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“Hey lovey,” I said, checking on Bear, still recovering in one of the kennels. “Sorry to bother you after bedtime.”
Not totally out of the woods yet, he’d been doing better than I ever could have imagined. He gave my fingers a lick as I stuck them through the bars to pet his muzzle.
“You’re doing so well. Yes you are.”
He whimpered and nuzzled my hand, then shifted, curling into a ball and closing his eyes. The poor thing was still on a lot of meds, and spent most of his time sleeping.
Leaving Bear be, I walked over to the back storage room.
“Rufus isn’t going to know what hit him,” I quipped to the empty space, trying to shake off the tingle of unease that crawled up my spine. The back room was a sanctuary of sorts, lined with shelves of neatly labeled products and medications, each a silent sentry in the quiet. I navigated the narrow aisles, reaching for the bottle marked ‘Unscented – Hypoallergenic’.
That’s when the chime of the doorbell sliced through the silence, and I froze. “Alex? Is that you?” My voice sounded too loud in the stillness, too chipper. I waited for a response, but there was only the steady drip-drip of a leak somewhere in the back, keeping time like a metronome set to a slow, ominous beat.
“Alex, you here?” I called again, louder this time, clutching the shampoo bottle like a talisman. A chill skittered down my arms despite the close, humid air.
No answer came.
“Weird,” I muttered, stepping hesitantly toward the front. The uneasy feeling settled heavier around my shoulders, a cloak woven from the threads of the gathering storm. Maybe it was the way the silence seemed fuller than before, or how my own breaths seemed to echo back at me, distorted and foreign.
“Who’s there?” I tried again, my tone sharpening with an edge of fear. My footsteps faltered, betraying my bravado as I rounded the corner. The silhouette that greeted me in the dark wasn’t Alex’s slim figure. It was broader, not totally familiar—a looming presence that didn’t belong.
“Who the hell are you?” The words tasted like copper in my mouth, a mixture of adrenaline and dread swirling together. I blinked, trying to make sense of the figure, to imprint any defining feature into my memory, but the backlighting turned them into a mere shadow, a void where a person should be.
The shampoo slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat screaming a warning. The figure took a step forward, and instinctively, I took one back.
“Stay the hell away from me!” The command was fierce, edged with panic. I reached for something, anything, to use as a weapon. But before my fingers could close around the handle of a broom, the lights flickered once, twice, then gave out completely, plunging the clinic into darkness.
“Shit, shit, shit.” My whisper was a prayer, a plea, as the last thing I saw before the blackness swallowed everything was the faint glimmer of eyes reflecting the distant lightning.
thirty-four
SAWYER
The twinkling lightsof Il Petrini's heated courtyard flickered like fireflies as I leaned back in the wrought-iron chair, my foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the cobblestones.
I'd been meaning to take Hannah here for dinner because it was the most beautiful restaurant in Moon Harbor. Ivy grew on the stone walls, and fountains trickled throughout the space, filling the air with a soothing melody. The scent of blooming jasmine mingled with the aroma of Italian delicacies.
But at the moment, I couldn't enjoy any of it.
"Another glass of Chianti, Sawyer?" Marco, the owner and tonight's waiter, offered with a knowing grin as he approached my table.
"Let's hold off for now," I replied, flashing him a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. "She'll be here any minute."
I couldn't help but picture Hannah—her blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight, those green eyes that had me thinking of sea-glass. But the chair opposite me remained achingly empty, the candle between us burning low.
The courtyard buzzed with quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses, but the symphony of small-town nightlife couldn't drown out the drumming of my own pulse in my ears.
"Damn it, baby," I muttered under my breath, my gaze flicking to the entrance every time a shadow moved. Every couple that walked by, every burst of laughter from inside the restaurant, felt like a taunt. I checked my phone again. The ringer was on—same as a minute ago when I last checked—and there were no new texts.
The minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last. My confidence began to ebb, replaced by a gnawing concern I wasn't accustomed to. Sure, Hannah could be a whirlwind, but she was also punctual. Painfully so.
"Something's not right," I growled, pushing back from the table, the iron legs screeching against the stones. I tossed a couple of bills onto the table for the untouched wine and stood. I was used to riding out storms, to the unpredictability of the open road beneath my bike, but this...This waiting game had my insides twisting more than any sharp curve ever could.
I tossed a twenty on the table. "Sorry, Marco. Gotta check something out," I said, barely acknowledging his nod before my boots were hitting the cobblestones, my strides quick and purposeful.
"Be safe, Sawyer! The night has eyes," he called after me, a local saying that meant trouble sees you before you see it.
"Trouble," I echoed, feeling the truth of it in my bones.
