Chapter Seven
Dylan
Hunter mutters something about taking a shower before disappearing into the ensuite, leaving me alone in our room. I let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding for hours and sink down onto the edge of the bed. God, it’s already been such a long day, and it’s not even noon.
The whole drive to Coldwater Hunter had been quiet, brooding, and any attempt I made at small talk, he shut down with one-word answers.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, I could see his features tightening with anger when he realized we’d be sharing a room and his eyes narrowing on me like he was having to bite back on what he really wanted to say.
He was angry, and not just about the room. Not that I didn’t get it. I’d hurt him, the one person I never wanted to, but at the time, I hadn’t seen any other way out. Still, that didn’t change what I did, or that my actions wounded Hunter.
Yet, despite all my reasonable rationalizations, it doesn’t hurt any less to see how difficult it is for Hunter to just exist in the same space as me. With a sigh, I stand from the bed and start to unpack my suitcase.
There is no way I’m going to fit everything I brought in that tiny white dresser, never mind anything from Hunter’s almost comically small bag. I scan the room, hoping I’ve missed a closet or another dresser in my first sweep of the small space. Nope, this is it.
When it came to what I thought of the room, I played it up for Nancy Ellis, calling it charming and cozy. I suppose both those things could be true if you found one’s grandmother’s sense of style cozy or charming.
We were here for five days, and honesty wouldn’t have done any of us any good just then. Matthew had stayed in this same inn. I’m sure he’d spoken to both Nancy and Jim Ellis during his stay, and maybe they’d shed some light on any trouble Matthew had been in. Better to stay on their good side.
The bathroom door clicks open, and I look over my shoulder as Hunter steps out.
His brown hair is still damp and tousled.
He’s dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a black Henley t-shirt that clings to his muscled shoulders and chest. My mouth turns dry, and for a second, I forget how to speak.
Instead, I stay where I am, crouched next to my suitcase on the floor, gaping like a slack-jawed idiot.
It doesn’t seem fair that Hunter still looks as good, hell, even better, than I remember.
Who am I kidding? It’s fair. It’s like a penance for letting him go.
At the time, I’d just been trying to do the right thing, and so unfamiliar with the concept that it’s no wonder I screwed the whole thing up.
His eyes meet mine, and for a long moment, he doesn’t speak. Unease curls around my insides like a gust of icy wind. I can’t read his inscrutable expression. Is he still angry? Did he hope when he came out of the bathroom, I would have disappeared? I have no answers.
“I saved you two drawers,” I blurt out, mostly just to fill the uneasy silence stretching between us.
He huffs out a humorless chuckle. “Keep them for yourself. I can just leave my stuff in my bag.”
I nod and opt to change the subject. “So, what’s the plan for the rest of today?”
He shrugs. “I figured we’d check out the town. Maybe talk to a few people who knew Matthew.”
“Okay, sounds good.” I unpack as much as I can from my suitcase, choosing to leave the items of clothing I suspect I’m least likely to wear while I’m staying here. Once I stand straight, Hunter has already pulled on his jacket and is waiting for me by the door.
I shoot him a saccharine smile. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”
I shrug on my navy pea coat and wrap the matching crocheted scarf around my throat. A faint frown clouds Hunter’s features as if he’s trying to work something out, but whatever it is, he doesn’t ask. Instead, he opens the door to our room.
In the hall, I lock the door behind us with the heavy iron key before slipping it into my pocket next to my phone. Hunter and I make our way down the stairs and find a middle-aged man behind the reception desk. Nancy Ellis’s husband, Jim, I assume.
Hunter’s gaze lands on the man, and his entire demeanor changes. His stiff demeanor melts, replaced by a warm, engaging smile. Jealousy twinges in my chest, ridiculous as it is, because part of me longs for Hunter to look at me with the same warmth, even though it’s fake.
“You must be Mr. Ellis,” Hunter says, holding out his hand to shake. “We met your wife earlier.”
“Jim, please,” the man says, his own affable smile brightening his lined face. He’s much older than his wife; his hair white, his shoulders stooped, and his once-muscular frame sagging with age. His eyes are blue, not the same deep sapphire as Hunter’s, but dull and faded, almost gray.
“Nancy told me you boys checked in. With us for the next five days, is that right?”
Hunter nods. “A short getaway.”
I sidle up to Hunter and fold his hand in mine. He stiffens beside me, and I try not to grin. His fake smile doesn’t falter, though I know it’s just for show.
“We’ve been really looking forward to this trip,” I tell Jim. “Hunter’s schedule is impossible. I’m Dylan, by the way.”
“What is it you do?” Jim asks, turning his attention back to Hunter, and I realize my mistake instantly. We haven’t come up with any kind of backstory, a plan, something beyond boyfriends on a romantic trip.
I can admit to running a café. There was nothing threatening about that, but the whole point of putting on this act is to avoid telling anyone that Hunter was a private investigator.
“We run a café,” I tell the man before Hunter can respond. He tilts his head to the side, a bemused look on his face.
“In Fieldstone,” I add.
“That’s not far from here,” Jim says, frowning.
“It’s not,” Hunter agrees, turning his attention back to Jim. “But, if we’re honest, this isn’t just an extended long weekend for us. We’re also looking for someone.”
Jim’s smile dims, like a flashlight with dying batteries. “Is that so? Someone here in Coldwater?”
“We think so,” Hunter says. “Dylan’s cousin. His name is Matthew Fraiser. We think he stayed here a few months back.”
Fair’s fair, I saddled us with running the café together, and now he’s made Matthew my cousin. We really should have planned this out better.
“Of course, I remember Matthew,” Jim says warmly. “He stayed with us for a short time months ago. I should have realized you were related. You look alike.”
Jim’s attention jumps to me, and a strange prickle crawls up the back of my spine, and I shift closer to Hunter before I can stop myself.
The front door opens, drawing away Jim’s gaze. Nancy enters and her eyes widen a little when she sees us all standing together. She slowly shrugs out of her coat. “Is everything all right in here?”
“Oh, yes,” Jim says, taking his wife’s coat and hanging it on the rack behind the desk. “Just getting to know our guests. Dylan here is Matthew’s cousin. You remember Matthew?”
Jim shoots his wife a meaningful look, and she nods, joining her husband behind the desk. When she meets my gaze, her smile looks too tight and stiff to be natural. “He stayed with us for just a short while. A lovely young man. Did he recommend us?”
“Not exactly,” Hunter replies, flashing another disarming smile. “We haven’t heard from him in a while, and we know this is the last place he stayed. We just want to make sure he’s all right.”
“Oh, no.” Nancy presses her hand to her chest. “When did you speak to him last?”
“A little more than a week ago.” Hunter’s smile turns less affable than it had been moments ago. His eyes sharpen.
“Well, he didn’t stay with us long, and I haven’t seen him in Coldwater in weeks.”
“Did you see him after he stopped staying here?” I ask.
She nods. “I did. He only stayed here until he got the job at the general store downtown. Then he moved in with that Lyle Kirkland.”
Her nose wrinkles, giving away exactly what she thinks of Lyle Kirkland.
“Were they together?” I ask. “He never mentioned him when we talked.”
“I’m not surprised.” Nancy’s mouth purses as if words on her tongue are sour. “If you ask me, though, Lyle was too old for a young man like Matthew.”
Whoever the hell this Lyle guy is, it’s clear Nancy and Jim don’t think much of him, and probably for more than just an age difference.
Considering possible suspects for who could have taken Matthew, Lyle Kirkland had just hit the top of my list.
“Do you know where we can find him?” I ask, leaning closer to the desk. Hunter’s grip on my hand tightens as if to keep me from moving too far away.
“He’s got a place on Grange Road, just outside of town,” Jim explains. “From what I know, Matthew stopped seeing him, probably around the same time he left town.”
“Thanks. We appreciate the info.” Hunter tugs me back from the desk toward the front doors. “I think we’ll go out and explore some of the town.”
I hope that’s code for track down Lyle Kirkland and shake the truth out of him.
“Good luck,” Jim calls.
Nancy nods. “I hope you find him safe.”
Once we’re outside, Hunter shakes my hand loose, glares, then starts walking to the car, leaving me to scramble after him. “So, we’re going to find this Lyle Kirkland first, right? He’s got to know something.”
“He’s definitely a good place to start,” Hunter says, as he opens his truck’s door. I climb into the passenger seat as Hunter taps his phone’s screen until he has Kirkland’s address.
I remember the bruises on Matthew’s throat. Had it been Kirkland’s handiwork? A mix of anger and worry gives my insides a twist. Had he been lying in wait in the apartment above the café yesterday morning? The same man who shoved me down the stairs? If he was, what had he been looking for?
Hunter steers us through town until the houses give way to forest. Kirkland’s house sits back from the road, a stone bungalow half-buried in knee-high grass and scattered garbage. A rusted truck carcass sinks into the lawn.