Page 67 of A Killing Cold

The top of the desk is spartan: a closed laptop, which I don’t botherwith—it will certainly be password protected—and a black-and-gold Montblanc pen on a wooden stand. The top drawer is locked, as I expected, but the second slides open. Inside is a well-thumbed appointment book, which at a glance is from four years ago, and a random assortment of office supplies.

I’m about to close it when I stop. There’s something else, chucked into the back of the drawer like an afterthought. It’s a phone—a cheap flip phone.

Probably ancient. Left here and forgotten. I pick it up and flip it open.

The screen lights up, asking for a passcode.

I catch my breath. Not an ancient phone—a disposable one.

The murmur of voices jerks my attention back toward the door. I quickly slide the drawer shut with my foot, slipping the phone into my pocket, and scurry back to the chair. I lean back just as footsteps approach, and a moment later the door opens.

It’s Connor, and he’s a mess. His hair is disheveled, his clothes damp, and he hasn’t taken off his boots, a fact that his grandmother, standing behind him, looks horrified about.

“You’re all right,” Connor says with evident relief.

“She’s fine,” Louise says. She could at least try to sound a little happier about it. “As I told you. What, did you think we were going to have her put down like a lame horse?”

Connor turns to her. “Can we have a moment?” he asks.

She purses her lips. And then she turns, walking with a clipped gait back down the hall. Connor shuts the door, closing the two of us inside alone. The lump of the phone digs into my thigh. I watch him, mouth dry.

“I’m so sorry,” Connor says. His head is bowed, his hand still on the knob. “I didn’t see you.” He turns then, and I see the glistening moisture in his eyes. My first thought is to wonder if those tears are real or if it’s the cold.

He walks to me slowly and then bends, kneeling to put his hands onmy knees. My whole body thrums with fear. It tells me to run. It tells me that the hunter is here, and I am prey. I have always been prey.

I don’t want to feel this way. Like a knife has slit its way up to the notch of my rib cage, and even that is cracking open. It would be easy if I didn’t love him. I wish that what I knew would blot out how I feel, but it hasn’t. It can’t.

“Please,” Connor whispers, his voice a raw ache. “I don’t know what’s going on with us. With anything. But I need you, Theo.”

I cover one of his hands with my uninjured one. I lean forward. He puts a hand around the back of my neck and presses his brow against mine, shutting his eyes.

There’s only him. Only Connor.

Connor, who lied to me. Who sought me out and brought me here to dangle in front of his family. Who had to have known. Who saw me—maybe—standing there in the woods. Every fearful part of me is screaming that he is dangerous. Telling me that I need to get away from him, that it’s a matter of survival.

But I don’t know how to lose him and still survive.

“We need to leave,” I say. It’s a plea. It’s a test.

He sits back. “All right,” he says. The ache in my ribs eases. “You’re right. We need to get out of here, if there’s any chance…” He doesn’t finish the thought.If there’s any chance of us making it through this. If there’s any chance to keep us from falling apart.

“Can we leave today?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he says. “First thing in the morning. Give me today to try to smooth things over. Make it about…” He gestures at my arm.

Make it seem like I fled because I was hurt and wanted to go recuperate, not that they’d scared me off. Not that anyone would be fooled.

They won’t let you leave.The thought squirms through my mind. I silence it.

“Come on. Let’s get back to the cabin,” Connor says, putting out ahand, and I fit mine to it. He helps me to my feet and walks me toward the door.

I tell myself that it was an accident. That in the morning he will take me home, as promised, and I’ll be safe. I’ll be gone from here and never have to return.

The animal inside me bares its teeth.

She never got away from here, either, it whispers, and Connor slides his arm around my waist.

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