Isaac crammed himself through the half-open office window after Everly, then rolled onto the packed snow. Frigid air blasted him, creeping under Lars’s coat that Everly had brought down, along with Lars’s clothes and boots he’d pulled on.
He grunted at the impact, then stumbled to his feet. Wearing a dead man’s clothes sent a shudder through him that had nothing to do with the cold. He shut the window, then tugged Everly’s arm as men’s voices carried around the building, making the fifteen-yard dash feel like fifty. His weapon was still in its holster, but it’d gotten soaked in the tub, and its usefulness in protecting them was questionable at best.
Isaac struggled to keep up as they bolted into the night. Whatever medication they’d injected him with made everything blurry. A sedative maybe. His head throbbed like a two-day migraine had taken up residence in his skull and refused to move out. Thankfully, he’d fought back enough to knock the needle out before the full amount of medication had been forced into his system. And Everly had been there to save him, hidden on the second floor like a guardian in snow gear.
Speaking of snow... It was piled higher near the metal gate, the hard, crusty surface slick and dangerous. Lars’s boots were dead weights attached to his legs as he and Everly bumped along the fence line, searching for the loose panel.
“This is it!” she cried.
They yanked the panel in unison. Pain shimmied up his arm from the wet, reopened barbed-wire wound, and sweat marked his brow despite the numbing temps. A jolt of discomfort twisted across his forehead. He bent in half, banging his shoulder into the metal gate.
“Isaac! Are you okay?”
He fumbled upright, squinting against the ache in his head. “Never...better.” He mimicked her words from earlier.
“Are you sure you can do this?”
“Have to.” He waved her through the split in the fence, then slipped through after her. “Get to...shed.”
Gathering momentum, he followed close behind her, his strides hitching with each heartbeat, pulsing pain through his head. A few feet shy of the small building, a knife of agony slit behind his eyes, and he doubled over.
“Isaac! I hear them!”
The world spun, black dots skimming his vision. No. He had to keep her safe. Keep her away from Hugh. Were the men outside the townhouse now? He rolled sideways to counteract his lurching stomach, a groan working up his throat as he retched.
Don’t. Stop. Had to...move. He crawled for cover as the world rocked around him, fisting mouthfuls of snow to ease the queasiness. Somewhere behind them, a window scraped open, the sound burning his ears. Were they out of sight yet?
Everly dropped beside him, ramming her shoulder into his backside to propel him the rest of the way into the bushes surrounding the storage shed.
“They just opened the back windows.”
“Heard that,” he said, grinding out the words.
“Isaac. We need to get you to a doctor.”
“Neh. This is just my usual...m-migraine routine.” Isaac pushed to a sitting position to check their surroundings. No good. Dizziness washed over him. At least they were well hidden at the moment.
A thought nagged. The picture. He’d forgotten it in his wet coat, but what he’d discovered would be enough help. “I found a picture with Lars, Ingrid and Hugh. Hugh used to go by the name Bobby.”
He just prayed his phone would come back to life after a dunk in a bowl of rice.
She rubbed her gloved hands over her arms. “Hugh probably wanted the men working for him to call him Bobby, to keep his real identity hidden.”
“Right.” He rested the heel of his hand on his forehead. “Everything we have on them is circumstantial. We just need to connect the dots with decent evidence.” Which was proving harder than he expected. Everly was being sabotaged, along with her dad. But why? What would make Hugh go to these lengths? A thought struck like lightning, and he stumbled upright on wobbly legs. “Your dad wasn’t on board with reservations at first, right?”
She rose, wearing a confused expression. “Um, reservations?”
“I mean renovations. Brain isn’t working.” Just what he needed. The remnants of his concussion plus whatever they’d stuck him with made his mind mush.
“My dad wanted basic upgrades. Not a total overhaul of the resort. Hugh’s plans required too much money and time and not enough return on investment. He almost let Hugh go a couple months after he hired him.” She bulldozed the tip of her boot through the snow. “It was around Hannah’s second birthday. I was so busy, and he needed more help.”
Isaac tossed out a harsh breath. If only he’d been here, maybe Hugh wouldn’t have been hired in the first place. Maybe he could’ve proved himself to Ted Raven.
“I’m sorry.” The simple words carried little weight unless he helped her now.
“I know you are.”
“Your dad was right.”
“About what?” she demanded. “Did something happen between you and my dad in the hospital in France?”
Along with warning him to stay out of Everly’s life, Ted Raven had told him to keep quiet about getting Isaac’s mom’s record cleared. “It’s nothing.”
“It must be something.”
“He reminded me that I didn’t fit in at Raven’s.” Isaac rubbed his fingertips into his temples. “Said you could do better, and that I wasn’t welcome here. My accident confirmed it. I flew across the world trying to better myself when I should’ve just stayed here, with you.”
“That’s why you acted so angry and distant? Because of your accident and because my dad said those awful things?”
“Partly, yes. The concussion caused bad migraines, and the painkillers the doctors gave me messed with my mind. Plus, I was mad about everything.” He stared at the townhouse to keep from making eye contact. “I was upset with myself for taking that risk. It was proof.”
“Proof of what? That you were a young guy who made a mistake?” Tears threaded her voice.
His muscles twitched from remaining dizziness and from the urge to hold her. To protect her, forever. But he’d given up that right when he left. He cleared his throat. “Proof that I wasn’t good enough for you.”
There. The words were out. Finally, the truth.
“So...” Her wary pause pushed the air from his lungs. “You asked for a divorce because my dad butted into our marriage, and because you felt like you weren’t good enough for me?”
The truth was surprisingly easy to admit despite the burden of years he’d buried it under. “That about covers it. Oh, and the quote your dad gave to the Sun-Times about my accident, painting me as the villain in the incident.”
Isaac Rhodes is a reckless American journalist who doesn’t represent Raven’s Fun Runs. He endangered himself and others and nearly took the life of French skier Marcus Beauvoir.
“Yes. That. I saw what he told the French reporter, and I’m sorry. I knew Marcus challenged you that morning, and he wasn’t even that close to you when you crashed. But Isaac...”
He waited, and it felt like his entire life lead up to this point.
“I wish you would’ve told me back then.”
“Yeah, well, I kind of wish I had too.”
“I didn’t care about any of that stuff.”
But I did.
A car’s engine broke the trance, and they ducked, waiting. They were on the backside of the townhouses, and the parking lot lay in the front, so he had to determine what was happening by sound instead of sight. Probing twin headlights appeared on the road, splitting the dark as a vehicle drove away from Lars’s house, following Fall Line Road. The noise from its engine slowly died off as night swallowed the headlights.
“They’re leaving?” Everly asked.
“Sounds like it.” For now. Isaac set the heel of one hand to his forehead to relieve the pressure from his headache. They must’ve used some kind of surgical sedative.
Everly clasped his arm. “Can you run?”
“I’m going to try.”
They set off in a crouching jog across the fields. Packed Powder Putt-Putt’s gate interrupted their trajectory, and by silent agreement they skirted the mini-golf area. It would take longer, but Isaac wasn’t sure he had it in him to climb fences at the moment. Twice he had to slow down as lightning bolts sliced across his skull. Everly hovered over him until the pain diminished and he found his footing in the snow.
Eichhorns sat as silent as a tomb, the windows dark and curtains drawn. The parking lot stretched out, empty.
“Looks quiet.”
“Sheila won’t be up for a few more hours.” Everly motioned at the restaurant. “Let’s get you inside.”
They edged the perimeter of the parking lot, moving toward the back of the restaurant. At the door, Everly tugged on his arm.
“Let me go in first, in case Alpine forgets you’re one of the good guys.”
She was right. The dog wouldn’t let an intruder in, and he was still new to Alpine. Better to be cautious. Everly slipped past and disappeared inside. The click of canine nails and Everly’s soft murmuring let him know all was well. He entered next, whispering Alpine’s name. In the dark room, a cold nose bumped his hand, and her thick tail thumped against his leg.
She leaned her weight into him for attention. “Alpine. Hey, girl.” He scratched her neck and back. Everly rose from her crouch, tying her arms in a knot across her middle.
“What do we do now?”
“Get my phone in rice.” Isaac shrugged Lars’s coat off and pointed at the pantry, raising his hands in a silent question.
Everly tiptoed to the bifold door, flipped on a small light, then disappeared inside. A few seconds later she reappeared, a box in hand. She located a glass mixing bowl in a bottom cupboard, opened the rice and poured it in, then waved him over. He pulled out his phone, hitting the power button again. The black screen only reflected the stark outline of his face in the crackled glass.
He buried the phone, then turned, pointing toward the stairs. “I’ll give it an hour or so in the rice. Why don’t you go upstairs?”
“What if you can’t get the pictures off of it?”
“I’m more concerned with contacting Dan. He needs to know what happened.”
She offered him her cell. “You can use mine.”
“Too risky.” He shook his head. “I just wish I’d found something concrete at Lars’s.”
Her eyes rounded, then she unzipped her jacket and tugged out a shiny notebook. “I grabbed this upstairs, in Lars and Ingrid’s bedroom.”
“Huh. Ingrid’s?”
“I think so.”
He eyed the feminine cover then leafed through it. The calendar was marked up already, names and notes scribbled throughout. She was a busy woman, that much was clear.
It was doubtful the planner offered any pertinent information, but he’d learned never to dismiss any part of an investigation. Even the most trivial. He motioned at the stairs. “You head up while I take a look. Try to rest. Please.”
Her lovely features gathered in a fatigued frown as she inched toward the stairwell. “What about you?”
“I’ll sleep when this is over.” He couldn’t consider sleep with the men still after them and the connection to Hugh Markham dangling like a severed power line. Not to mention Everly as a person of interest in the case and their daughter’s safety holding his thoughts hostage.
She ascended two steps, Alpine at her heels, then turned and met his eyes. Quiet memories wavered between them, the good and bad. All of it. “Thank you for telling me what really happened.”
“I’d say it was about time.”
Her frown smoothed out. “Past time.”
“Yeah. And thanks for saving me back there.”
Her lips curved upward, the smile starting small and growing until his chest ached. “I guess we’re even now.”
“Everly.” A male voice tugged her from the fog of sleep. “Wake up.”
She pushed upright, squinting around the room. Sunlight spilled through the windows, creating long fingers of yellow light that stretched across the floor.
Where—?
Eichhorns. With Isaac. Lars’s murder and all the details came crashing back. Person of interest. She clutched the blanket like it was a shield against all the bad memories of the last two days. “Isaac? What happened? Your phone—?”
“It’s working again. I contacted Dan.” His words rushed out, bumping into each other, and his gaze skipped around the room. Avoiding hers.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I went to the kitchen to grab some coffee and...” An odd mix of emotions played over his face. “Becca and Hannah are downstairs.” He strode out of the room, shutting the door.
Leaving her wide-eyed and heart heavy. Hannah.
Everly jumped out of bed, caught her hair into a ponytail and pulled on clean clothes, then hurried out into the hallway. She found Isaac standing in front of a picture in the hallway, his hands balled up at his sides. Oh. It was taken at Packed Powder Putt-Putt with her and her dad, Hannah, and Sheila. It’d been a relaxed and memorable June evening—Everly’s birthday celebration. Hannah was about two, her dimpled smile and thick brown hair tamed into two crooked pigtails.
His fists opened, fingers spreading wide as though searching for something solid to grasp. “Was it your birthday?”
“Yes.”
“Hannah is...she’s beautiful like her mom.”
She flushed at the compliment. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and he captured hers inside his own. Isaac’s steady warmth seeped into her palm, more effective than caffeine. This connection between them originated from their mutual love of their daughter. That was it.
He pulled away. “I can’t stand this.”
Did he mean about Hannah, or them? Or both?
She drew in a steadying breath. Get it together, Everly. “There’s a spot in the kitchen where we can look out and not be seen. But we’d have to be very quiet. Hannah will make a racket if she sees me.” Her throat constricted. She missed those sturdy little arms and her daughter’s sweet strawberry smell, the way her thick hair—so like Isaac’s—tickled Everly’s nose when Hannah hugged her.
They descended the stairs quietly, and Everly strained to catch any noises from below. The hallway between the kitchen and restaurant sounded clear at the moment. She took the last step and ducked behind the cabinets along the wall, Isaac shadowing her as they inched toward the customer bathroom.
It was a risk. If Becca or Hannah had to use the restroom, she and Isaac would be forced to dart back down the hall and up the stairs.
“They’re here early.” He nodded at the hallway clock, which indicated it was five minutes before 7:00 a.m.
“Hannah’s a morning person like someone else I know.” She tapped her elbow to his ribs.
“Ah, sorry about that.”
“She’s worth it.”
The double swinging doors were flanked by bar openings on either side, like open windows. During season, Sheila would set the full plates on the counter so Trixie and Barb could deliver them to hungry patrons. But both women had been sent home after Lars’s murder.
She and Isaac crawled to the open section and rose inch by inch until they peeked over. Across the dining room, Becca sat at a booth with her back to them. She leaned to her left side and tilted her head like she was listening to a sound coming from the wall. A familiar head popped up beside her, a smile tipping Hannah’s rosebud mouth.
He let out a hushed exhale. “She’s...amazing.”
“She is.”
“And she’s actually mine.”
“Yes—ours.”
Becca reached over with a hungry hand monster aimed for their ticklish daughter’s side, and Hannah’s high-pitched giggles exploded into the reverent silence.
“How’s it possible I love her when I haven’t met her yet?”
Yet.
Her hand brushed his, giving it a squeeze. Then she turned it palm-up. Habit? She wasn’t sure. But when he covered it and threaded their fingers, his bright gaze aimed at their daughter, an old wound in her heart sealed up. Restored.
She caught a shimmer on his face. He swiped at the tear with his other hand. Sheila carried a tray toward Becca and Hannah, a glass of orange juice and a juice box atop it. The older woman set them down and engaged Hannah in a lively conversation.
Becca nodded at whatever Sheila said, then turned her head.
Her friend’s stormy blue eyes landed on Everly, then flicked to Isaac seconds before he ducked. Everly did the same, her free hand fisted over her mouth. “Becca saw me.”
“She saw both of us.”
Everly couldn’t help it. She drew up to her knees to get another glimpse.
Becca was facing forward again, drawing something for Hannah, probably on a napkin. The jingling bells on the restaurant’s front door sounded.
Hugh Markham strode into Eichhorns, flanked by the two men who’d gone after them on Tipping Point. Abbot and Eddy.