Colter’s words broke into her thoughts and Kensie looked up at him. Backlit by one of the restaurant’s cozy lamps, which brought out the gold in his hair and softened the sharp lines of his face, he looked even sexier than usual. Her stomach flipped around for a different reason. Why couldn’t she meet a man like this back in Chicago, with Colter’s intensity and dedication, but without all of the baggage weighing on him so heavily she could practically see it?
“I’m thinking this has to be the break I need.” Her words came out soft, almost sultry, and Kensie cleared her throat, ashamed of herself for lusting after Colter when all of her attention needed to be on Alanna.
To distract herself, she reached down and Rebel obligingly sat up, giving her easy access to stroke the dog’s soft fur. Apparently, either Alaska was lenient about pet rules or everyone just knew and liked Rebel. She suspected the latter. Despite what people had told her about Colter not getting out much, the town seemed to be small enough that everyone knew of him and Rebel, if not the details of their lives.
“I hope so,” Colter replied, but the lines between his eyebrows told her that her optimism worried him.
He probably figured she’d break if it turned out to be a dead end. If only he knew how many dead ends she’d survived over the years. Then again, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to survive another.
Instead of replying, Kensie glanced around the lodge. She didn’t have to look far.
The man approaching—with his long gray beard, weathered skin and seen-it-all gaze—had to be the owner. He shook Colter’s hand, gave Rebel a slight frown, then glanced at Kensie. “New to Alaska?”
“Yes, I’m—”
“We’re wondering if you could help us with something.” Colter cut her off. He grabbed her phone and held it up. “You know this guy?”
The owner glanced from the phone to her and back again. “Seen him around over the years. Can’t say I know his name. He’s not really a talkative sort. Keeps to himself, seems to like it that way. You must understand the feeling.”
Colter just lifted an eyebrow, but Kensie sighed, disappointed. “We should track down the owner of the snowplow shop. This guy was yelling his name when he came in. They know each other. Maybe the store owner knows where to find him.”
“Why are you looking for him?” the owner prodded.
“I think—”
“We just need his help with something.” Colter stood, dropping some money on the table for the cocoas they’d ordered but barely touched. Beside her, Rebel stood, watching Colter attentively. “Any chance you can tell us how to find Derrick Notte?”
“Guy who owns the snowplow place? Yeah, I can give you his address.” He stared hard at Colter, ignoring Kensie and Rebel altogether. “But you piss him off and we’re going to have problems.”
Colter smiled, but it was hard and uncompromising. “He’s not the one I’m planning to piss off.”
The owner stared a minute longer, then let out a snort of laughter. “All right. Why don’t you finish your drinks and I’ll get the address.”
Colter nodded and sat back down. Rebel followed suit, settling back on her hind legs.
Kensie lowered herself into her chair more slowly, waiting until the owner had walked away to whisper, “What was that about?”
“People like their privacy out here. He’s giving me Derrick’s home address on faith. If Derrick gets mad about it, he’ll start something.”
“Seems a little dramatic,” Kensie muttered.
“Yeah, it is. But I didn’t want him to know what you were thinking. People out here don’t like it when you assume the worst about us.”
“I’m not,” Kensie protested. “It’s not a generalization. It’s just this guy looks like—”
“I know,” Colter cut her off. “But he didn’t, and I didn’t want to get into it. People here will help you if you need it, but they’ve got a live-and-let-live attitude. You probably hear about the ones running from the law, but we get the other side of it, too.”
“What does that mean? People like you?”
Colter’s lips twisted. “Yeah, I guess. I meant more like people running from someone who’s hurt them. They rely on the residents here to respect their privacy. Domestic violence survivors, victims of stalkers, things like that.”
“Oh.” Kensie stared out the window of the restaurant at dense, snowy woods. The guy at the rental car place had told her Desparre had a higher population of bears than it did people. A smart place to hide from someone who wanted to do you harm. But too easy for a kidnapper to hide away with his victim, too.
“Kensie, can I ask you something?”
She refocused on the man across from her, and the serious expression on his face made her nervous. “Okay.”
“There’s something that’s been bothering me since you first told me about your sister’s note.”
“What is it?” She almost didn’t want to know the answer. It felt like the trajectory of her entire life was riding on the outcome of this note.
Colter must have sensed her distress, because he set down his mug of cocoa, reached across the table and took her hand. His roughened fingers rubbed over her palm, sending shivers up her arm.
It was the kind of thing a boyfriend would do. Not a guy you’d just met who’d agreed to be your guide in the Alaskan wilderness. Kensie tried to ignore the emotions he was stirring up.
“If the note is really from your sister, why did she walk into a store and leave a message, but not run or ask for help? Surely if she was in distress or someone had her immobilized, she never would have been able to leave the note at all without the store owner noticing.”
Kensie nodded, staring down at their joined hands. It had bothered her from the beginning, too, and for two entirely different reasons.
Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze. “It might be a sign that the note is fake.” The possibility
