Page 6 of Knox

“I’m Sloane Mercer,” she said. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Claire was one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”

My brow pinched at the sound of her last name. Mercer. One of the families Maggie had mentioned. The ones who’d bought up the land trust property and built beach houses. How had she become friends with my mother?

I pushed the question aside for another time. Sloane clearly cared for my mom, and at the moment, she was scratched, scared, and shaking. The rest didn’t matter.

“Okay, Sloane. I’m going to take you back to your car. Make sure whoever was following you isn’t waiting there for you to return.”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle.

I grabbed my keys off the counter. “My Jeep’s outside.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“Yeah, I do.” I met her eyes. “Women are disappearing in this town. You’re not walking back alone.”

Her face went pale. “Those missing hikers are the main reason I ran. Any other time or place, and I might’ve convinced myself I was being ridiculous or paranoid. Forced myself to stay the course.” She offered a sad smile. “I might’ve even worried about appearing rude.”

I scowled. “Be rude. Rude saves lives. Hell, be an asshole.”

I moved toward the door, checking outside before gesturing for her to follow. “Let’s go.”

She didn’t follow.

“What’s wrong?”

Sloane pursed her lips. “Can I see your ID first? To confirm you are who you say you are.”

A ghost of a smile crossed my face before I squelched it. “Of course.” I pulled out my wallet and showed her my driver’s license, along with my military ID for good measure.

She studied them both, maybe memorizing details in case she needed them later. “Okay. Thank you.”

I put my ID away and locked up, then Sloane fell into step at my side.

We crossed the lot to my Jeep. No signs of other vehicles or people.

I opened the passenger door for her and waited until she was inside before circling to the driver’s side. The Jeep roared to life, and I pulled out onto Highway 12, heading south.

Sloane sat rigid beside me, her hands clenched in her lap. Every few seconds she glanced at the side mirror, watching the road behind us.

“You did the right thing,” I said. “Running. Getting to a public place.”

“I don’t even know if I was really in danger.” Her voice was tight. “I might’ve panicked over nothing. Or sprinted away from another hiker who happened to be going the same direction. I hate not knowing. In the moment I was so sure. But now—” She shook her head. “It’s very unsettling. Not knowing.”

“Trust yourself.” I kept my eyes on the road. “Your instincts were telling you something was wrong. Trust that.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she leaned back in the seat, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Thank you for not making me feel like I’m overreacting.”

I slowed and initiated my turn signal as we approached the trailhead parking lot. “Our guts are rarely wrong. You’re better safe than sorry.”

Sloane’s features softened at my words, and her eyes misted with unshed tears.

I looked away to stop myself from reaching for her. She looked like she desperately needed a hug. Some kind of physical reassurance. But that wasn’t my place, and a woman who was recently terrified by a lurking creep didn’t need another stranger trying to touch her.

“That’s me,” she said, pointing.

Her silver Audi sat alone in the lot. No other vehicles in sight. The scene looked peaceful, innocent. No signs of the VW bus either.

I pulled in beside her car and killed the engine. “Stay here while I check it out.”