Chapter Sixteen
Knox
She didn’t even tell me she was leaving.
That’s what I keep coming back to as I push through the doors of the Aurora Lodge, Hailey’s photo pulled up on my phone. She
spent the night in my bed, let me hold her, let me promise we’d figure things out together. And then she vanished without
a word. Not a text. Not a note. Just a cold pillow and a coffee mug in the drying rack and silence where she should have been.
I noticed within hours. I texted her, called her, got nothing back but dead air.
A year. I’ve been watching this woman for a year, and I still can’t predict when she’s going to slip through my fingers.
The first time I saw her, she was laughing at something Sloane said in the studio, her head thrown back, those silver rings
catching the light as she gestured. Something in my chest just . . . stopped. Rearranged itself. I’d been walking through
my life like a soldier on patrol, checking boxes, completing objectives, and then Hailey Parker looked up and met my eyes
and I forgot what the objective even was.
I told myself it was temporary. A distraction. An inconvenient attraction that would fade once I got to know her.
Instead, I learned that she takes her coffee black but steals sips of other people’s lattes when she thinks no one’s looking.
That she hums off-key when she’s concentrating.
That she bites her thumbnail when she’s nervous and cracks her knuckles when she’s bored.
That she talks to herself when she thinks no one can hear, little running commentaries on whatever she’s working on.
I notice everything.
Twelve months of noticing, and the obsession hasn’t faded. It’s metastasized. Spread into every corner of my life until there’s
no part of me that isn’t thinking about her.
So I checked the tracker.
Yeah. The tracker. The one I hid in the sole of her Doc Martens three months ago, back when I was still telling myself that
following her home every night was “protective” and not “deeply unhinged.” In my defense, I’d planned to tell her about it
eventually. In my defense, she always wears those boots, and I needed to know she was safe, and I wasn’t thinking clearly
because—
There is no defense. I know that. I put a GPS tracker in a woman’s shoes without her knowledge or consent. That’s not romantic.
That’s not protective. That’s behavior that gets you a restraining order and a spot on a true crime podcast.
But watching the little dot on my phone blink from JFK to Yellowknife to a remote location in the Northwest Territories that
my map could barely render? I’m not feeling guilty. I’m feeling vindicated.
Something is wrong.
Hailey doesn’t take spontaneous trips to the Canadian Arctic. Hailey doesn’t vanish without telling anyone where she’s going.
And Hailey definitely doesn’t go dark for twelve hours in the middle of nowhere while the tracker signal dies at a place called
Aurora Lodge.
I was on a plane before I finished processing what any of it meant.
Before boarding, I texted Cole. Not the full truth, but not a lie either. Just enough to cover my absence without raising
alarms.
KNOX: Taking some time off. Businesses shutting down for the holiday anyway.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
COLE: Time off? You?
KNOX: It happens.
COLE: In the five years I’ve known you, you’ve taken exactly zero vacation days.
KNOX: Seems like a good time to start.
A pause. I could practically hear Cole’s skepticism through the screen.
COLE: This have anything to do with Hailey?
I stared at that message for a long moment. Cole knows me too well.
KNOX: Just need a few days.
COLE: That’s not a no.
KNOX: It’s not a yes either.
Another pause. Then:
COLE: Sloane’s going to ask where you went.
That was the real issue. Not Cole’s curiosity, but Sloane’s. I didn’t want her worrying, and I didn’t want to put Cole in
a position where he’d have to choose between being honest with her and keeping my business private.
KNOX: Tell her the truth. I’m taking a trip. You don’t know the details because I didn’t give you any.
COLE: So I’m not lying, I’m just underinformed.
KNOX: Exactly.
COLE: Convenient for you.
KNOX: I’m not asking you to keep secrets from her. I’m asking you not to dig for information I’m not ready to share.
The longest pause yet. Then:
COLE: Fine. But you owe me an explanation when you get back.
KNOX: Noted.
COLE: And Knox? Whatever’s going on . . . be careful.
I pocketed the phone without responding. Careful wasn’t really an option anymore. Not when it came to her.
The whole flight, I argued with myself. This is crazy. This is exactly the obsessive behavior you’re supposed to be working
on. She’s allowed to take a trip without telling you. You’ve been on two dates. You don’t own her.
But the tracker kept pinging from the same location. Stationary. For hours.
Either Hailey took off her boots and left them at a resort in the Northwest Territories—unlikely, given that she wears those
things like they’re welded to her feet—or something happened to her.
I wasn’t willing to bet on option one.
The flight gave me too much time to think.
Nearly nine hours, JFK to Toronto to Yellowknife, staring at seat backs and watching the clouds crawl past the window.
Replaying every moment of the past year.
The first time she smiled at me and I felt it in my spine.
The way she looked at me in Washington Square Park, snowflakes catching in her dark hair, when I finally worked up the nerve to kiss her.
How she tasted like coffee and something sweeter underneath.
How I’d pulled back and she’d grabbed my collar and pulled me right back in.
I’ve never felt like this about anyone. Never wanted to crawl inside someone’s life and make a home there. Never understood
those love songs about obsession and need and losing yourself in another person.
Now I understand. Now I’m one of those idiots writing poetry in my head while chasing a woman to the Arctic because the thought
of her being hurt, being scared, being anything other than safe in my arms—
I can’t finish that thought. It goes somewhere too dark.
Now I’m here, and something about this place is wrong. It’s too quiet, too polished, and the woman at the front desk is already
watching me before I’m halfway across the lobby.
“Welcome to Aurora Lodge. How can I help you?”
I show her my phone. “I’m looking for this woman. Hailey Parker. She should have checked in yesterday.”
The smile doesn’t waver. “Ms. Parker checked out this morning. I believe she mentioned heading south?”
The tracker says her boots are still here, somewhere within a quarter mile of where I’m standing.
I smile back. “Must have gotten our wires crossed. Mind if I stretch my legs? Long flight.”
“Of course, sir. The grounds are lovely this time of year.”
I do a perimeter walk and count security cameras as I go. Twelve on the main building, six covering parking, motion sensors
along the tree line. Armed guards run patrol routes that look casual but aren’t.
That’s too much infrastructure for a resort. Too much money spent on keeping people out—or keeping them in.
The creepy stalker tracking device I planted in Hailey’s shoes is starting to look less like a character flaw and more like the only reason I have any chance of finding her.
Funny how that works.
I’m circling back toward the main entrance when three men intercept me near the equipment shed. They’re wearing staff uniforms,
but they move like operators. The real kind, not weekend warriors. Two flank me with their hands positioned for quick draws
while the leader stands in front, something heavier bulking out his parka.
“Sir. We need you to come with us.”
I do the math. I could take one, maybe two, but not all three without knowing where Hailey is. Starting a fight I might lose
won’t help her.
“Lead the way.”
They take me to a side building. I expect zip ties and harsh lighting and questions about why I’m asking about a woman who
supposedly checked out this morning.
Instead, the leader steps behind me while the other two hold my attention.
Something presses against my neck. A hiss. Cold spreading outward from the injection site.
I spin and get one hand on his collar before my fingers stop working. The floor rushes up. I fight it—I’ve been drugged before,
trained to push through—but whatever they gave me is industrial grade.
My last conscious thought is her face. The way she looked at me this morning when I woke up with her in my arms. Soft and
unguarded and mine.
I’m coming, Hailey. Just hold on.
The last thing I hear is the leader’s voice, pleasant and calm.
“Sleep tight, Mr. Bishop.”