Page 66 of Still Missing You

“Get in.” He pointed to the trunk with the tip of his knife.

Yeah, fuck that. I stepped back, but before I could bolt, his free hand shot out faster than I’d given him credit for. His fingers curled into my soaked hoodie at my shoulder and jerked me forward. At the same time, he brought down the knife hilt to the side of my head with a loud crack. White-hot pain exploded in my skull like a firework, and I staggered back. I might have gone down if he hadn’t still had a grip on my hoodie.

“In!” He shoved me, and I stumbled toward the trunk. I had to stop this. I had to run, but the world had tilted sideways, and agony gripped my head.

The distant hiss of tires on wet pavement rose up over the falling rain, and the man looked away. I jerked free of him and dashed into the woods. It was pitch black, and I hid behind a tree, but I could still see the man and his car.

He’d quickly slammed the trunk closed, got back behind the wheel and driven away before the car we’d heard approaching sped past. I don’t know how long I walked, staying in the trees and freezing up whenever I heard a car pass, before I stumbled into The Maple Shade bruised and shaken, but alive.

Could Jim and the guy I met that night be the same person? My stomach turns. It had been a decade since that night, and I couldn’t really remember the man’s face. And Jim could have picked that watch up from a thrift store, for all I knew. Except I’m here looking for a man who’d stayed in Jim’s inn and disappeared. That’s not a coincidence.

I think of all the men who have disappeared from the area, and a slow, sickening realization spreads through my chest. I had almost been one of them.

I stare at Jim’s wrist; my pulse roars. It’s the same watch. I know it. I force my breathing to stay steady. What do I do?

Think.

My mind spins.

If Jim killed Matthew... if he’s been watching us... if he knows what we’re investigating...

Then getting into this truck might have been the worst mistake of my life.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask. It’s clear we’re not headed back to the inn. I glance at the door handle, calculating distance, speed, and timing. Too fast to jump safely, but the next time he stops at a stop sign or slows to turn a corner...

He doesn’t answer.

He’s not going to.

I open my mouth to ask again—

Jim moves first. His fist comes out of nowhere and connects with my jaw so hard my vision explodes in white light. Pain detonates across my jaw.

“What the—” The rest of the sentence never comes out.

Jim’s truck swerves slightly as he yanks the wheel, then pulls sharply onto the shoulder of the road. Before I can recover, his fist slams into me again.

Stars burst across my vision. I taste blood, and the world tilts violently.

Jim turns toward me, his expression completely different from the affable innkeeper. His features are hard, cold, focused and stripped of every ounce of humanity. Like something wearing Jim’s face.

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” he says quietly.

My ears ring. I try to reach for the door, but my arms feel heavy, slow. My vision is shrinking.

The last thing I see before darkness swallows the world around me is the glint of that watch in the dashboard light as Jim reaches for me.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hunter

After I plug my phone in to charge and get some power, I call Dylan, but it goes to voicemail. My already knotted insides tightened. He’s probably driving.

“It’s me,” I say, keeping my voice low and turning away from Linc so he can’t hear me leave a message. “I’m back at the inn. I’m sorry I was an asshole. My phone went dead and finally got a charge. Please call me back.”

I end the call, but I can’t shake the cold, sick feeling gripping me. What if he doesn’t give me the chance to talk? What if he just goes back to Fieldstone? Unlikely. He has my truck, so he has to come back to the inn at some point to get his stuff.

My gaze shifts to the front door. I will Dylan to walk through it. He doesn’t, of course, and unease crawls up my back.