Page 50 of Into the Lion's Den (Secrets of the Northland Shifters)

But John was always going to say that, wasn’t he? How could I really know what my mom and sister were thinking? I had disappeared on them practically overnight. And I couldn’t even call them to check in. My distance was the one thing keeping them from getting dragged into all of this.

“If something changes with the trial, you’ll let me know?” I sniffed back tears and glanced toward the spot where I’d last seen Reese entering the woods.

“Of course.”

While John continued talking, reminding me of the training I’d received before entering the program, I tapped my pen nervously against the picture I’d printed off my phone—the picture of the patch Reese had found near his father’s body.

Well…part of a patch anyway. With only a partial contour and the letters C-K, the little bit of research I’d had time to do hadn’t amounted to anything.

“Got it?” John asked.

“Got it,” I said, even though I’d stopped listening a while ago.

“Now, lie low.”

“Right. Thanks, John.”

“Call me any time.”

I hung up, frowned at the photograph, then even harder at the newspaper with the DaBruzzi headline. I rolled up the latter and threw it in the trash.

Lying low—not rocking the boat with my living situation—was the only way to maintain my hiding spot in the north woods and stay safe from DaBruzzi’s men. But how was I supposed to do that with Reese Fitzpatrick eating and breathing—working andsleeping—mere inches from me twenty-four-seven? He’d practically been lying in wait for me this morning.

It was a miracle I hadn’t turned beet red. Or worse, cried. Or even worse—lunged at him like I had last night.

It had been coming back to me little by little, and the humiliation was great. I swore I’d never take another sleeping pill ever again.

But if Reese kept putting himself in my path like he did this morning, who knew how long I’d be able to hold onto my restraint?

20

SARAH

It was two days after my kitchen debacle with Reese, and we still hadn’t talked. This was fifty-percent my fault, of course, but I couldn’t think about that now. I was on the phone withtheGwynnifer Maddox.

“Oh, absolutely!” I gushed. “We can absolutely do that for you.”

I hoped I sounded professional and not like a fangirl on the verge of a freakout, but Iwason the phone with my favorite social-media influencer of all time. I could even hear her husband in the background making breakfast, just like they were regular people.

But what killed me most of all was that I wouldn’t be able to call my sister as soon as I hung up. Maggie wasobsessedwith the Maddoxes—always trying to replicate their photos with her own boyfriend, just in more local settings.

“We’ve gone to private resorts before, of course,” Gwynnifer said, “but in those cases ‘private’ really meant ‘exclusive.’ There were still plenty of people around. That’s why my aunt recommended your lodge. We want it to feel like the place was made just for us. Well, for us and our family and friends.”

“Of course,” I said. “All the rooms are reserved in your name. There won’t be any other guests, so there’s no problem with privacy. And, like I said, your chef can have full access to our kitchen.”

“He’ll be bringing in all organic.”

“If he’s interested, we do have a farmer’s market right in town. It’s still early in the season for there to be much in the way of vegetables, but there will be fresh cheeses, flowers…”

“Amazing! Yes, please coordinate with all of our people directly. Burke and I are going to be too busy with our business. We still have to edit our photos from Barcelona.”

“Oh, Barcelona isspectacular,” I said, even though I’d never been.

“It’s nice. Now, I’ve told my friends that in addition to all the nature photo ops we’ll have at your resort, that we’re also going to have a spa element with outdoor couples’ massages.”

“Are you bringing in your own masseuse?”

“No. I’m going to need you to find someone, preferably from a higher-end spa in Minneapolis. Duluth, if necessary.”

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