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She knew it was silly. Who would it be? Sylvia wouldn’t have come back just to stalk them… would she?

But Sylvia wasn’t the only person looking for Kyle. Somehow, she’d have to figure out a way to tell Roman and Mandy about the $100K. Who’d put up that much money to find her brother? What had Kyle done now? Who had he pissed off badly enough to pay a small fortune to locate him, and what would they do once they did? What would happen to Netta then?

Swinging her legs from the bed, she crossed to the window and peeled back the curtain. Nothing but darkness. The main road was on the opposite side of the house, and there were no outdoor lights to help her make anything—or anyone—out.

After double-checking that the window was locked, she closed the curtains and climbed back under the covers.

The feeling remained.

Someone out there, watching.

Chapter 12

Addy hadn’t gotten any closer to finding Kyle last night, but today was a brand-new day. Having startled awake, surprised that she’d been able to sleep at all, she reached for her phone on the nightstand instinctively. Her hand closed over nothing but empty space.

Crap. Her cell phone—and laptop—were still somewhere with Oliver. If only she could get a hold of his devices… which, she was certain, were somewhere in his room. The one she’d yet to investigate.

Pulling back the bedroom curtains, she gathered in the lush beauty of the sprawling countryside. The watched feeling from last night dissipated as she looked out over the endless pastures.

Addy didn’t really travel much. Her tumultuous childhood had cured her of that desire. Most of her international adventures only involved fixing her brother’s messes. There was the time she’d flown to Cartagena because he’d left his wife—pregnant with Netta at the time—sick with E. coli in the hospital there, or the time she’d red-eyed it to Haiti to drag Kyle home before the gambling den he’d set up got him killed.

And here she was, repeating the pattern.

Teeth brushed and face washed, she stared at her exhausted reflection in her travel compact. The jet lag had left dark circles that no amount of makeup could cover.

Slipping into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she made her way to the kitchen. Time to face the enemy.

But the enemy wasn’t there.

Maybe he wasn’t a morning person.

Peeling back the curtains to let in some light, she looked for a coffee maker. Damn. Did Oliver not need caffeine? No coffee machine. No coffee grounds. Only a box of Barry’s Irish Tea on the counter. She eyed the red box. Nah, she wasn’t that desperate yet.

In the cupboard, she found a half-full jar of the instant junk. Not ideal, but desperate times… Turning on the kettle, she boiled water and dissolved the granules in one of the mismatched mugs stacked neatly on the shelf.

The mixture dissolved instantly, leaving an odd sheen across the surface of the water.

Gross, but it’d have to do. Milk and sugar should fix it.

Neither the milk nor sugar helped, but she even stomached a second cup waiting for Oliver, and still he hadn’t come down. How late did the man sleep?

Through the window, she eyed the cool, brilliant blue sky. Maybe she could squeeze in a run, burn off this restless energy, reassure herself that no one was out there, loitering.

Not hearing a sound from upstairs, she returned to her room and tugged on her running clothes, laced up her shoes, and headed out.

The stone ruins of the abbey just downhill had caught her attention yesterday. There’d been people there—tourists. If she could borrow someone’s cell, she could text Roman, have him look into the bounty.

Taking the paved path from the house, she jogged down the slope and crossed the empty, two-lane road. A wood-fenced trail leading to the abbey split a pasture, cows grazing on either side. Ahead, thick trees towered at a forest’s edge.

But no one else was around. Dammit.

Despite the overnight showers, the morning air was warm and dry. Birds called from the nearby forest—she counted at least four distinct songs. As she made her way along the fenced path, a ginger-and-white cow ambled up to the fence line, movements surprisingly agile for a beast of her size.

Stopping, Addy smiled at the bovine. “Well, hello. Do you recognize a fellow redhead?”

Was she allowed to pet cows? Did they bite? Didn’t have much cattle in Seattle.

When she extended her hand, the cow butted its big head against her palm. “Aw, you want some scratches? Do you have a name, sweet girl? You look like a Penny to me.”