Chapter 32
A man was standing half-hidden behind a tree, watching her. His hands were gripped to the straps of a sagging, worn pack. There was no smile. No hello. She took in the dark stubble, the narrow jaw, the orange wool hat pushed back on his head.
Erik.
She remembered the way he’d walked through the lodge bar, a strange hush falling over the room.
She remembered the way Bj?rn and Brit had both glared, watching Erik, as if the devil had walked in.
She remembered the way he’d set out on the Svelle trail yesterday, turning and looking back over his shoulder—at her.
And now he was here.
He stared, eyes as dark as the woods. “Karin . . . ,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.
Her skin turned to ice.
She forced herself to shake her head. Say, “I’m Maggie.”
Erik blinked slowly. Ran a hand over his face.
The trees crowded close. She was aware of the silence that had gathered around them. He was staring at her with unnerving intensity.
Her heart kicked hard against the cage of her ribs.
He glanced left, then right. “Are you lost?” he asked in English, his voice thick, as if he hadn’t used it all day.
As a woman, she’d been taught to walk with confidence, to look like she knew where she was going. To not show weakness, because a predator senses it. How do you do that in the middle of the Norwegian wilderness with no clue where you are?
No phone signal.
No help.
No one to hear her scream.
She took a breath, then forced her voice to come out confidently. “I’m with my friends.”
He looked around him.
“We got separated.” Her breathing was speeding up. “They’ll be looking for me.”
“Where are you going?”
“The coast.”
“You know the direction?” he said, his Norwegian accent strong.
She hesitated.
He was looking right at her.
She could tell him, yes, she knew. But then he’d watch as she set off and would know she was lying.
“I’ve lost my bearings,” she said.
His expression was unreadable. “I will take you.”
He could lead her anywhere. It could be a trap and she’d have no idea.
He could’ve been tracking them all day, waiting for one of their group to separate.
But if she said no, stayed here, what then?
Night would close in and she’d be out here alone.
She had no tent. The temperature would drop. How long would she last?
Erik turned and began to walk, moving through the trees, ducking to miss a low-hanging branch, pushing aside a sweep of ferns.
Maggie felt certain he was leading her in the wrong direction. Was he taking her deeper into the woods?
“I . . . I thought the trail was that way,” she said, pointing east.
He shook his head. Walked on.
Maggie, heart skittering, followed.
She kept a few paces behind, trying to get the measure of him. His pack was sun-bleached and half-empty, worn hooked over one shoulder. He had on tatty cargo shorts and his legs were tanned and lean, rangy muscles in his calves and thighs.
Maggie had read that if you were feeling threatened by someone, you were meant to keep them talking, humanize them and yourself. Build up a conversation. “You’re Leif’s brother, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“He said your family owns the lodge? It’s a beautiful place to grow up. I’m from a village in the south of England. I thought it was rural until I came here.”
Silence.
“I have a daughter. Phoebe. She’s three. I miss her. She’s staying with my ex-husband for the week. He’s not had her before . . .” Her throat tightened and she trailed off. She shook her head, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. Don’t you dare cry!
She was cloaked in sweat, her breath labored. She didn’t want to go any further. It felt like the woodland was growing denser. The ground was descending—when she was meant to be rising. He was taking her further from the path, she was sure.
Quietly, she unclipped the buckles of her pack in case she needed to turn, run. The pack slackened, putting more weight into her shoulders. She could hear her own breath, feel the panic building.
Her gaze flitted nervously through the darkened forest. In the mossy grass, she spotted a fist-sized rock. She took a couple of steps toward it and quickly snatched it up. She straightened, fingers closing around the cool, solid rock.
When she looked up, Erik had stopped. He was standing very still, arms loose at his sides, watching her. Their eyes met.
The forest fell quiet, the world shut out.
Erik asked, “Why do you pick that up?”
Her face flamed. “I . . . I just . . . I thought it was pretty.”
They both looked at the rock in her hand. It was a plain gray rock as big as her fist, its edges jagged.
He returned his gaze to her face, staring right at her. “Liar.”