Kensie was in his bedroom right now. Probably undressed.
The idea made Colter breathe faster and he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting over—yet again—to the closed door between them. No one besides Kensie had ever been inside his cabin. Now she’d been here twice. This time, it had been his idea.
Even though the reasons weren’t personal, having her in his space felt personal. He imagined her right now, looking around his room. Taking in the simple spindle bed in the middle, Rebel’s cushy dog bed in the corner. Maybe the pictures on his nightstand.
One of his parents from his graduation, younger and still convinced he’d change his mind about the military. Grinning with their arms around each other’s waists, still madly in love after twenty-five years together. Back then, proud and excited about the future they imagined for him, so different than the path he’d seen for himself.
Another picture of Colter’s brothers, taken not long before that final mission. Laughing and smiling, relaxed at the base. None of them knowing they had only a few hours left to live.
The memory sobered him, and images of Kensie changing out of her clothes into something more appropriate for the weather fled. But thoughts of Kensie herself stuck. Having her here didn’t feel strange. It felt natural. And that made him nervous.
He had no room for anyone else in his life, especially not a woman whose time in Alaska had an expiration date. Because even though he missed his parents—and there were days he desperately wished he’d followed their dreams for him instead of his own, so he wouldn’t know this pain now—he couldn’t imagine ever returning to Idaho. Or going anywhere else, for that matter.
In the past year, Alaska had become his home. This cabin calmed him. The wide open spaces and cold, unforgiving weather relaxed him, helped reduce his panic. One day, maybe this place would even heal him, get him partway back to whole again.
The door to his bedroom opened and Kensie lumbered out.
Colter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. After talking to Derrick, she’d wanted to immediately try and track Henry Rollings. But he’d insisted on bringing her back to the main part of Desparre to get clothes more appropriate for Alaska’s coming weather.
Instead of dropping her at her hotel, he’d brought her here to change, because he’d wanted to stop off for a different kind of gear himself.
In early October, Desparre might hit twenty-five degrees midday if you were lucky. Lows regularly got down to two degrees. It wasn’t really that bad, once you got used to it. But the problem was that Desparre wasn’t a city like Chicago, filled with easy places to stop in and warm up if your car broke down or the wind chill got to be too much. October was also the snowiest month of the year and there was no guarantee when the snow would start—or stop. In a few weeks they could be so snowed in that no one was getting out until spring.
Keeping Kensie here until the flowers poked up in the valley below wasn’t a half-bad idea. Even how she was dressed now, in boots appropriate for the mountains, snow pants and a jacket that would actually keep her warm if they got stuck out in the cold somewhere, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She took big, exaggerated steps out of his room, as though she was weighed down by all the gear he’d made her get. But he shook his head, not buying it. Everything he’d picked for her was relatively lightweight.
“I feel like a snow monster,” Kensie complained.
“You look cute.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and her eyes widened. Hoping she wouldn’t take that the wrong way, he added, “This is going to be much better if we get stranded somewhere.”
“Why would we get stranded?”
“Well, hopefully we won’t,” Colter said, even though the idea of being stranded anywhere with Kensie didn’t sound bad at all. “But weather here can be unpredictable. We get surprised by a blizzard or trapped on the hill by an avalanche and you’re going to want real winter gear.”
She looked nervous for a second, but then her expression shifted and her thoughts were broadcasted on her face. She’d definitely looked at the pictures in his room, and they’d made her think of his words earlier, about avoiding his rightful fate alongside his brothers. The look on her face now was one of uncertainty, as if she wanted to bring it up again but wasn’t sure how. And mixed with that was pity. If there was anything he hated, it was pity.
“Stop staring at me like I’m damaged.”
She looked startled. “I’m not.”
Rebel lifted her head from the spot she’d claimed near the hearth, her head swiveling between them, ears perked.
He took a few steps toward Kensie. “Yeah, you are.” He didn’t know why he cared. They both knew it was true, so why did it matter if he could see it on her face? Was it better that she thought it, but kept it hidden?
Still, the idea of her thinking that he was less made tension build up inside him. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to prove he was whole. Or, at least, whole enough.
He was still walking toward her. He hadn’t intended to, but the closer he got, the better an idea it seemed. The closer he got, the more her eyes widened and her lips parted.
As he stared at the fullness of her lips, the rapidly increasing rise and fall of her chest, the past seemed to fall away. He reached out, letting his fingers drift over the puffiness of her coat, down to her bare hands. Somehow, with Kensie so covered up, the act of sliding his fingers between hers was intensified. The softness of her skin, the delicate strength in her fingers, calloused from playing violin. Pleasure shot up from the point where their skin met, and he tugged her toward him.
Instead of pulling back like she probably should have, she fell into him. He smiled at how huge her coat suddenly seemed, putting unnatural distance between them. But instead of unzipping it, he just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tighter.
Her hands made a slow, jerky ascent up his chest, and with her head tucked close to his shoulder, he wasn’t sure if it was desire or uncertainty putting the hitch in her movements. But then she lifted up on tiptoe so they were lined up perfectly, her beautiful eyes staring back at him.
Her lips were only inches away, her breath puffing against his mouth, but he froze, captivated by the pure toffee brown of her eyes, by the mix of emotions in her gaze. Raw desire, yes. But also something softer, more intimate.
If only that metal hadn’t torn through his leg. If only those bullets hadn’t torn through his friends. He barely knew her, and yet he could imagine if his life had gone a different way. Kensie waiting for him through deployments, her letters putting a smile on his face when he was away in some far-off country like he’d seen with his brothers when they’d gotten messages from home.
As if she could read his mind, Kensie’s expression shifted, lines appearing between her eyebrows. Colter didn’t want her to think. He didn’t want to think, either. He only wanted to feel.
He leaned in, pressed his lips softly to hers, letting her decide. For a second, he thought she’d change her mind. Then her arms looped tight around his neck, her eyes closed and her mouth moved against his.
All the built-up pressure in his chest released and he sighed against her, loving the silky softness of her lips, the raspiness of her tongue seeking his.
It wasn’t enough. He pulled her in even tighter, suddenly hating the sensible coat he’d had her buy. He kissed her harder, faster, desperate for more.
She met each stroke of his tongue, her fingers sliding through his short hair, not enough to grasp. She rose even higher on her toes, giving their kiss a new angle.
A different kind of pressure rose inside him. He could lose himself in this woman. Release all his pain and his past and try to forget himself with a few hours of pleasure.
He forced his hands away from her back, shifted them to her hips. Misunderstanding his intent, she tilted her hips toward him, almost changing his mind. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t use her to soothe the aches in his soul any more than he wanted her to do the same with him.
Because whether she thought so or not, this kiss wasn’t really about him. It couldn’t be. They barely knew each other. But, on some level, they understood each other.
He knew her pain, the way losing her sister must have followed her through her life, a silent, torturous ghost. He knew the razor-thin line between hope and desperation, between love and torment.
Using his grip on her hips to anchor her, he leaned back, simultaneously peeling her off him. “We shouldn’t do this.”
His voice didn’t even sound like his. It was deeper, gruffer than usual.
She blinked back at him, her cheeks flushed bright red and no comprehension in her gaze.
The fog of desire surrounding her made him want to pull her right back in. Instead, he told her, “Maybe I should be dead, but I’m not. So stop looking at me like I am.”
Kensie’s lips twisted up, lines raking her forehead. “What?”
Her voice wasn’t right either. It was breathy, higher pitched. Way too sexy.
He steeled himself, trying not to lean back in. “You heard me.”
Then he turned away so she wouldn’t see how little this had to do with his proving something. He might have started walking toward her because of that, but it had quickly become something very different.
But not enough. And she deserved better.
Reaching on top of a cabinet, Colter pulled down his shotgun and dug out a box of shells from the drawer. When he felt like he had some control over his emotions, he turned back toward her.
She looked equal parts stunned and confused.
“Let’s do this,” he said, tapping his leg for Rebel to follow and heading for the door before he could change his mind.
HOW COULD A man who didn’t think he belonged among the living make her feel so alive?
At twenty-seven, she’d had a handful of long-term relationships, even one that her parents had pushed her to make permanent. She’d had a handful of flings, too. But none of them had made her feel even close to what she’d felt with Colter for a few minutes up in his cabin. Minutes he regretted, if his abrupt stop was anything to go by.
He’d strode out of the cabin—with a shotgun, of all things—and Kensie had been left rooted to the floor. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to get it together and follow.
Now here they were. Back on the edge of town where Derrick’s store was located, except this time they were tackling a bigger stretch of stores. It was about the size of downtown Desparre, but the stores were more spread out, tucked away in a maze of side streets. That was Colter’s excuse for them to split up and find out if anyone here could give them more precise information about Henry. That, and the fact that it was rapidly getting dark and he wanted her safely back at her hotel before the sun fully set. The reality, she suspected, had to do with that kiss.
It had started out slow, almost like a first kiss, even though they’d already shared one on the street. But then it had shifted. She wasn’t sure which one of them had punched the gas, but suddenly, she hadn’t been able to get enough of him. It had felt like a million degrees inside her winter gear as he’d heated her up, but she’d been certain she was about to shed all of it. About to fall into bed with a man she hardly knew.
The idea made her cheeks flush even now, and she’d barely been able to look at him during the drive over. Embarrassment, yes, but also regret. Falling for Colter was a bad idea for so many reasons, and yet she’d take the heartache later for a night with him now.
That’s how you feel right this minute, a little voice in her head whispered. But what about when you’re back in Chicago, all by yourself and missing him?
The idea made her restless, antsy for a glimpse of Colter and Rebel, to reassure herself he was still close. Once he’d parked the truck, he glanced at her, his expression inscrutable, just staring for a long moment. Then he’d suggested she work her magic with some of the townspeople while he went into the rowdy bar and asked around.
As busy as the bar was, the rest of the town felt dead. It was beautiful, like a postcard, with snow blanketing the roofs and lantern-style streetlights lining the dirt roads, but also a little spooky. She turned down a side street, hoping to find someone to talk to. So far, she’d only run into a couple of shop owners and a father and daughter out for a stroll, none of whom knew Henry.
Back in Chicago, she’d be tripping over people. And yet, in some ways, she felt more connected to Colter here than she ever had to anyone in the city. Her apartment was great, a stone’s throw from the lake, a brisk walk to work. Back home, she was always on the move. Going full speed from performances to working with cold-case groups to get attention for Alanna’s kidnapping to a decently full social life. It was busy, but something was missing. And not just her sister.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slowed down and really enjoyed life. Since she’d been in Desparre, she’d been moving at warp speed, too, searching for any possible leads before it was too late. And yet she’d had time to linger over cobbler and cocoa with Colter. Had time to relax with Rebel, pet her soft fur and enjoy the dog’s contagious happiness. Had time to look out Colter’s big window at the amazing scenery below and just be.
Two days in Alaska and here she was, rethinking the choices she’d made in her life. But she’d always done what seemed right, from trying to look after her brother during those years her parents were lost in the search for Alanna to trying to make them proud of her. Trying to make up for letting Alanna get taken in the first place and keep her sister’s legacy alive through music.
Would Alanna even like the violin today? Kensie had no way of knowing, but every time she picked up the instrument, she felt her sister’s spirit. It kept Kensie connected to Alanna in a way nothing else could. But had she traded her own path for the things she thought would make her parents proud, keep their love strong after what she’d done? Had she traded a chance to really live her life for the whirlwind that kept her from thinking too much about what she’d lost and what she really wanted?
The idea made anxiety rise in her chest until she clutched a hand there. It actually physically hurt. And she suspected it was only a fraction of the pain Colter felt whenever he suddenly seemed overcome by memories.
She couldn’t dwell on it very long because, up the street, a man who looked like he topped six feet, with gray-streaked brown hair and a heavy jean jacket, stepped out of a store. Her heart rate took off and she walked faster, wanting to get close without his spotting her. Could it be Henry Rollings?
He headed away from her, walking with long strides, but not seeming to realize she was behind him. It was him. Okay, she wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure. It was the same jacket she’d seen earlier, the same dark hair, shot through with gray.
Swallowing back her nerves, Kensie glanced behind her as Henry turned the corner up ahead. Where was he going? And where was Colter? If Henry really was connected to her sister’s disappearance, she wasn’t sure she wanted to face him alone. An ex-Marine with a shotgun at her side seemed like a good idea about now.
She dug in her pocket for her cell phone to text Colter just as Henry turned a corner. Scared of losing him, Kensie shifted from a fast walk to a jog. When she turned the corner after him, she slowed, stepping more carefully, softly. She didn’t dare slip her phone out of her pocket now, afraid it would make too much noise. Even her breathing seemed too loud here.
There’d been a handful of people around on the last street, but this one was totally empty. The stores here were all dark, alleyways and parking lots dimly lit and quiet. Just the man she hoped was Henry Rollings striding along ahead of her. She had no idea where he was going. It didn’t seem like there was anything here, unless his truck was down an alleyway or in one of the tiny lots peppering the small openings between some of the stores.
Had he spotted her reflection in a store window as she chased after him? Was he leading her into a trap?
Slowly, she slid her hand deeper into her pocket, bypassing her phone and groping instead for the key to her rental truck. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was all she had. And there was no turning back now. Not if there was a chance he could lead her to Alanna.
She took another step and her right foot slid. Kensie pinwheeled her arms, trying to regain her balance as she realized there was slick ice underneath her.
Just as she caught traction again, the guy up ahead glanced back. His eyes widened at the sight of her. It was Rollings!
He whipped his head forward again and took off running.
Kensie raced after him, her new boots unfamiliar and sliding on random patches of ice. He turned another corner and tears pricked her eyes as she finally made it around the same spot.
He was gone.
She glanced both ways, desperately searching for a glimpse of him or any hint of where he could have gone. One way led to another alley and maybe back to the main part of town. The other led off into a group of freestanding storage units. And walking into those storage units, was that...?
Kensie craned her head forward, squinting into the darkness. A woman with dark, shoulder-length hair. Something familiar about the slope of her shoulders, the shape of her head. Was it even possible?
“Alanna!” Her sister’s name erupted from her mouth in a desperate, high-pitched squeak, but the woman heard.
She glanced backward and Kensie almost fainted right there in the dark street.
After all these years, she’d actually done it. She’d found Alanna.