T here was something in the way this man spoke, the way he stared, that made me stand a little straighter. That made me stop trying to hide my face. It was like . . . he knew.
Impossible.
He was arguably the most ruggedly handsome man I’d ever seen in my life. His was not a face I’d forget, which meant he was likely just visiting Quincy. The only people who knew what had happened along the river on Friday were locals—gossip was galloping through town like a stampede of wild stallions.
Rumor was, my near-death incident would make the Quincy Gazette’s front page on Wednesday’s weekly edition.
I would not be reading the paper this week.
This guy was probably staring because of the shitty attempt I’d made to conceal my black eyes. Most of the makeup I’d put on at three this morning had faded after a long day. Or he was staring because of this freaking scarf. It was thick and heavy, and despite my best efforts, the chunky material wouldn’t stay tight enough beneath my chin to hide the bruises.
“Can we talk for a moment?” He jerked his chin toward the tables.
Talk about what? How I looked like someone’s personal punching bag? Fun.
“Please,” he begged.
There it was again. The feeling that he knew. Who was he? Only one way to find out. I pointed to his sandwich. “I’ll let you eat, then join you in a moment.”
“All right.” He picked up his plate, waiting until Crystal set a glass of ice water on the counter, then swept it up too. “I’ll be fast.”
“No rush.”
His gaze darted to my throat, then he turned and crossed the room. He had a confident stride. Long legs covered in faded jeans. Scuffed boots.
Stubbled jaw. Broad shoulders and disheveled hair. Tall. Very tall. Great
ass.
Exactly my type.
Of course the universe would deliver me a s*xy, beautiful man when the very last thing I wanted was to be touched. When I couldn’t even flirt because of my fucking voice.
I sounded like I’d been a lifelong smoker, and every hoarse, hitched syllable ached.
The pain had continually worsened over the weekend. Probably because I kept talking. Talia had told me the quickest way to recover was to rest, but I refused to stay at home and hide. I wouldn’t cower and give that son of a bitch who’d tried to kill me the satisfaction of my defeat.
So here I was, working. Yesterday morning, when my mother and Crystal had shown up at five to open Eden Coffee, I’d already been here for an hour. Their every attempt to shoo me out the door had been thwarted with an adamant no.
Dad and Griffin had come in this morning to try and convince me to spend a week at the ranch recuperating. But I’d held up my chin and marched into the kitchen to make cranberry-orange scones.
If I had just stayed at work on Friday, none of this would have happened in the first place. Not that I blamed Eloise—though she was determined to carry the blame regardless. She’d been so upset this morning when she and Jasper had come in to check on me that I’d had to practically shake her to listen as I’d choked out how this wasn’t her fault.
There was one and only one person to blame. That motherfucking hunter.
Still, I’d be damned if anyone would run me out of my own building again.
This was where I wanted to be, so I was staying.
“Crystal.” I lowered my voice. It didn’t hurt as much when I whispered.
“Yeah?” She appeared at my side in a snap, abandoning the coffee she’d been making. She’d been a trooper, hovering close, ready to do whatever I asked. Crystal was the only person who hadn’t tried to get me to leave. I loved her for that.
“Do you know who that is?” I nodded toward the man. He’d taken the far table beside the windows and was inhaling his sandwich.
“No. I’ve never seen him before.”
I nodded, then touched her forearm before getting a coffee mug from the stack and filling it with hot water. Whatever that man wanted, I’d need something to drink if we were going to talk, so I made myself a tea, letting it steep while he demolished his meal.
The busy summer tourist season was over. It was too early for holiday visitors. This time of year, Quincy saw an influx of hunters, and while this guy’s rough edge and outdoorsy vibe fit that image, my intuition said that wasn’t why he’d come to town.
Why? No idea. Something about him just felt . . . different.
Maybe my near-death experience had given me some sixth sense—or delusions. For all I knew, I’d go to that table and he’d deliver some cheesy pickup line. Though with a face like his, he probably just crooked a finger and women hopped into his bed.
I took a sip of my tea, letting the warmth soothe my throat. Then I carried it across the shop.
When he saw me coming, the man wiped his lips with a napkin, then balled it up and set it on his now empty plate as I took the chair across from his.
“Vance Sutter.” He stretched a hand across the table.
My hand was dwarfed by his as I returned his shake. His grip was rough but warm. “Lyla Eden.”
“Eden.” His gray-blue eyes flicked to the door at my back. “This is my coffee shop.”
He nodded, studying my face. Once more, his gaze darted to my scarf. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’m looking for a man.”
I sat taller, my heart beginning to race. Oh my God, I knew it. I freaking knew it. He knew it. How?
“Who?” I croaked.
“I’m guessing the man who did that to you.” He pointed to my throat, then opened one side of his jacket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded into quarters. He splayed it open, flattening it on the table. “Came across this APB from your local police station.”
I’d never read or seen an APB before. As he spun it around to face me, armed and dangerous practically leapt off the page. There was a description of the man from the river, and even reading the words made me shiver. Red hair. Brown eyes. Six-inch scar running across his cheek, from eye to chin.
I wrapped my arms around my waist as my stomach knotted.
If I closed my eyes, I saw his face. At night, when I tried to sleep, I felt his hands on my throat. I felt them squeeze. I felt them release.
Friday, after that man had let me go, I picked myself up off the riverbank and made my way back to my car. The trek was harrowing. I stumbled and tripped, struggling to breathe.
Panic fueled my every step. I was sure that man was following me. That maybe it was some sick and twisted game to let me go, only to capture me once more and finish the job the second time around.
Thankfully, it was only paranoia and fear. I made it to my car, and the moment I slid into the driver’s seat and locked my doors, my body collapsed against the steering wheel.
Crying had never hurt so badly in my life. The sobs were so painful that I forced myself to stop. And when I pulled myself together enough to quell the shaking, I called Dad.
When life got hard, Dad was always my first call.
Help. That was all I said. All I could say.
A split-second later, his recliner closed with an audible snap. Then came a door opening and closing along with the jingle of keys.
He asked me if I was hurt. Yes. He asked if I could drive. Yes.
Get to the hospital, Lyla. I’d been stuck before that, locked in my quiet car. That command from my father snapped me into action.
While I drove into town, so did Dad. He stayed on the line with me until I reached Quincy. Then he hung up to call my sister.
Talia was waiting in the parking lot when I pulled into Quincy Memorial. Dad arrived thirty seconds later, having broken every speed limit from the ranch to town.
They took a single look at my face and neck and rushed me into the emergency room. While Talia did her exam, Dad held my hand.
She promised there wasn’t any permanent damage to my windpipe. The swelling and bruising would get worse before it got better. My bloodshot eyes would return to normal. The black eyes would fade. She gave me a painkiller to get me through the worst of it.
It wasn’t until the exam was over that Dad broke. We both broke.
His shoulder had always been my favorite to cry on, so the moment he pulled me into his arms, I fell apart. Totally. The crying jag destroyed my
already wrecked throat.
Dad called Winn. Winn called Mom. Mom called Griffin. An hour later, my entire family was crowded around my hospital bed to listen while I recounted the entire ordeal to Winn, my sister-in-law, Quincy’s chief of police.
It had taken me longer to explain how I’d nearly been strangled to death than the actual strangling had taken. That hunter had choked me for less than twenty seconds, yet every time I replayed it in my mind, it felt like he’d had my throat in his grip for an eternity before he’d let me go.
Why had he let me go? Vance cleared his throat.
I shook myself out of my head. It wasn’t the first time I’d gotten lost in my own thoughts today. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took his wallet from his jeans pocket, rifling through the leather billfold. Then he slipped out an old photograph and handed it over. “Is this him?”
I gulped. My heart climbed into my throat as I reached for the photo, bringing it closer. My hands trembled as I stared at the man who’d almost murdered me.
Red hair. Brown eyes. Scarred face.
He was smiling in the picture. His happiness was jarring, like this had been taken of a different man in a different lifetime. But there was no mistake. It was the motherfucker.
“Yes.”
Vance’s entire frame relaxed, like he’d hoped that would be my answer but had braced himself for disappointment.
The photo’s edges were tattered. Its colors faded. How many times had Vance handed this picture to someone? Or had it been his own fingers that had traced the corners until they were rounded and soft?
“Has he hurt people before?” I asked. Vance nodded.
I dropped the picture like it was aflame. “You’re here to find him.”
“I am.” His deep, gravelly voice was infused with confidence. That surety was a sharp contrast to the hopelessness I’d felt all day after Winn’s update last night.
After she’d taken my statement at the hospital, she’d sprung into action. Within an hour, she’d issued the APB with the description I’d
provided. She’d engaged with the county sheriff’s department, who had activated the search and rescue team to scour the mountains.
My dad and brothers had been part of that effort. Over twenty people and three dogs had combed over the area where I’d been attacked.
They’d stayed out late Friday night, well past dark, and had finally returned to town empty-handed. Yesterday, more of the same. If there was a trail to find, it had been lost.
That asshole had escaped.
Winn would likely be here soon with another update. I didn’t expect a different outcome.
“The local authorities haven’t found him,” I told Vance. “What makes you think you can?” Maybe it was my ragged voice, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever sounded more cynical. Maybe all it took was one horrid experience to crush a person’s positive spirit.
“I’ve been searching for Cormac for years.” I shuddered. “That’s his name?”
“Cormac Gallagher.” Vance nodded, taking the photo from the table and returning it to his wallet.
“Who are you?” I locked my gaze with his.
I wasn’t the type of person who could spot lies. Trusting people just felt . . . normal. The default. Except I’d immediately given my trust to that man—Cormac—by the river. I’d assumed he was good.
So maybe it was time I learned to spot untruths. To be wary of those who came into this shop, Vance Sutter included.
“I’m a cop from Coeur d’Alene. Cormac is the main suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Oh.”
Cop. Cormac. Murder. My head was spinning.
“Who did he kill?” Was it another innocent woman out for a hike?
How many people had he killed? Had they been strangled?
Vance’s gaze flicked to the table. He stayed quiet.
I knew without asking he wouldn’t answer. Was that better or worse than a lie to my face?
Better.
Except Vance still hadn’t answered my previous question. Why did he think he’d have different luck than Winn, the sheriff and a team of people
trained to search this area for missing hikers or hunters? People like my dad and brothers who’d lived here their entire lives?
“What makes you so sure you can find him?”
“I’m not sure.” Honesty coated that baritone voice. “I’ve spent four years following dead-end leads. This might be another. Chances are, he’s long gone. But what if he’s not? That what-if is worth it for me to be here. You’re the first person in years who can confirm Cormac’s whereabouts.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
Vance offered a kind smile. “I’m sorry. For what he did, I’m sorry.”
Everyone was sorry. I didn’t need pity. What I needed was that son of a bitch rotting in a prison cell.
“Of all the people I’ve shown that photo, no one could tell me definitely yes or no. A few times, I went after a suspect with a similar description but it turned out to be someone else. I’m here because I know Cormac better than anyone alive. And I’d like him to be punished for what he’s done.”
It was like Vance could read my thoughts. The anger burning in my chest gave his voice a razor-sharp edge. “Me too.”
“Look.” He leaned his forearms on the table, those gray-blue irises brightening with intensity. They were so light they were almost clear. Mesmerizing. “I understand if you’d rather not go through it again. You’ve been through enough. But I’d like to hear from you what happened. Ask a few questions if you’re up for it.”
Was I up for it? I took a sip of my tea, the warm liquid easing some of the discomfort in my throat.
Before I’d even made the conscious decision to trust Vance, my mouth opened and the story came pouring out. From Eloise encouraging me to go on a hike, to my panic-fueled drive to the hospital, I gave Vance as many details as I’d given Winn.
My voice was steady. Cold. It was like I was reading a report, not retelling an event in my life. Apparently two days was all it had taken for me to detach from the trauma. Was that good or bad?
When I was finished, silence descended upon the table. A crease formed between Vance’s eyebrows, like he was taking my story and piecing it together with whatever history he had with this Cormac.
“Why did he let me go?” I whispered.
Vance’s gaze snapped to mine. He looked as unsure as I felt. “I don’t know.”
If he really was running from the police, if he really did intend to escape, leaving me alive made no sense. Now I was a witness.
“I have no right to ask this, but I’m going to ask anyway,” he said. “Would you go with me? Show me where this happened?”
My heart seized. “Why?”
“Cormac is not going to be easy to track. It’s why he’s evaded us for so long. The more help you can give me, the better chance I’ll find a trail.”
It should have been an easy no. Vance could sync up with Winn. He could work with the local search and rescue team to explore the area. He didn’t need me as his guide.
And I sure as hell didn’t need to go back there. To relive it in person.
The memory was hard enough.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sutter.” I pushed away from the table, and with my tea in hand, I walked to the counter, passing Crystal as I headed straight for the kitchen. My sanctuary.
The moment I was out of sight, I let out the breath I’d been holding. My heart raced as I planted my hands on my prep table, closing my eyes as a wave of nerves made my stomach roil. It was either from telling Vance my story or just the idea of returning to that spot.
Could I go back? Should I? “Lyla?”
I opened my eyes at my twin sister’s voice, twisting to the door as Talia rushed inside. She was dressed in blue scrubs. Her baby bump was starting to stretch her top. Not by a lot, but enough that you could tell she was pregnant with my future niece or nephew, who I planned to spoil rotten. “Are you okay?” She tugged at my scarf, pulling it down to inspect my
neck.
“Fine.” I waved her off, taking the damn thing off entirely. It was too hot in the kitchen for a scarf. Tomorrow I’d suffer in a turtleneck instead.
“You pushed too hard today.” Talia’s eyebrows knitted together. She wore the same concern she had since Friday. The same expression I saw on every other face in my family.
I shook my head, not wanting to speak. Talking to Vance had zapped my energy, and my throat was raw and ragged.
“Please, Lyla. Go home. You need to rest.”
I shook my head again, giving her a sad smile.
Talia’s shoulders slumped. The corners of her mouth turned down. Her eyes turned glassy but she didn’t let a tear fall.
My sister didn’t cry in front of others. At least, not often. She had this steel, this incredible strength. Whatever tragedy walked through the ER’s doors at the hospital, she took it in stride.
Me? I was the blubbering mess. Show me a sappy video on social media or tell me a sad story, I’d cry a river next to the espresso machine with a crowd of customers around to watch.
Yet here I was, the dry-eyed sister in the room. Meanwhile, Talia looked like she was about to crack.
“Want to talk about it? Or write it out?” she asked. “To save your voice.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Are you sure? It might help.” I shook my head again.
Normally, I harped on Talia to open up and confess her feelings. I encouraged her to talk and air her struggles—she rarely did. Strange, how we’d swapped roles.
Everything felt different. That bastard had tipped our worlds upside down and I just . . . I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be hugged or coddled. I didn’t want to talk.
I wanted justice. I wanted revenge so badly I could barely see straight. And since Winn had yet to apprehend Cormac Gallagher, all I had to keep my sanity intact was work.
So I forced a smile and reached for Talia’s hand, holding it tight when her palm touched mine. Then I let her go and walked to the fridge, taking out the ingredients for cinnamon rolls.
Talia stayed for an hour, watching me work in silence. I sent her home with a to-go container of soup so she and Foster wouldn’t have to cook dinner. Then I spent the rest of the evening alternating between work and answering text messages from my other siblings and parents.
Winn came into the shop ten minutes before we closed at seven. I knew immediately by the look on her pretty face that she wasn’t here to deliver good news.
“Hi.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “You okay?” “Sure,” I lied. “Find anything?”
Her dark ponytail swished as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Search and rescue did another sweep of the area with the dogs. They put them on the elk again today, having them track it. But about a mile away from the river, they lost the scent.”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes, disappointment settling like a thousand pounds on my shoulders.
“I’m not giving up.” Winn took my hand. “I promise.” “I know you won’t,” I whispered.
Winn would do everything in her power for our family. But there was no missing the dark circles beneath her eyes that had been there for weeks. Ever since the shooting at the hotel.
Quincy was supposed to be a safe town. Shootings and strangulations weren’t supposed to happen here. Everything was falling apart.
And Winn took so much of that on herself. Too much.
I wanted, more than anything, for Cormac to be apprehended. But if Winn couldn’t bring him in, how heavy would that weigh on her already burdened heart?
My gaze flicked to the empty table where Vance had sat earlier. What if he was the answer?
“Do you want dinner?” I asked Winn.
“No, that’s okay. Griff called on my way here and said he was making burgers.”
Some of the stress lifted from her face at my brother’s name. I had no doubt she’d go home to the ranch, to his arms and their two children, and the sparkle would return to her deep-blue gaze.
“Want to come out?” she asked. “You could spend the night.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to clean up here, then go home.” A hot, steamy shower might take away some of the pain. Maybe tonight I could actually get some sleep.
“You sure?”
I nodded, looping my arm with hers and walking her to the door. “We’re all worried about you.”
I sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“We all know that too. But we’re still going to worry.” Winn pulled me into a hug, then stepped outside, lifting a hand as she climbed into her vehicle.
Waiting until her taillights were two blocks down Main, I shut the door, twisting the lock. Then I shut off half the lights, leaving the others on to illuminate the space as I swept, mopped the floor and stacked chairs.
Crystal had offered to stay and close tonight, but I’d sent her home. Sunday evenings were slow, and after she’d left, not a single customer had come in, allowing me to clean the kitchen space.
It took less than thirty minutes for me to finish closing up. The shop smelled like sugar and vanilla and the citrus polish I used on the hardwoods. I was about to shut off the rest of the lights when I glanced out the front windows.
A tall figure strode down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, moving toward the hotel.
Vance.
He walked with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. The streetlamps lit his broad frame. He seemed in no rush, his gaze roving in every direction like he was trying to memorize Quincy. Or maybe he was hoping that if he looked close enough, he’d find a clue that would lead him to Cormac.
Was I that clue?
I flipped the lock on the front door, then I put my fingers to my lips, whistling the way Dad had taught me as a kid.
The noise split the night air. Vance stopped. Turned.
I nodded.
When he was ready, whether I was or not, I’d take him to the river.
