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She’s not happy, but I plan to look for any signs that her ex might be lurking. I put on my coat and step toward the cabin door. Mia reaches out and grabs my arm, her fingers digging into me. “Just...be careful,” she pleads.
“I will be,” I assure her. I step outside, breathing in the frosty air. It’s quiet out here—eerily so. The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way to the woodpile, picking up the axe as I go. Once at the woodpile, I gather more logs for the fire. But all the while, my senses are on alert for any abnormal noise or movement within the surrounding forest. A rustle in the brush catches my attention, and I freeze, listening carefully.
Is it just an animal? Or is it him? The man who might have murdered a woman thinking she was Mia? My grip tightens on the axe handle in anticipation.
Seconds pass, and then a squirrel emerges and races up a tree. I let out a sigh of relief. I haul the wood onto the porch and leave it. With an axe in hand, I make my way around the cabin. The only footprints I see are the ones I know are mine and what I assume are Mia’s. Maybe the dude came in, killed the guy, and got out of Dodge.
I see nothing, which is a good sign. I go back inside, keeping the axe with me. It’s the only weapon I have against what would qualify as a serial killer. Mia looks up from where she’s standing in front of the wood stove.
“Nothing,” I answer her unspoken question.
She nods. “Maybe he thought I canceled when I didn’t show up.”
“Does he know you found the young woman?”
“It was on the news,” she shrugs. “I’m sure he does.”
“Maybe he’s running scared,” I suggest. “He might assume you’ve run away. He might be looking for you back in your hometown.”
“I know that should make me feel better, but I don’t think it does.”
“Let’s just take this one day at a time. We’ll get through tonight and take a very long walk tomorrow. We’ll call the authorities and go from there.”
She nods and turns her attention back to the pot on the stove, slowly stirring. “I think this is warm.”
We eat in silence, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Each gulp of stew seems to carry the weight of our predicament. Is this really my last meal? That is a disappointment.
Chapter nineteen
Mia
Itake another bite of the stew. It tastes horrible, and I don’t want it, but I have to eat. I force myself to chew and swallow, staring blankly into the fire. The heat gives me some comfort, mirroring the warmth in my belly as I consume the meager meal. Noah keeps his eyes on his bowl, hardly making a sound. I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. His expression is unreadable, a stony mask that hides whatever turmoil may be churning under the surface. He’s probably pretty pissed at me for putting him directly in the path of a madman. Simply being with me is a death sentence.
“I’ll clean up,” I say when we’ve finished eating, standing up and gathering our bowls. “You should rest.”
Noah nods but doesn’t respond verbally. Instead, he watches me with piercing eyes, studying me intently as if trying to figure out some complex riddle written on my face. I wish I could give him the answers he’s so desperately seeking, but the truth is, I don’t even know them myself.
Retreating to the small kitchen area, I busy myself with cleaning our bowls and utensils.
The water is freezing, but it’s a distraction from reality, from the fear that’s so deeply rooted within me. As I scrub at the stubborn stew residue, my thoughts drift to the imminent danger we face. The man who is after me is cold—ruthless. He’s already taken two lives, and there’s no reason to think he won’t take more. The only reason he would kill Eric was because of misplaced jealousy. He believed his own lies that I was messing with a married man.
The sound of a log crackling in the fireplace pulls me back to reality. I dry off the last dish and place it onto the wooden rack, then sigh and glance over my shoulder. Noah sits there, his hard gaze now fixated on the roaring flames. Nightfall came fast, and we were back in the soft lighting of the flames. The warm glow illuminates his face, his features strained with worry.
“I could take the first watch,” I offer, turning back to him. “You should get some sleep.”
“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “You need rest, too.”
“I can’t sleep,” I admit with a shrug. “There’s too much going through my mind.”
“I think we need some kind of alarm system,” he says.
“An alarm system?” I look around the rustic cabin with no electricity. No wi-fi. I do not understand how he’s going to make an alarm system.
He nods. “Yes.”
“We’ll use the empty cans, and I found some wire in that closet,” he says. “And we have the broken glass from the window.”
I still don’t get it, but I trust him. He stands up, gesturing for me to follow him. We rummage through the closet, finding more than just the wire he’d mentioned. There are also fishing lines with tiny bells attached, likely used to alert when a catch is made. Noah’s idea suddenly makes a lot more sense.
