“Yeah, you’re my friend, I know.”

He could have sworn the dog rolled his eyes as he flopped onto his other side, leaving another patch of dog hair on the couch. Eat. Sleep. Work. Clean up after his dog. That was a more accurate summary of Wyatt’s life.

The radio crackled again.

Female resident reporting distress. West side of the bay, Destruction Point...

Wyatt sat up straighter.

Elsie.

Surely not, he tried to tell himself as he hurried from the couch to pull on his boots and jacket. Behind him, Sven grumbled with interest.

“You have to stay. I’ll be back soon.” His first thought had been for Elsie, but it could just as likely be one of the older retirees who lived out that way. Still, his sister’s friendship with Elsie made her come to mind first. No matter who was in trouble, Wyatt knew it was likely he could beat the police there. Besides, if there was some kind of scale, Wyatt could use as many good deeds tipping out his previous bad ones as possible.

He was out the door and to his dock in seconds. The boat roared to life without issue—something that couldn’t always be said for it—and he started off across the bay. It wasn’t a wide body of water, just enough to be separated from the main part of town, functionally speaking. He tried to breathe deeply as he navigated the waves. The ocean wasn’t too rough tonight, but the spray drenched the bow of his boat as he cut across the water as fast as he dared in the growing darkness.

Elsie’s cabin stood just at the edge of the woods, close enough to have an unobstructed view of the ocean, but far enough away that even the most dramatic tides didn’t reach it. He thought he remembered Lindsay telling him once that the cabin was a century old. He couldn’t imagine building something, doing something, that would last that long. Her cabin was someone’s legacy, tangible and still standing. Did anything in his life have half a chance of outliving him, besides maybe the terrible reputation he’d worked to earn in his younger years for going through women and alcohol like a chain-smoker went through cigarettes?

Forcing himself away from that thought spiral, he beached the boat, tied it down and hurried to her cabin.

The front door was ajar. He crept inside, wishing he’d taken time to grab a weapon, but he hadn’t been thinking clearly when he left. Hopefully the years he’d spent in outdoor pursuits had honed his muscles enough that he could still hold his own in a fight. He hadn’t been in one in half a decade and had never thought he’d need the skills again. Wyatt sure hoped they’d show up for him if he needed them now.

Indecision gripped him as he stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. Should he call out to her? Or try to surprise whoever was in the house?

Because the fact that 911 had been called for someone in this area, added to the fact that her door had been opened... Wyatt no longer thought he was overreacting. Making a split-second decision, he went with this second option, moving forward slowly, conscious of how easy it would be to step in such a way that the old wooden floor creaked under his steps.

“Where are you?” a voice called out, drawing out the vowels in a way that put Wyatt in mind of childhood nightmares.

Shivers chased down his spine. This was more than a random occurrence, and that thought caused the terror in his stomach to turn cold and icy.

Rather than focus on how it made him feel, he moved toward the voice. The cabin didn’t look big from the outside, but the layout made the most of the space, rooms connecting to each other in a way that older settlers in Alaska had been fond of. Many of these cabins had loft areas, too—was that where Elsie’s bedroom would be? Chances were good she’d been asleep when someone broke in...

He moved into another room, movement up ahead catching his attention. A silhouette that sent shivers up his spine. Someone was stalking her, hunting her in her own house.

Why? Who?

No time. He had to stop them.

He heard a dog’s low growl and then a snarl.

Wyatt ran forward in time to see the silhouette drop. He launched himself on top of the man, letting his fists fly, relishing the pain in his knuckles as they connected with the other man’s jaw.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and thought it might be another assailant, but quickly realized it was Elsie. “Elsie, run!” he yelled at her.

“Wyatt?” Her voice was perplexed, shaking and colored with fear.

The attacker chose that moment, when Wyatt was distracted by her voice, to hit hard—hard enough to stun Wyatt momentarily. The man rolled out from under him and started to run.

The dog growled.

“Willow, stay.”

Wyatt took off after the man through the maze of the cabin and out the front door. The attacker had a head start and seemed to know where he was going. He peeled off into the woods. Wyatt followed for as long as he could, feet pounding the earth, until he finally had to admit he’d lost the trail. His breathing ragged, he forced himself to admit what he knew to be true.

The man was gone.

He kicked the ground and bit back a word he hadn’t used in years.

Noise behind him made him swivel his head to look up. It was Elsie and her dog.

“Wyatt?” So many questions in her voice and in the way she said his name.

He didn’t have answers. Instead he said, “I’m sorry I lost him.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t... It’s not your problem.”

“Do you know who it was?”

She hesitated. He saw her face, as though she were debating her answer, but then she slowly shook her head. It was odd. He almost felt like she was lying. But she’d have no reason to, right? Especially not about something like this, with her safety on the line. Still...

“You sure you don’t?” He pushed anyway, wanting the truth.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. Not that I remember, anyway.”

There was something odd in that statement that he wanted to come back to, but now wasn’t the time.

His gaze had moved to Willow. “Your dog tracks people, correct? Lost people?” He thought he’d heard something like that.

She nodded.

“Technically I lost the trail. Could she...?”

“She could. But I don’t want to ask her to. It’s too dangerous for her.”

“Dangerous for her? Someone attacked you tonight. We have to find out who.”

“We don’t have to do anything,” she said firmly, more so than he was used to hearing her talk. He’d always thought of Elsie as his sister’s delicate little friend. She was petite, barely came to his shoulders, and slight enough that it seemed if the wind kicked up too hard, it could probably blow her away.

Her voice was anything but delicate right now.

“Elsie, please.”

She sighed deeply, then bent toward the dog. She leaned close, buried her hands in the dog’s fur and pressed their foreheads together, then stood up slowly.

He didn’t think she’d said anything out loud to the dog, but Willow took off.

“If my dog gets hurt, I’m holding you responsible.”