Page 121 of Heart of Frost and Scars

I follow her line of sight to the ceilings, the windows, the doors.

Does she think someone’s watching us? Listening?

I take a closer look around the cabin, my scrutiny growing sharper, wilder, cutting through the haze of panic.

She angles away, her walls snapping back into place. Her jaw sets firmly, muscles tensing as if to lock away words she refuses to free.

Then she’s on the move again, rushing down the hall toward the sleeping cabins.

My pulse thunders as I prowl after her, unhurried, letting her think she’s escaped me. I don’t need to see her to know which turns she takes. Her intoxicating scent tugs on my every breath, pulling me with her.

Her trail leads to the first guest cabin. I sweep inside and lock the door.

The soft click magnifies the pressure in the air. She moves with urgency, her eyes scanning every corner of the tiny room, her feet barely touching the floor as she searches the walls, ceilings, and mattress.

“Frankie.” Worry ravages me as I watch her. “It’s clean. I already swept the entire yacht this morning. There are no cameras.”

“Are you sure?” She freezes, clutching her phone to her chest, her features contorted with indecision.

“Without a doubt. What happened?”

Whoever frightened her will feel the full force of my goddamn wrath.

Hauling a gulp of air into her lungs, she unlocks her phone and hands it to me.

The screen opens to a conversation with an unknown number.

Cold dread pummels my insides as I read the messages.

The cryptic insinuations, the threats, every twisted text preys on her fears. And the last message…

Who am I? I think you know. We share the same heart of frost and scars.

It triggers an unwanted image of Denver’s cruel smile in his video, resonating with the same dark undertones of his riddle.

Hell, some of those words—heart, frost, scars—were in the riddle.

My stomach drops like a block of ice as I lower to the bed, trying to tamp down my rising fury. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I was afraid this person would hurt you.” Her voice breaks. “I didn’t know what to do. I tried to ask you about Monty, about his phone.”

“Monty was on his phone most of the afternoon.” I rack my brain, trying to piece together the timing.

“Did he use different phones? A burner might look smaller or cheaper.”

“I don’t remember.” All these gadgets look the same to me, and the day’s events blur together.

“What if it’s him? I didn’t alert the guards because they work for him.” She makes a keening sound, her face crumpling. “What if he’s behind this?”

“Hey, hey.” I toss her phone aside, hook an arm around her waist, and pull her onto my lap, positioning her to straddle me. “We don’t know if it’s him.”

The possibility wrings my gut with sickening dread. Monty, the man who should protect her above all else, the man who has everything except the one thing he wants.

If he’s terrorizing her…

My breath snarls and seethes, gathering strength, the precursor to a raging storm about to break. Heat surges through my veins, my fists clenching against her lower back.

I can’t lose control. She needs me to be calm, to be her anchor.

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