Where. Was. Elsie?
That was what concerned him most, the confirmation that whoever was after her was still very much on her tail and somewhere on the island. Right now, very close to her. Pursuing her.
Unless he’d already caught her.
Wyatt wished he had Willow with him, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to read her cues and he certainly didn’t wish Elsie was without her. But they’d gotten separated at a split in the trail and he had no idea which way Elsie would have gone. He stopped. Stared. Thought, tried to think like Elsie would have.
Back to the plane. He felt confident in his decision. It was where she’d run yesterday, and it made sense. He kept going, changing directions slightly to head back toward the beach, praying that he was right.
He was nearing a thick stand of spruce trees when he felt like he was being watched. Still irritated he’d been taken off guard earlier, he pulled his revolver out of its holster. He was not going to be attacked again, and he was going to find Elsie.
Holding his breath, he stepped into the darkness of the forest.
“Wyatt.” The voice was a whisper. Elsie’s. Her arm reached out of the trees and pulled him in.
Her eyes were wide and she was holding Willow close to her, but they both appeared uninjured.
“You’re bleeding,” she told him, her voice quiet, wavering.
“I’m fine. I’m more focused on the fact that you’re okay.” Wyatt felt like he could breathe again.
“We ran, like you said. Willow held him off while I ran and then she caught up to me. I can’t believe I left her. I shouldn’t have left her...”
“Did you tell her to come?”
“Yes.”
“Elsie, that’s the most obedient dog I’ve ever known. If she wouldn’t listen to you, she was sure about it. You can’t force her not to try to protect you.”
Willow seemed to agree with him, her eyes meeting his. Wyatt would have sworn at the moment the dog could talk and was thanking him for taking her side.
“I’m just glad she’s okay.” Her arms tightened around the dog. “But your head...”
“You’re a first responder. You know head wounds bleed a lot.”
“You can’t fly us out of here.”
“If we need to get out, I’ll get us out.” His voice was probably gruffer than he’d meant for it to be.
She didn’t try to argue with him there, which he appreciated, but the truth was his head was throbbing from the hit and his mind felt like cotton balls had been stashed in it. Thinking felt oddly harder than it should, like his mental engine took a moment of revving before firing up. He’d had a concussion before—baseball in high school—and it had felt just like this. He didn’t know how he was going to safely fly them both back. Realistically, he couldn’t. He’d have to figure something else out. Surely he knew someone else with a seaplane. Or the troopers could call someone.
This complicated their search, for sure. No one would call him fit to fly at the moment, or even in the coming week, or even longer. Most of the concussion protocols he’d heard of involved a month out of a plane.
Nothing he could do to change it.
“Do you know where he went?” he asked, directing the conversation back to whoever was on the island with them.
“I don’t.” Her voice trembled. “I just dove in here to hide.”
Wyatt hated that she sounded scared. He wanted to do everything in his power to keep her from being afraid.
But with someone in the woods who clearly wanted them stopped, he understood her fear. It was probably very much justified.
He’d said he was fine, but Elsie wasn’t sure she really believed him, which was why she’d insisted that Wyatt walk ahead of her. Enough time had passed since the initial injury that she didn’t think he’d pass out, but you just never knew with head trauma.
Speaking of trauma, she’d noticed her hands were shaking. Adrenaline, most likely. But knowing the reason for it didn’t make it any less scary. She didn’t like admitting that what she’d experienced affected her at all, and she had lived in denial for years about her childhood affecting her, but there would be no denying that this was going to.
The fact that he hadn’t argued much about walking in front of her was scaring Elsie. As protective as he’d been about her safety, almost to the point of treating her too carefully, she’d expected him to put up a fight and demand to be in the back in case danger came from that direction. Maybe he was telling himself that being in front of her was keeping her safe, too. At the moment, Elsie didn’t care too much about her safety. She was worried about Wyatt.
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.
