Chapter Twenty-Five
Hunter
The cold night air hits my face like a slap, sharp enough to sting my lungs. My heart is lodged in my throat, and I can’t shake the feeling that something bad has happened. Without looking back, I start down the driveway, ready to walk back to The Four Corners.
“Hunter,” Linc calls from behind me, “slow down.”
I don’t. My boots crunch across the snow toward the parking area, my eyes scanning for the truck, hoping I’ll spot headlights down the street and headed our way.
Nothing. The road is dark, lit only by streetlights casting faded pools of yellow. No signs of life.
Dread settles in my gut. I pull out my phone again and hit Dylan’s number.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath. Voicemail, again.
Behind me, Linc exhales quietly. “Still nothing?”
I shake my head.
“Maybe his phone’s dead too,” he offers.
“Maybe,” I say, unconvinced.
My fingers hover over the phone screen before I type out a message. Where are you? Call me. Please. I’m worried.
I stare at it for a moment before hitting send. The little message bubble disappears into the digital void. No reply.
My pulse pounds harder. Even if Dylan was pissed, he’d respond to that.
I drag a hand through my hair, forcing myself to focus. Something’s wrong. The two words beat in my head. I shove my phone back into my pocket, bend my head against the wind, and start to walk before the panic swallows me whole.
“Where are you going?” Linc asks. I can hear his hurried footsteps as he scrambles to catch up with me.
“Back to the bar,” I tell him. “It’s the last place I know Dylan was at.”
“You think he’s still there now?”
No. Maybe. “I don’t know,” I admit. “But it’s the only lead I’ve got.”
“Okay, fine.” He catches up and grips my arm, forcing me to stop. When I turn to face him, he doesn’t let go. “Let’s drive. My car’s here.”
He swings his arm wide and gestures to his black SUV parked next to the inn.
I nod and follow Linc to his vehicle. As I climb into the passenger seat, he slips behind the wheel. Once on the road, we follow the same route I took earlier from The Four Corners an hour ago, but the ride feels ten times longer now.
I keep staring at my phone the entire way, willing Dylan to reply, but he doesn’t, and my mind won’t stop running worst-case scenarios.
Jim confronting Dylan.
Jim believing Dylan knew what he did.
Jim attacking him to make sure his secrets stayed buried.
“Hey,” Linc says quietly from the driver’s seat.
I realize I’ve been gripping my phone so tightly my knuckles are white.
“We’re going to find him,” Linc says. “It’s what we do.”
I nod, wishing I felt as confident as he sounded.
We pull into the bar’s parking lot. By just past seven p.m., it’s starting to fill up. I scan the lot, searching for my truck, and find it parked near the entrance. Right where I’d left it earlier.
My pulse jumps. Relief hits hard. He’s here. Maybe he’s pissed at me, or Linc was right and his phone is dead. Whatever the reason, he’s not answering my calls or replying to my texts. At least he’s safe.
I’m out of the car before Linc even finishes parking and hurrying to the entrance. Inside, the bar is busier now. The tables are crowded with diners, and the late-night regulars have settled at the counter.
The table I shared with Dylan is crowded with two twenty-something couples, and there’s no sign of Dylan. By the time I make a complete sweep of the bar, including the bathroom, Linc has caught up.
“Is he here?” he asks, and I shake my head. Apprehension settles in my gut, smothering the thin flicker of relief and leaving me cold inside.
The same server who waited on Dylan and me walks past. Recognition flashes across her face.
“Hey,” I say, stepping in front of her and blocking her path to the bar. “I was here earlier.”
“I remember.”
“Have you seen the guy I was with?”
She frowns. “The dark-haired one?”
“Yeah.”
She hesitates, then gestures toward the bar where another staff member is wiping down glasses.
“Mark saw him leave,” she says.
My stomach tightens.
I head over to the bar. The bartender, Mark, apparently looks up as I approach. “Can I help you?”
“I was here earlier with a guy. Dark hair. About this tall.” I raise my hand to a few inches below the top of my head. “Did you see him leave, by any chance?”
Mark thinks for a moment. “Oh yeah,” he says slowly. “He had truck trouble.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“Yeah, his truck wouldn’t start,” Mark continues. “I heard him talking about it with someone as I was making my way in to start my shift.”
Cold dread slides down my spine. “Do you know who he was talking to?”
Mark shrugs. “Sure. The guy who runs that bed-and-breakfast out on the edge of town. Jim, I think his name is. He offered him a ride.”
My stomach drops.
The room shrinks. For a moment, everything stops.
“He got into Jim’s truck?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Mark says. “They left together.”
I feel as if someone just punched me in the chest.
“Hunter?” Linc’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn slowly. “Dylan got into the truck with Jim.”
Linc’s face tightens. “Shit.”
The bartender looks between us, suddenly uncomfortable. “You guys okay?”
I don’t answer. I abandoned the man I love, and now he is with a prolific killer who has been successfully murdering people for the better part of two decades.
My head is spinning and feels too light, and I can’t seem to slow my breathing. If Jim picked up Dylan, who knows what happened between here and the inn.
“Hunter,” Linc says carefully. “We’ll find him. Hell, maybe Jim took him back to the inn, and we just missed them.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t.
Outside, in the parking lot, I make my way over to my truck and pop the hood. The battery’s been disconnected. Someone who wanted to get Dylan into his truck.
I look over my shoulder at Linc. A hard frown tightens his features.
“My truck not starting was no accident,” I tell him.
“No, it wasn’t,” Linc agrees. “It doesn’t make sense, though, to take just him alone and leave you to look for them. If Jim believes you’re on to him, he has to know that you’ll be waiting. That you’ll bring in the police.”
“He’s disappeared once before. Maybe he plans to do it again.” The reality of my words hits like a punch, and my knees nearly give out from under me at the idea. What if I never see Dylan again?
“We’re going to find them,” Linc promises. “We’re going to find them both.”
I hope he’s right.
I leave the truck. If Dylan isn’t at the inn, I’m calling the cops, and my truck is evidence. Linc drives us back to the inn, speeding down dark roads.
My hands shake as I try Dylan’s number one more time. Voicemail. Again.
I stare through the windshield at the black tree line surrounding the property as we pull into the driveway. The woods behind the inn loom, a wall of shadows.
Somewhere out there Dylan might be hurt, need my help. I have to find him. He has to be okay.
“Hunter,” Linc says, once we’re out of the car. “Let’s go inside and call the police. The sooner we get people looking for them, the better.”
I nod because I know he’s right and start toward the inn but stop. Something at the side of the house has caught my eye. A dark rectangle where there shouldn’t be one.
“What?” Linc asks.
I point. “The cellar door is open.” It wasn’t before.
He follows my gaze to the heavy wooden doors and the opening that leads down to the basement. They’re both wide open, rattling every time the wind kicks up. The skin at the back of my neck prickles.
“Was that open before?” Linc asks quietly. The wind whips his usually carefully styled hair around his head.
I shake my head. “Not tonight.”
Not any night since we’ve been here. I’m sure I would have noticed otherwise. Dread lodges in my chest like an icy brick.
Linc’s voice drops into professional calm. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Dylan.”
Someone’s down there, anyway. Or was.
I shouldn’t go down there.
I move anyway.