Chapter 8
ISLA
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” My voice ricochets off the walls as I scream at my phone as if the device might suddenly understand me and hear my plea.
My heart pounds in my chest. This nightmare is repeating itself. Who is doing this to me? I didn’t choose to come back here.
Tears stream down my cheeks in relentless tracks as I pack with trembling hands. I snatch my travel-sized shampoo and conditioner, face wash, and toothbrush and toss them haphazardly into my suitcase.
Without a backward glance, I slam my room door shut and bolt down the hallway, my legs pumping as fast as they can manage. The front desk is mercifully empty as I stumble down the stairs, my suitcase banging off each step behind me.
By the time I reach my car, I’m sprinting, dragging the suitcase like a traveler racing the clock to catch a departing flight.
I pause, scanning my car with suspicion. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. A bomb? Someone hiding underneath? In the back seat?
For years, I thought the worst had already happened. But as my heavy breaths fog up the windows, I realize the truth.
The worst is patient.
Everything looks normal, so I fling the suitcase into the back seat and slide into the driver’s side, turning the key in the ignition.
The purr of the engine smooths my frenzied heartbeat, and I press down on the accelerator, desperate to escape Wildhaven.
But as the car starts to veer, I remember—the spare tire.
I pull over, frustration boiling over as I slam my fist against the steering wheel. This can’t be happening now.
I need to get away.
Then an idea sparks. Maybe there’s someone at Figueroa’s Auto. Maybe someone is working late, tinkering with engines or sorting tools. Even if he’s just in there sipping a beer, I’ll take it. I’m prepared to bribe whoever I need to if it means getting a new tire on this car tonight.
I drive through the quiet streets to the shop at the far corner of Main. It has been there as long as I can remember. Mr. Figueroa must be retired by now, but I’m pretty sure his son runs the place. I can only hope he’s a night owl.
With the way my luck’s been running these past few days, I need a win. But as I turn the corner, my heart sinks. The shop is cloaked in darkness, not a single light in the windows. My bottom lip trembles as dread pitches in my stomach.
Desperation tugs my thoughts toward reckless ideas. I could break in and steal a tire.
Jesus, Isla. Who steals a tire? That’s ridiculous. And exactly the kind of thing that lands you in jail, which I definitely don’t need right now.
Could I go to the sheriff’s station? Luke probably isn’t there. Maybe I could sleep on one of those hard benches. I shake off the thought almost immediately. There’s no way he wouldn’t hear about it if I showed up there.
Every path I consider leads me to Luke Wild.
Clinging to the idea that being around people is safer than being alone, I grip the steering wheel and drive to The Rusty Nail.
The parking lot is nearly empty, with just three cars scattered under flickering streetlights. Still, my shoulders loosen at the thought that I won’t be completely alone with my thoughts tonight.
I hurry inside. The walls are lined with dark wood paneling, and one entire section is covered in stapled one-dollar bills. The air smells of fried food and liquor, thick and greasy. It hits my nose, and a wave of nausea climbs my throat. Not that I’d be the first one to lose it here.
I’m seconds away from slipping into a shadowy back booth when I feel a presence beside me. A firm, masculine hand lands gently on my shoulder, steadying me.
“Isla.” The voice is low, steady. “Look at me.”
I turn my head and focus on a familiar face from the past. Older now, like the rest of us, but the kindness in his eyes hasn’t changed.
Gabe Mercer.
The sight of him knocks loose the last shred of composure I was clinging to. I choke out his name on a sob and collapse into his arms.
“Ssh,” he murmurs against the top of my head, his breath warm and reassuring. “I’ve got you.”
Time blurs. We stand there, his arms wrapped securely around me, until he finally pulls back and studies my swollen, red eyes.
“Randy, can we get a glass of water?” he calls to the bartender, then guides me toward the back booth I’d been aiming for.
My water arrives a second later. The condensation is cool against my fingers as I wrap my hands around the glass and take a small sip, letting it soothe the tightness in my throat before I try to speak.
“Can I get you something else?” the burly man in the plaid shirt asks, fabric stretched tight over his broad chest.
I shake my head.
“Thanks, Randy,” Gabe says.
I drag the sleeve of my worn sweatshirt across my face, swiping away tears and an undignified trickle of snot. My voice comes out barely above a whisper. “Hi, Gabe. It’s good to see you.”
He offers a gentle smile, eyes soft and understanding. “Hey, Isla. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
I shake my head and lie. The words taste bitter. “I have a flat tire, and I need to go back home for an emergency, but I can’t until it’s fixed.”
Gabe narrows his eyes, studying me with a mix of skepticism and concern, then leans back against the worn leather of the booth. “Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past ten years, Isla?”
I shake my head, unable to meet his gaze. Gabe was my friend in high school because he was Luke’s best friend. I knew him well back then, but now he’s a stranger, just like everyone else in this town.
“I’ve been in the military,” he says. “Cyber warfare for the Seals. If there’s one thing I know, it's because I’ve seen it firsthand. It’s fear.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment.
“So do me a favor and tell me what’s really going on, because the woman who walked into this bar was terrified.”
The truth pushes at my chest like it’s trying to claw its way out. “I can’t tell you, Gabe. I can’t tell anyone.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, voice dropping to a whisper. “Look at me. Whatever is going on, you need to tell me right now.”
His calm confidence feels almost tangible, a solid thing I can lean against. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull my phone from my pocket, my hand trembling as I slide it across the table.
He reads the open text message, his expression hardening as he sets the phone down. “When did you get this?”
“Less than an hour ago. There was an accident earlier today,” I begin, but he raises a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.
“I know,” he says. “I spoke with Luke. He was just here.”
I exhale shakily, grateful I don’t have to relive it all aloud. Thankful I don’t have to see Luke again tonight.
“Is this the first time you’ve been threatened like this?” Gabe asks.
Tears spill over again, hot and sharp, and I manage a slight shake of my head.
“Whoever sent this text is capable of murder, Isla.” His voice is quiet, serious. “Do you have any idea who sent it?”
I shake my head again.
“Is this related to why you left Wildhaven ten years ago?”
“I can’t talk about that.”
“You have to tell Luke.”
My head jerks up, eyes darting toward the door like I’m already mapping an escape route. “I can’t, Gabe. This was a bad idea. I need to leave.”
He wraps his hand gently around my wrist. “Okay,” he says carefully. “I won’t tell him about the text. But he knows something’s going on with you.”
I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. “He does?”
“Yeah,” Gabe says softly. “We talked about it earlier.”
My head tips back, surprise cracking through me.
“This is Wildhaven, Isla. If something’s going on with you, Luke’s going to use whatever means he has to get to the bottom of it.”
A tightness gathers in my chest. “What means are those?”
He grins, a small, wry thing. “Cyber warfare, remember. I may or may not be pretty good at computer hacking.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, the tightness in my chest eases just enough to let a small smile slip through.
The words tumble out before I can stop them. “I can’t go through this again. I can’t hurt him.”
“Or,” Gabe says, leaning forward, expression firm, “you can stay and fight to get your life back. With help this time.”
“Fight who?” I fling my hands up. “I have no idea who sent this text.”
“We figure it out then.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“We already know a few things,” he continues. “You’ve lived peacefully for ten years. The moment you come back here, the threats return.”
“What am I going to do?” I let my head fall onto my folded arms on the table, relishing the cool surface against my skin.
He inhales deeply, considering his words. “Come back to my place.”
My head snaps up, eyes as wide as saucers.
He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckling. “So I can keep you safe. And so I can check out your phone, see if we can trace whoever sent that message.”
He has a point. The thought of going back to the inn alone makes every nerve in my body scream, and I’m stuck in Wildhaven at least for the night.
“Okay,” I say, reluctant but resigned. “But you can’t tell Luke about any of this.”
Gabe looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Please.” My limbs tingle, half-numb, half-burning. I rock back and forth, wanting to stop but unable to. “Promise me.”
His lips settle into a hard line. “Let’s go.”
It turns out Gabe shares a small one-bedroom apartment with a pet ferret and a bachelor’s eye for décor. The space is small but tidy—everything seems to have its place, which tracks with the military thing—but it definitely screams for a woman’s touch.
“Wow. I’m in Gabe Mercer’s bed,” I joke weakly as I slide beneath the soft blankets of his king-sized bed. The sheets smell of detergent and cedar. “If these walls could talk…”
“These walls and I have an understanding,” he chuckles from his spot near the doorway. “I’ll be right on the other side of the door, on the couch. You understand?”
“I do.”
“We can assume if someone is following you, they know you’re here,” he continues. “I’m going to hang onto your phone tonight. You get some sleep, and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”