Page 81 of A Killing Cold

“Grandma, I already explained,” Connor cuts in.

“Yes, yes, you told us about this so-called explanation. This perfectly tragic tale,” Louise says acidly. “But it’s not as if we can verify any of it. And she’s already lied repeatedly, by her own admission.Nowwe’re meant to believe her?”

I put my fork down with a soft clink. “I’d be quite happy to leave,” I say, enough syrup in my voice to drown out the fear. “If we had a vehicle that could get down the mountain.”

“I’m sure Mr. Vance can oblige you with an escort,” Louise says.

I don’t know what Mr. Vance knows or suspects. What he’s been told. But he was here when Liam died, and he’s loyal to the Daltons, and that means he can’t be trusted. But Connor will be with me.

“If Mr. Vance can give us a lift, then we’ll go,” Connor says.

I manage a nod. “Thank you all for your hospitality.” I stand, and Connor follows suit. He reaches a hand as if to take mine, but Louise’s voice pulls him up short.

“Connor, a word,” she says.

I press my lips together but give him a tight nod. “I’ll wait in the foyer,” I say. Play nice. As long as he comes with me, they can pour whatever poison in his ear they want. Soon we’ll be away from here.

I stride out, resisting the temptation to linger and try to catch what they’re saying. Connor will tell me what’s going on. I walk steadily, keeping my breathing constant, and I almost succeed in keeping my fear in check.

Nick is in the foyer. His back is to me, but at the sound of my footsteps, he turns, as he did the night we arrived, and as it did that night, his expression freezes in place. “Theo,” he says. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting breakfast,” I say. “Or getting kicked out of breakfast.” I keep my chin tipped up and tell myself I have no reason to be afraid, here in the lodge with witnesses only a hallway away. It doesn’t help.

He moves toward me, so quickly I don’t have time to react before his hand is closing around my upper arm, inches from the wound he stitched up only yesterday. The pain makes me cry out, but his grip doesn’t relent as he stares at me, searching my face for—what? His teeth are clenched, his breathing suddenly ragged, and I freeze.

Don’t move.

Don’t make a sound.

Don’t make the ogre angry.

“What’s going on here?” Trevor’s voice comes from behind me, lazy and unbothered. He slinks around into view, hands in his pockets. “Did the peasant girl steal the good silver?”

Nick lets go. He steps back. And without a word, he walks past us both, down the hall toward the dining room.

“What the fuck was that about?” Trevor mutters, sidling another step closer to me as he watches his uncle go.

“I don’t know,” I say, voice shaking. It’s only half a lie. Trevor gives me a curious look.

“He’s an asshole, you know,” he says.

“I know,” I say.

“No, I mean—he’s a serious asshole. His wife filed for a restraining order. He’s not allowed near her or the kids. That’s why they’re not here,” he says. “Would’ve put that one on the tree, but he’d probably shoot me.” He still stands with that casual, no-shits-to-give posture, but there’s an old wound behind those words, ridges of scar tissue running through them.

“You’re kind of an asshole, too,” I remind him.

“Yeah,” he says. And to my surprise, he looks guilty. “I’m sorry about your hand.”

“Are you?”

He pulls his hands from his pockets at last, and almost delicately he rolls up his left sleeve, one fold at a time. My breath hisses between my teeth. His inner forearm is dotted with a dozen circular burns near the elbow, all in various stages of healing, from scar tissue to fresh scab. “Sometimes I get the urge, and it’s like the only thing my brain can hear. Only I’ve never hurt someone else. So, sorry. That was fucked.”

“No shit,” I manage. He rolls his sleeve back down. “Thank you for apologizing, I guess.” I’m not going to stand here feeling sorry for this little psycho.

“Listen,” he says. “Olena and I were out at the cabin last night, but she left on her own. She should have been back in her own bed, only it sounds like she wasn’t.”

Dread curdles in my stomach. “Then where is she?”

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