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He grabbed Izzy by the hood of her coat and back down the hallway. Were they still there? “Out, now.”
“No. What’s going on?”
“Someone’s been in the house. I don’t know if they’re still here. Get the fuck out of the house.”
“And go where? It’s storming out there.” She tore one of the photos off the flower arrangements. Her fingers shook as she got a good look at the shot. Her jaw clenched. “I’m going to fucking kill her.”
Logan took the shot. It was of him running in the woods. From two weeks ago at least. The paths had been too icy for him to run.
He rushed through the house, plucking pictures off the little tridents spiked into each arrangement. Him in the house shaving. Her making dinner. Her on the dock—alone. Izzy with Fiona in the clearing, playing ball. Her doing yoga like she did every morning in the living room. Him chopping wood that day in the clearing.
His lungs were on fire as he twirled around to each plant and found another one. The house was filled with the too sweet scent of the roses and out-of-season blooms. The freaking flowers were in crystal vases. All of them.
“Pack a bag.”
She didn’t even question him. She didn’t even take her coat off, simply raced up the stairs. He heard the shatter of glass and raced up after her. A huge arrangement sat on its side, water racing across the pine floor.
Photos covered their bed. All of them were intimate. Them making love, them in the shower, the two of them kissing. Even some of Izzy’s private moments. Like crying alone on the docks, or the ultimate indignity of her scars on display.
As Izzy stared at what had been left for them to find, her eyes were huge and lost.
He dumped out the paper bag of recycled newspapers that they had in their room and stuffed every photo inside. This was beyond stalking laws. This was a complete invasion of privacy.
“Isabella. Bag now.”
He knew he sounded harsh, but it was the only way to get her moving. She nodded and tore open suitcases, tossing their clothes inside. Her fingers brushed another photo in front of the closet. Before he could stop her, she’d torn it apart.
“Baby.”
“No. No. Not here.” She dashed away angry tears. “This place was safe. They didn’t even know our name here. We haven’t talked to anyone. We use cash for everything. There’s no way she should know we’re here.”
“I know.”
Logan’s chest tightened. It meant someone couldn’t be trusted in their circle. Someone on Marcus’s end had to have been bought off. That’s all he could figure out. There was no other way.
He pushed the pictures into the bottom of his suitcase and covered them with his clothes. There was no way he was letting anyone see them, nor would he risk losing them. He was not going to have the proof stolen again.
“We’re going to be smart about this. All of it goes to Marcus.”
“What if he’s the one that did this? What if she paid him off? What if there’s nowhere that we can go to that she can’t get to us? Get to you.”
“Izzy, no.”
She bent at the waist, her breathing suddenly a gasp.
He crouched in front of her. “I won’t let her get to you, I promise. I swear it.”
She wrapped shaking fingers around his wrist. “Not me. She’ll go for you. Look at those pictures. I’m in a lot of them, but they’re all of you. Every one of them has you in it somewhere—even if the picture focuses on me.”
He stood up and dug the bag out of his suitcase. He spread all the pictures around and sure enough she was right. Almost all of them had him in the picture, even peripherally. There were a handful that were just Izzy, but mostly he was there in the frame somewhere.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. None of this made sense. But the mere fact that someone had been in their place, had walked through the entire cabin and set these out—it was just too much.
And they were the only tennants on the property now. It was well after the season and Richard’s cabin was too far away.
Hell, when they pulled up, it had
been too snowy to tell if anyone had been there or when. It had taken them well over three hours to do their shopping because of the travel time and how busy the store had been.
