Entirely more worried than she’d have thought she would be. Not just because he was supposed to have been her ride home, but because she cared about him, and at the sight of him being attacked by someone—she’d seen no identifying features since the person had been wearing a ski mask—she’d realized just how much she cared about him.

“You still okay up there?” she asked, deliberately keeping her voice calm as they made their way back down the trail toward the airplane.

“Yeah. Fine.”

Less talkative than earlier. She noted that out of purely medical concern.

Although she could hardly justify her desire to reach out and comfort him, maybe stroke her hand across the uninjured half of his forehead, tell him it was going to be okay. None of that was particularly professional.

Wyatt made the last turn through the woods that would lead them straight back to the beach, and she didn’t even bother trying to make any more conversation. With everything that had happened in the last few hours, they were both beyond conversation at this point anyway.

It wasn’t until Willow started to sniff that Elsie herself noticed the smell. Smoke. Something was burning.

Stomach churning, worst-case scenarios coming to mind, Elsie stepped in front of Wyatt. “I’ve got to go see what’s going on. Willow smells something.”

He was frowning, brows pushed together, and he nodded. “Me, too.”

Elsie picked up her pace and followed her dog, this time making careful note that Wyatt was right behind them as well. So far he seemed okay, steady enough to walk on his own.

“I’m fine, Elsie. Go. I can keep up.”

The man clearly wasn’t used to being a liability and it rubbed him wrong. Interesting. The Wyatt she’d known before wouldn’t have been this determined to help, or understanding enough to not slow her down. He’d been so much more concerned with his own interests and pursuits, but it was just one more confirmation that the Wyatt she’d known before was gone, replaced by this newer, better version.

One far more dangerous for her heart.

Something inside her had always warned of danger in getting close to anyone like that. Being someone’s friend was one thing, though she’d readily admit she held herself back in friendships, too. But being someone’s romantic partner?

Terror. Because of her past? The dark? The yelling?

Or because she was just afraid?

Elsie hated to be afraid.

She pushed ahead, running toward the scent of the smoke, grateful to notice somewhat morbidly that it didn’t smell like burning human remains. Despite Willow’s eagerness to reach the source of the smell, and the fact that she did have training as an HR, Human Remains, dog as well as search and rescue, Elsie didn’t think her attitude was quite right for that. Something else was burning. On the beach, beyond the thickness and darkness of the woods.

A step into the clearing revealed what it was.

Wyatt’s airplane.

The front of it, where they’d sat just hours before, was engulfed in flames. Elsie stopped walking. Stunned.

Bumping into her arm slightly as he stumbled past, Wyatt hurried toward the plane.

“No, don’t!” she yelled, but stopped herself from saying more. Somehow, she understood. The plane wasn’t alive like her dog was, but it was his partner in a similar way. It was part of what he did every day. More than that, part of who he was.

Thankfully, rather than run directly at the flames, he’d gone to the back of the plane, which wasn’t yet burning.

He emerged from the smoke with a bucket, ran to the shore and started throwing water onto the plane. Elsie moved in his direction.

“Stay back!”

She stopped where she was, a hand on Willow’s vest, and hoped this wasn’t a losing battle. After several trips, she thought she saw the flames beaten back slightly. Willow cried on occasion, a sad, low pitch.

Elsie wanted to cry, too.

Wyatt kept going until the fire was out. The back three-fourths of the plane were mostly fine, but the fire had fully engulfed the seats, the controls, those things that would be desperately needed to fly them home.

“I’m going to call someone to get us out of here,” Wyatt said after a moment, his voice rough from the smoke.

“Your plane...” She trailed off, unable to formulate her thoughts. What did one say to this loss?

His jaw was tight, his eyes flashing with anger. “My plane is just an object. But someone is determined to harm you. First they attack us, then burn the plane? I have to get you out of here.” He raked a hand through his hair, pacing the beach. “The troopers. Call the troopers, tell them to send someone as soon as possible.”

Needing something to do, feeling too outside of her comfort zone, Elsie nodded and pulled out her phone, reported the details as best she could and winced at the reply.

“It could be a while,” she turned to Wyatt and said softly after she’d hung up. “Most of their resources around here are focused on a rescue taking place closer to home. The troopers who were here earlier got called away to deal with that.”

“Not acceptable.” His jaw clenched and unclenched, and Elsie reached for his arm, laid her hand on it.

Like it was slow motion, like a scene in a movie where the music started to drive faster and louder, Wyatt looked down at her hand. It took all the bravery she possessed not to move it, not to move at all. He reached up his other hand, laid it on top of hers.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Her own frustration rose within her. “It’s not just me here, okay? You’re here, too, and you’ve lost too much already because of me. You’re hurt. Now your plane...” Her words were choked and she swallowed back her tears, afraid if she let them fall she’d be powerless to stop them. Worse than this show of vulnerability was the fact that Wyatt didn’t seem fazed by it. It affected him, she could tell that by the way his hold on her had tightened, squeezed, but he wasn’t scared.

That scared her almost as much as whoever was after her.

NINE

Night crept up on you this time of year, when summer was over but winter hadn’t yet tightened its grip on the land. Wyatt and Elsie sat, backs to the plane, looking out over the choppy gray waters of the Gulf of Alaska. He was pretty sure Elsie had been crying earlier, and equally sure that she’d been crying for him.

How could she think he was the one to feel sorry for? He tightened his arm a little bit. Pulled her a little closer. They’d started sitting like this maybe half an hour ago, huddled together for warmth, his arm around her shoulders.

He’d warmed up long ago and she wasn’t shivering anymore, either, but still, Wyatt hadn’t let go. And Elsie hadn’t moved away.

“Surely someone will be here soon,” he said even as he considered the darkening gray of the sky. If the Troopers weren’t sending someone out tonight, there was a chance no local pilots would be willing to fly with these clouds moving in. Many people in Alaska had private pilot licenses but weren’t instrument rated, which they had to be to be able to fly by sight.

Wyatt may have said encouraging words, but the longer they sat on the damp, rocky beach, the more convinced he became that they may not be leaving that night.

“You really think so?” Elsie shifted toward him, and she was so close he could smell her shampoo. It was something citrusy, orange or grapefruit, and it smelled like sunshine.

He couldn’t lie to her.

So he didn’t try. “No, I don’t. I was trying to be positive.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so, either.” She sighed, then sat in silence for a second before scooting away from his arm and angling herself to face him. “I vote we camp here by the plane. It’s better visibility both for when someone does come for us, hopefully tomorrow, and it gives us sort of a barrier zone where we can see if someone is coming.” She looked out toward the trees. “Usually I would like the safety of the woods, but I think being out in the open is safer tonight.”

“I agree. I had a tent, but it didn’t survive the fire.” He’d made a quick inventory of his storage area when it was safe to do so. Some items were fine, but the tent was not.