Page 33 of A Killing Cold

I stand from the couch, settingHippos Go Berserk!on the cushion beside me. “Apparently Sebastian sneaked outside and took off while her back was turned. He was fine, but she was pretty shaken up. I offered to watch him.”

I keep my tone light, trying not to alarm them. Paloma’s eyes widen. Alexis looks quickly to Sebastian, who has the deer-in-the-headlights look of a child who suddenly realizes he might be getting in trouble.

“He’s all right,” Paloma says softly, touching Alexis’s elbow. “Everyone’s in one piece, so let’s be grateful for that.”

“I thought he was over the running-away thing,” Alexis says, voice a little shaky. She runs a hand through her hair. “He started pelting off the instant he learned to walk.”

“Thank you for keeping an eye on him,” Paloma says, with awe’ll talk about this laterlook at her wife.

“No problem,” I say. They’re still between me and the door. Alexis gives a little jump and steps aside. Her gaze lights on the couch. On thebright yellow cover ofFind Fergus. Her brow creases momentarily. “I’ll see you at dinner?” I say brightly. Maybe she won’t remember where the book was.

“Right. We’ll see you. Thanks again,” Paloma says, lifting Sebastian in her arms as she moves out of my way. I pull my boots on hastily, and I don’t take a full breath until I’m out in the cold, booking my way toward White Pine.

I find Connor’s boots by the door, his coat flung over the entryway bench. Melted snow pools under the boots.

I go into the bedroom. Connor’s phone is in its customary place on the nightstand. A man of habit. As I listen to the sound of the shower, I unlock it and open up his files. He keeps his photos meticulously organized, and it doesn’t take me long to find a folder of old family pictures. Many are from more recent years, but there are older photos saved as well—photos of Connor as a child. Of Liam Dalton.

I pull them up one after another, zooming in on his face. Does he look familiar because he looks so much like Connor? Or because I’ve seen him before?

I can’t tell. The gaps in my memory are too thorough, too impenetrable.

The water has shut off. I close the app just as Connor steps in, the towel loose around his waist, hair slicked back and dripping.

“Snooping?” he asks, and my stomach braces before I realize he’s joking.

“Just checking if you have any signal,” I lie.

“Nope. There’s a landline in the lodge for emergencies, but that’s it,” Connor says. “Granddad absolutely refuses to do anything to improve signal up here. The isolation is the point, after all.”

“Right,” I say.

He puts a hand to his mouth like he’s whispering a secret. “But there’s a spot down by the gate that can usually nab you a couple of bars,” he confesses. Then he frowns. “Are you all right? You look… rattled. Where were you, anyway?”

My mind flashes immediately to the brass wings of a dragonfly. “I, um… I was just with Sebastian. He wandered off, I guess, got a bit lost. I was looking after him until Alexis and Paloma got back.”

“Is he hurt?” He sounds alarmed.

“Not a scratch,” I assure him. “Honestly, the hardest part was keeping him entertained. He’s a bit, um, insistent.”

“You got bossed around by a three-year-old, you mean,” he says.

“Have you met three-year-olds? They are very intimidating,” I say defensively, and he laughs. He heads over to the dresser, dropping the towel. He catches my eye in the mirror over the dresser, watching me watch him. His wet hair curls around his ears.

I’ve seen you somewhere before, haven’t I?

Some part of me recognized him from that first moment. But not because I’d met Connor before. Because I’d met his father.

Liam Dalton and I were together here, right before he died.

Right before I showed up on the Scotts’ doorstep, a girl with no name and nightmares that woke her screaming in the night.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Connor asks, buttoning up his shirt.

I don’t answer.

As before, we gather for drinks well before dinner. When we arrive, Alexis and her little family are there; so is Nick. Olena brings in a tray of Manhattans. Her tears are long gone, but she keeps her head down and her shoulders are tense, her whole body wound inward. When she passes me, she gives me a frightened look before scurrying away. I catch Nick’s eye. He’s the only one not drinking. He has a glass of water instead, topped with a wedge of lemon. He lifts it to me in a casual gesture, and I return it uncertainly. Given the unworried way Alexis accepts her drink, I doubt he’s told her exactly what happened. Maybe that’s for the best.

It’s a different story when Trevor enters. His hair is mussed, and he slouches about with a can’t-be-bothered attitude that pairs perfectlywith the faint sneer on his face. He plops down next to Alexis. She pulls away from him. Either not noticing or not caring, he wings his arms out along the back of the couch, legs crossed, and surveys the room.

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