Kensie had barely spoken to him since he’d picked her up at the snowplow store.
Colter shot another glance at her across the truck cab. He hadn’t known her long, but she wasn’t usually this quiet. And while it could have been his own bad mood from when he’d met up with her a few hours ago causing her silence, he didn’t think so.
It was probably the kiss they’d shared.
For the hundredth time since it had happened, he cursed himself. But this time it was half-hearted. How could he fully regret something that had reset his perspective on his life? Yeah, maybe kissing her had been a lapse in judgment, but hopefully it was the push he needed to get his life in order. To figure out how he was going to truly make this place his home, instead of just his hideout.
He gripped the wheel a little tighter, trying to find the right words. He’d never had to apologize for kissing someone before.
Eyes still on the icy road in front of him, Colter started, “The past year, I’ve been hiding out in my cabin. Not really on purpose. But I came here for the solitude and it was easy to turn that into a solitary life.”
He glanced at her to see if she’d figured out where he was going with this meandering opening salvo, but she was just staring out the windshield, forehead furrowed. So he kept going. “Helping you wasn’t easy for me. I know you don’t get it, but trust me when I say that any kind of mission was the last thing I thought I needed.”
She was silent, so he pushed forward, faster now, starting to feel foolish for not just blurting a simple apology and leaving it at that. “That’s why I bailed on you when I found out you weren’t telling me everything. And when I kissed you...”
Kensie stayed silent, lips pursed like she was waiting for a real apology. Or maybe she wasn’t even listening to him. It was hard to tell.
“I’m sorry. I should have—”
“It was a mistake. I get it. I agree. We got carried away in the moment. It’s not like it’s going to happen again.” Kensie cut him off suddenly, swiveling in her seat as far as the seatbelt would let her. She tucked one knee up underneath her, facing him even as Rebel tried to stick her nose in between to be petted.
It wasn’t going to happen again? Even though that had been his plan, too, hearing her say the words made him long to pull the truck over and see if she really meant it.
Visions of her kissing him filled his head. The way she’d fit inside the circle of his arms, soft and feminine but stronger than he’d expected. The way her lips had melded instantly to his, like she’d been imagining it since the moment he’d first helped her up off the icy Desparre street.
Then the vision shifted, moved into territory he had no business imagining. Of her back at his cabin, standing in front of the fire as she dropped her coat to the floor. As his fingers found their way underneath the hem of her sweater and his lips traced a path from her mouth down to the pulse at her neck. As he lingered there, pulling her body closer until there was barely any space between them.
“I think I might have just met Alanna’s kidnapper.”
It took a minute for him to process Kensie’s words, for them to penetrate the increasingly erotic vision in his head. Once they did, he slowed the truck to a stop, pulling over as far as he could, and turned to face her. “What?”
“I know it sounds crazy and at first I thought I was just imagining things.” Kensie spoke at warp speed, reaching out to clutch his arm as if to keep his interest.
As if that was a problem. “Who is it? Why didn’t you come and get me?” And why was she just now mentioning this?
“I don’t know his name, but I got his picture.” She let go of his arm to fumble in her pocket and pull out her phone.
When she turned it to show him, he squinted at it a long minute, trying to place the guy. “I recognize him. He’s lived here a long time.” Colter tried to come up with a name, but couldn’t. “I think he’s got a place on the outskirts of Desparre somewhere. Comes in periodically for supplies. Usually to the spot we just visited, not the main part of town.” He lifted his gaze from the phone. “Did you ask the store owner, Derrick? He could probably tell you this guy’s name.”
Kensie shook her head. “Derrick wasn’t there. Just a kid who was working the counter.”
“So, this guy who came into the store for supplies...why do you think he has Alanna?”
“He looked familiar.”
Colter tried to keep the disbelief off his face. She’d been just a child when her sister had been kidnapped. “You got a good look at the guy back then? How close were you?”
How close had she come to being grabbed alongside Alanna? The idea made him nauseous.
“I was across the yard. I wasn’t close enough to help her.”
Kensie’s voice was so mournful that Colter reached out without thinking and twined his fingers with hers. She clutched tight instantly, as if by instinct, and his heart pounded harder.
“You were thirteen years old, Kensie. What could you have done?” Besides get herself kidnapped—or worse?
“I should have done something. It was my responsibility to watch out for her that day!”
“That’s not fair, Kensie. You can’t carry that burden.” He stared into her eyes, watching them darken with anger or frustration. Who was he to talk about the burden of survivor’s guilt? But when it came to this, he knew he was right, so he pressed forward. “And look what kind of sister you’ve been. All these years later and you’re here, searching for her, when even law enforcement won’t.”
It didn’t seem possible, but she squeezed his hand even tighter. “Thank you for helping me,” she whispered.
Kissing her yesterday had been a mistake. He knew it. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to lean forward and do it again right now.
It took more willpower than he’d thought he had to resist that urge. Instead, he asked, “How sure are you about this guy you saw in the store?”
She let out a humorless laugh. “Not sure at all. But he ran when I asked him about my sister.”
Colter frowned. He didn’t even know the guy’s name and yet he couldn’t imagine the loner being a child kidnapper. But even though Desparre locals tended to be wary of strangers, running away from questions was suspicious. And, absolutely, something sounded off about the guy.
The question was, had Kensie spooked him? If so, would he run before they could figure out if he had Alanna?
“EITHER HE’S THE one who kidnapped Alanna or he knows who did.” Kensie spoke the words with certainty, tapping the picture she’d snapped before the guy had run away from her as fast as he could.
Colter frowned, like he was unconvinced.
But still, he’d brought her here, to a cozy restaurant-slash-food-store halfway between the snow supply warehouse and downtown. Apparently, the owner had lived in the area all his life and Colter claimed if anyone could tell them more about their suspect, it was him.
Their suspect. It sounded like something a detective would say, one of the overworked, tired-looking officers assigned to Alanna’s case. We have a suspect, but don’t get your hopes up. She’d heard those words a few times over the years, but they’d never led anywhere, even though she’d always gotten her hopes up.
This time had to be different. She refused to consider any other possibility. She wasn’t sure she could handle another disappointment.
Just the idea of returning home without Alanna made pain lodge behind her breastbone, where it always did when she thought about how long her sister had been gone. Over the years, she’d had moments where she’d felt like maybe she could come to terms with the cold, hard statistics that said Alanna was long dead. But those moments were always fleeting, either because the idea was too much to bear or because she and her sister had always shared a special connection. Wouldn’t she feel it in her heart if Alanna was gone?
The idea was foolish. Intellectually, she knew it. But she still believed.
“What are you thinking?”
Colter’s words broke into her thoughts and Kensie looked up at him. Backlit by one of the restaurant’s cozy lamps, which brought out the gold in his hair and softened the sharp lines of his face, he looked even sexier than usual. Her stomach flipped around for a different reason. Why couldn’t she meet a man like this back in Chicago, with Colter’s intensity and dedication, but without all of the baggage weighing on him so heavily she could practically see it?
“I’m thinking this has to be the break I need.” Her words came out soft, almost sultry, and Kensie cleared her throat, ashamed of herself for lusting after Colter when all of her attention needed to be on Alanna.
To distract herself, she reached down and Rebel obligingly sat up, giving her easy access to stroke the dog’s soft fur. Apparently, either Alaska was lenient about pet rules or everyone just knew and liked Rebel. She suspected the latter. Despite what people had told her about Colter not getting out much, the town seemed to be small enough that everyone knew of him and Rebel, if not the details of their lives.
“I hope so,” Colter replied, but the lines between his eyebrows told her that her optimism worried him.
He probably figured she’d break if it turned out to be a dead end. If only he knew how many dead ends she’d survived over the years. Then again, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to survive another.
Instead of replying, Kensie glanced around the lodge. She didn’t have to look far.
The man approaching—with his long gray beard, weathered skin and seen-it-all gaze—had to be the owner. He shook Colter’s hand, gave Rebel a slight frown, then glanced at Kensie. “New to Alaska?”
“Yes, I’m—”
“We’re wondering if you could help us with something.” Colter cut her off. He grabbed her phone and held it up. “You know this guy?”
The owner glanced from the phone to her and back again. “Seen him around over the years. Can’t say I know his name. He’s not really a talkative sort. Keeps to himself, seems to like it that way. You must understand the feeling.”
Colter just lifted an eyebrow, but Kensie sighed, disappointed. “We should track down the owner of the snowplow shop. This guy was yelling his name when he came in. They know each other. Maybe the store owner knows where to find him.”
“Why are you looking for him?” the owner prodded.
“I think—”
“We just need his help with something.” Colter stood, dropping some money on the table for the cocoas they’d ordered but barely touched. Beside her, Rebel stood, watching Colter attentively. “Any chance you can tell us how to find Derrick Notte?”
“Guy who owns the snowplow place? Yeah, I can give you his address.” He stared hard at Colter, ignoring Kensie and Rebel altogether. “But you piss him off and we’re going to have problems.”
Colter smiled, but it was hard and uncompromising. “He’s not the one I’m planning to piss off.”
The owner stared a minute longer, then let out a snort of laughter. “All right. Why don’t you finish your drinks and I’ll get the address.”
Colter nodded and sat back down. Rebel followed suit, settling back on her hind legs.
Kensie lowered herself into her chair more slowly, waiting until the owner had walked away to whisper, “What was that about?”
“People like their privacy out here. He’s giving me Derrick’s home address on faith. If Derrick gets mad about it, he’ll start something.”
“Seems a little dramatic,” Kensie muttered.
“Yeah, it is. But I didn’t want him to know what you were thinking. People out here don’t like it when you assume the worst about us.”
“I’m not,” Kensie protested. “It’s not a generalization. It’s just this guy looks like—”
“I know,” Colter cut her off. “But he didn’t, and I didn’t want to get into it. People here will help you if you need it, but they’ve got a live-and-let-live attitude. You probably hear about the ones running from the law, but we get the other side of it, too.”
“What does that mean? People like you?”
Colter’s lips twisted. “Yeah, I guess. I meant more like people running from someone who’s hurt them. They rely on the residents here to respect their privacy. Domestic violence survivors, victims of stalkers, things like that.”
“Oh.” Kensie stared out the window of the restaurant at dense, snowy woods. The guy at the rental car place had told her Desparre had a higher population of bears than it did people. A smart place to hide from someone who wanted to do you harm. But too easy for a kidnapper to hide away with his victim, too.
“Kensie, can I ask you something?”
She refocused on the man across from her, and the serious expression on his face made her nervous. “Okay.”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me since you first told me about your sister’s note.”
“What is it?” She almost didn’t want to know the answer. It felt like the trajectory of her entire life was riding on the outcome of this note.
Colter must have sensed her distress, because he set down his mug of cocoa, reached across the table and took her hand. His roughened fingers rubbed over her palm, sending shivers up her arm.
It was the kind of thing a boyfriend would do. Not a guy you’d just met who’d agreed to be your guide in the Alaskan wilderness. Kensie tried to ignore the emotions he was stirring up.
“If the note is really from your sister, why did she walk into a store and leave a message, but not run or ask for help? Surely if she was in distress or someone had her immobilized, she never would have been able to leave the note at all without the store owner noticing.”
Kensie nodded, staring down at their joined hands. It had bothered her from the beginning, too, and for two entirely different reasons.
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. “It might be a sign that the note is fake.” The possibility hurt, and she didn’t want to even consider it, but she knew it was there.
Years of coordinating with law enforcement and private cold-case groups had also taught her the other possibility, which in some ways was even worse. “Or it could mean she’s so afraid of her kidnapper or so conditioned to obey him that even given the chance to run, she won’t take it.”
In Colter’s eyes, she saw understanding and sadness. As a soldier, he’d probably seen cases like that, captives who’d been tortured so badly that even when they saw a chance to escape, they were too terrified to try.
If that was what had happened with her sister—if the note was a final, desperate plea for someone to find her because she couldn’t manage to run on her own—what shape would she be in if they located her?
Would the Alanna she’d known still be in there? Or would the woman Alanna had become be a hollow shell of the girl she’d once been?
If that was the case, Kensie wasn’t sure either of them would ever recover from what happened in Desparre.