Chapter 10
TEN
Annie wrapped her arms around her middle as she stared through the window at the wintry landscape.
Muted conversation filled the lobby. Soft piano music drifted from the sound system.
Neither did much to soothe the worry coursing through her.
Had something terrible happened to Caleb?
She should’ve insisted on joining Tate in the search.
But even she couldn’t deny that monitoring Preston was important. They still hadn’t confirmed his alibi.
She fiddled with the radio, but it remained quiet. Tate had only been gone fifteen minutes. The storm made things treacherous, and he’d have to navigate the paths slowly. He might not have even arrived at Caleb’s cabin yet. There was no reason to be so worried, yet the feeling wouldn’t let go.
She glanced over her shoulder at Preston.
The former football star was plowing through a plate of roasted chicken.
Heather Sanders, Kayla’s best friend, sat next to him.
Her own plate was untouched. She looked stressed, her gaze pulling again and again to the windows and the storm beyond the glass.
Probably upset about being trapped here. Who could blame her?
Annie started toward Heather when the main entrance door blew open.
Wind whistled through the room, and the flames in the fireplace danced as several people poured into the lobby, lugging suitcases and duffel bags.
Their loud chatter about the storm cut through the somber mood, and Annie recognized Dylan McCrae and Nick Farrow. She crossed the lobby. “Hey, guys.”
Nick removed his ski cap and rubbed his mussed hair. “Hey, Annie. It’s crazy out there.” He lifted his nose like a bloodhound. “Do I smell food?”
“Yeah. Lunch is available in the dining room.” She eyed their suitcases, wondering where they were going. The bridge was still out. “Y’all packed up.”
Dylan flexed his red fingers and then rubbed his hands together. “Brooke said it’s better if we stay in the main lodge, so we went to the cabin and got our stuff. Doesn’t make sense to go back and forth.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Guilt pricked Annie as Nick’s wife, Cameron, shivered and made a beeline for the fire. She held her hands out to the flames. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you guys were out there, or I would’ve brought a UTV around to haul your stuff up here.”
“No worries.” Nick peeled off his coat. The cable-knit sweater he wore underneath hugged his bulging belly. “Heya, Annie, where do you buy your UTVs from? We started selling them at my family’s lot. Polaris. Can’t beat ‘em. If you’re looking for one or two more, I can get you a good deal.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Annie didn’t want to get into a protracted conversation with Nick about vehicles.
His family owned the only car dealership in town, and once Nick got on the topic, he could talk about the business for hours.
Instead, she steered the conversation toward Preston’s alibi.
“Hey, you guys were staying in the same cabin with Preston, right? Any idea what time he came back last night?”
Dylan hung up his dripping coat. Underneath, he wore a designer sweater and corduroy pants.
Dylan worked as a financial advisor and, based on appearances, had done well for himself.
Age and a desk job were taking their toll, though.
His hair was thinning, and a permanent furrow sat between his brows.
“Preston came back around midnight. He and I had a couple of drinks, and then we went to bed.”
Annie did the math. Preston claimed he left Cabin 5 around eleven-thirty. Dylan confirmed he was back at their cabin by midnight. But that left a gap. Thirty minutes of Preston’s night unaccounted for. More than enough time to kill Kayla. “How did he seem to you?”
“Honestly, he was pretty ticked off. He and Kayla had gotten into a fight, and it turned ugly, from what I understand.”
Nick rolled his eyes. “You’d think those two would’ve learned to stay away from each other.” Then he seemed to remember Kayla was dead and grimaced.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the group. Annie glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes since Tate had left. He should have reached Caleb’s cabin by now.
She lifted the radio to her lips. “Tate, do you copy?”
Static.
A cold finger of dread traced down her spine. She wasn’t prone to panic, and logically, there could be a dozen reasons for his radio silence. Bad signal. Dead battery. He’d forgotten to turn it on.
But her gut told her something was wrong.
The main entrance door burst open again, and a man in an olive-green winter coat stumbled in out of the weather. He threw off his hood. Caleb. His cheeks and nose were red from the cold. “That storm is getting bad.”
Annie’s gaze immediately went behind him, half-expecting to see Tate rushing over the threshold, but no one was there. Caleb shoved the door shut. She intercepted him before he could take off his coat. “Where’s Tate?”
“I don’t know.” Caleb scowled. His coat shed water onto the tiled foyer. “Where were you? I thought we were meeting in the stables. I waited for over an hour before heading back here.”
Annie’s stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”
“Your text.”
“I never sent you a text.”
“Is this some kind of joke? If so, I don’t find it funny.
” Caleb whipped out his cell phone and tapped on the screen before turning it toward her.
Her name appeared as the sender, and sure enough, there was a text message requesting that Caleb meet her and Tate in the stables so they could talk privately. He jerked it closer to her face. “See?”
“I didn’t send this.” Her voice came out hollow as her fingers darted to the back pocket of her jeans.
Yep, her cell phone was still there. To send a fake message to Caleb, someone either hacked her phone or, more likely, spoofed her number.
Someone who wanted Caleb away from his cabin. Away from the main lodge. But why?
So Tate would go looking for him? And where was the first place he’d look?
Caleb’s cabin.
Annie spun on her heel and grabbed her coat off the rack.
She raced for the back exit. The cold slammed into her, but she didn’t slow.
She started a UTV and tore down the path toward the cabins, her hands clamped on the steering wheel.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, coating everything in a strange fog.
Then she saw it.
Smoke. Black and billowing, rising above the trees.
“No. No, no, no. God, no.” Her first instinct was to floor it the rest of the way, but she didn’t know what she’d be driving into.
Instead, with one hand, she radioed Dwayne for help.
Then she slowed long enough to pull her handgun from its holster.
Holding it in her lap, she hit the gas again.
Please, God, please let Tate be okay.