Night had finally fallen in the woods, the dim sky outside her bedroom a beautiful shade of twilight blue. She hadn’t shut her curtains tonight, and she could see the dark silhouettes of the spruce trees that surrounded her cabin.
Everything was peaceful, as it should be. Willow showed no evidence that any sense of danger was anywhere nearby.
This wasn’t at all related to her safety or to the events of the last few weeks. This was only related to Wyatt Chandler. The man whose heart she’d stomped on earlier.
And what about her own heart? Her life alone had been fine. Actually, it had been lovely. She loved being out in the woods, the freedom she had as a single woman to decide when she came and went, the way she was able to pursue her job. Yet she missed Wyatt.
The man himself, for who he really was.
Was it possible she could have been wrong? Did he know her better than she’d thought? Maybe there could be a way to fix this.
Morning would be the ideal time to figure that out. Surely she could go to his house, apologize, explain...
Then what? She still didn’t think the proposal was a good idea. But the way to change how little they knew each other was...to get to know each other. They could do that.
He’d said he loved her, and she did believe him. And then she’d sent him away, angry.
Probably no matter how much she tried to sleep tonight, she was going to keep chasing this thought, like a butterfly she could see but never catch, always off in the distance just out of reach. Her brain just wouldn’t stop, trying to work this out, which to her truly seemed unfixable.
She gave up on sleep somewhere in the middle of the night, before the light had started to come back, just at the darkest point, and grabbed her light jacket.
Willow looked up at her, eyebrows rising.
“I have to talk to him,” she told the dog. “I think I’m falling in love with him, too. I think it scared me. I think...” She heard her voice waver, felt the lump in her own throat grow. “I think maybe I don’t know how to do this.”
Willow stood, walked toward her.
“You’re coming, too, huh? Wouldn’t dream of leaving you.”
This was it, Elsie thought as she pulled on her boots and locked the door of the cabin behind her. She stood outside for a second, letting her eyes acclimate to the dimness. The moon was bright enough there was no need for a flashlight, but the shadows outside did take some getting used to. At least now there was no need to startle at the shadows. Troopers were investigating the cause of the plane crash, but if all their suspicions had been correct, she should be safe now.
She felt safe, too, all the way to her boat and across the bay. The ocean was calm tonight, accepting, it seemed, of her desire for safe passage to town, not fighting her in the least.
Was that what it would be like when she talked to Wyatt? Would everything go more smoothly when she stopped fighting against her feelings and her anxiety about not being in control, about not being sure whether or not she’d be any good at being in a relationship?
They’d both been right last night, Elsie thought. She’d said he didn’t know her well and he didn’t. But maybe Wyatt had been right, too, that he knew her anyway.
She wouldn’t know for sure until she could talk to him, see his eyes. She was ready to take a leap of faith, to take a risk. But she wanted to talk to Wyatt first. Even now her heart was hesitant. Afraid.
Elsie hated being afraid.
She docked the boat at Destruction Point’s marina. Remembering where Wyatt’s house was, she walked toward it, Willow trotting along beside her.
When she reached his house, it was dark. Not surprising, as it was late. But...Wyatt’s front door was wide open.
Her heartbeat started to pound in her chest, fear seemed to weight her legs, but she propelled herself forward anyway, wishing she had some kind of weapon with her, just in case someone was waiting for her, someone who wasn’t Wyatt.
Eyeing the door, practically willing Wyatt to walk out of it unharmed, Elsie pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed 911.
“Wyatt Chandler’s house has been broken into. His front door was left open and I’m afraid someone took him.”
“Location, please?”
“I don’t know his address.” Frantic, she looked around for the 911 numbers that even a small community like Destruction Point had. She finally found them, on the side of the mailbox, and read them aloud to the dispatcher. She quickly filled the dispatcher in about Wyatt’s last known whereabouts.
“We’ll be there within five minutes.”
“I’m search and rescue,” Elsie said. “My dog and I are on the way to find him now.”
Elsie hung up. Five minutes.
She hurried inside the house. “Wyatt?” The first room, a living room connected to a small kitchen, was empty. It was neat, with very little evidence he’d even been home.
The next room was an office, with papers and folders everywhere, but still fairly neat. No one had ransacked this place. They weren’t searching for anything and, Elsie thought, they didn’t seem angry. This felt more intentional.
Chills chased down her spine. Was it a trap? For her?
Wyatt would tell her to go home, that the risk wasn’t worth it, but as her search continued to reveal too little as to his whereabouts, Elsie started to feel more and more strongly that to leave was exactly what she couldn’t do. Not now. If Wyatt was in trouble, then it was because of her. She couldn’t abandon him now when he’d been so determined not to leave her alone with all of her troubles. She could feel the tension in Willow building as the two of them walked through the house together.
There was one more room she and Willow still hadn’t searched. His bedroom door was closed and Elsie felt like she was violating his privacy by going in there, but at the same time, she didn’t have a choice but to search it, too.
She reached for the door. Knocked. “Wyatt?”
No reply, but she did hear something. A scuffling. At her feet, Willow whined.
She knocked again. “Wyatt?”
When there was still nothing, she eased the door open. Willow charged in, a blur of brown moved toward them, and before she could react, Elsie saw Willow, her bright white fur pouncing around the room with a brown malamute mix that she knew had to be Sven, Wyatt’s dog. He dwarfed Willow, but he seemed friendly, though obviously disturbed.
