Page 69 of Still Missing You

A heavy silence falls between us, and I look toward the door again. Still closed. Still quiet. Something uneasy shifts in my chest.

Dylan should be back by now.

I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I wish he’d call me back.

The bar is a ten-minute drive from here. Even if Dylan waited a half an hour before leaving, he should be pulling up by now.

I pull out my phone and scroll to his contact. No messages. No missed calls. I hit dial, and the call goes directly to voicemail.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Linc watches my face carefully. “What?”

“He’s not answering.” That’s not like him.

“Maybe he’s driving.”

“Maybe.” But the knot in my chest tightens. I stand abruptly and start pacing the cluttered room.

“You think something’s wrong?” Linc asks.

“I don’t know.”

Nothing.

“Hunter,” Linc says carefully, “if Matthew was right, then Jim has been hiding under a new identity for twenty years. If he already killed once to keep that secret...”

My pulse hammers in my throat. “He’ll kill again.”

I stand and grab my coat. “I need to check the bar.”

Linc stands immediately. “I’m coming with you.”

As we head for the door, the unease in my chest turns into something colder. Something darker. The more I think about it, the more one horrifying possibility pushes its way to the front of my mind.

If Jim killed Matthew to keep his past buried, and he thinks we’re on to him...

I shove the door open into the freezing night air.

Please be at the bar; I think desperately. Please, just be sitting there, pissed at me.

Because the alternative—

I don’t let myself finish the thought.

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.