under his arm. “Morning,” he mumbled sleepily.
“Morning, buddy.”
He climbed onto a stool and immediately squinted around the kitchen. “Where’s Winnie?”
“There’s probably traffic. Maybe a wreck on the highway.”
CJ frowned slightly. “She’s never late.”
That uncomfortable feeling tightened another notch. I grabbed my phone off the kitchen counter and called her. The line rang. And rang. And rang. No answer.
I ended the call, trying very hard not to spiral immediately into worst-case scenarios. Which unfortunately was difficult after the break-in. My brain had become deeply talented at imagining horrifying possibilities ever since two men had forced their way into my home.
I ran my hand through my hair. “She probably forgot to charge her phone,” I muttered.
CJ watched me carefully over the rim of his orange juice glass. “You sound like you don’t believe that.”
By six forty-five Bianca had entered the kitchen, dressed for school. Billie followed two minutes later, wearing one shoe and carrying a spoon for reasons known only to herself.
Bianca immediately noticed the absence. “Where’s Winnie?”
“Running late.”
Billie slapped her hand to her chest. “Kidnapping.”
