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I roll my eyes in disbelief.
He points to my chest. “Old toy, remember?”
I dust off my shoulder. “More beloved than old.”
“Perhaps, but here’s where our trains of thought differ.” He steps up to the bar and rests his forearms on the counter. “Her thoughts are all over the place, this much I know. Although it bothered me days ago, I’ve given her the space and time to sift through those thoughts. To decide what it isshewants. And now she’s made her decision,” he says the last part with overt confidence. “She may not havesaidshe’s in love with me, but she is. Her temporary paralysis when I was on the phone earlier, it was written all over her face. With your hands in her hair, she lookedat meand silently said she was in lovewith me.” He rubs the scruff along his jaw. “And I told her as much in return. Because yeah, I am in love with her.” His expression softens. “Have been for years. Just didn’t realize it until recently.”
Annoyed by his admission, I imagine slapping the gooey, lovesick look off his face. Imagine the thrill in my veins at seeing my red handprint on his cheek. The satisfaction is temporary.
Solemnity takes over his expression as he holds my gaze. “If you kissed her and she kissed you back, I wouldn’t be angry with her. She needs to know she’s made the right choice. I can’t fault her for that. Not in this scenario.” He inhales a deep, steadying breath. “I would, however, be livid with you. If she made the move, it’d upset me, but after we talked about it, I’d be fine. Like I said, she’s trying to sort out her feelings. And I’m right here.” He points to the ground. “She isn’t doing this behind my back.”
He pauses and shakes his head.
“But if you made the move, inserting yourself in the middle ofourrelationship for selfish reasons, it makes you the asshole. It makesyouthe guy who just won’t see what’s right in front of him. It makesyouthe selfish prick. It makesyouthe bad guy.” He straightens to his full height and purses his lips. “And after this fiasco ends, she may never want to speak to you again. You willing to risk it?”
Motherfucker.
Why are his words sinking in and making sense? Why is this prick right? And why the hell does he look so smug?
“Whatever.” I back up from the bar, turn on my heel, and head for the door. “Going to check on her.”
Running water hits my ears as I tug on my coat and boots. I take one deep breath, then another, in an attempt to clear my head before seeing Kirsten. Last thing she needs is my frustration.
A gust of wind howls and slaps my cheek as I step out onto the empty porch. Zipping up my coat, I shove my hands in my pockets and head for the top of the stairs. Snow crunches beneath my boots and I make a mental note to shovel a path from the door to the steps later.
The farther down the steps I go, the more I lose the light from inside the cabin.
“Weather’s getting bad, sparkles. Should probably come in.”
No response. Just another howl of wind.
I jog down the snow-covered stairs that are nearly a ramp now. “Kirsten?” I call out louder this time. “Where are you?”
When I hit the bottom, I pull out my phone, hit the flashlight button, and shine the light on the lawn and surrounding trees. All I see is snow. Way more snow than earlier.
Pulse whooshing in my ears, I scan the forest and cup the side of my mouth. “Kirsten!” I shout, her name echoing through the trees and disappearing. "Fuck.”
I bolt up the stairs and through the front door, winded. Travis takes one look at me and stiffens.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t find her.”
“What do you—” He sprints across the room, rips the landline off the shelf, and dials out. His knee bounces as he waits for the call to connect. “Dani, it’s Travis. I need backup.” He pauses while Dani speaks on the other end. He rattles off the address to the cabin, along with the gate code. “Single, white female. Early twenties. Blonde hair, gray-blue eyes. Approximately five ten in height, slender build.”
Numbness consumes me as he describes her attire, as the reality of the situation sinks in.
Kirsten didn’t go strolling off into the night through an unfamiliar forest with a snowstorm rolling in. Someonetookher. The person stalking her in town followed us out here andtook her.
Is she hurt? Scared?
Alive?
I shake the dark thought from my head. “Can’t go there,” I mutter.
Travis hangs up the phone and dashes to the shoe rack next to the door. “Officer Pepper,” he commands, and she rises from her spot near the wood stove. “Rechts.”
She sidles up to him, on alert. Travis picks up a red, puffy dog windbreaker beside the shoe rack and wraps it around her middle. Along the spine, near the neck, is a small device. Once the jacket is in place, Travis flips a switch on the device, and a green light blinks. Taking out his phone, he taps the screen a few times.
