“I heard you.”
“Then maybe you should think about what’ll happen if the people I owe money to decide to come looking. You think they won’t find this pretty house? Your daughter wandering around the yard? You think?—”
I don’t let him finish.
“There’s no reason they would come here, Eric. We aren’t friends. I don’t know you. Get off my porch.”
He steps forward, and for a breath, for a terrifying split-second, I think he’s going to grab me. His hand rises—hesitates—trembles as if he’s fighting some darker impulse.
He stops himself. Barely. His voice comes out low, poisonous. “You always were difficult.”
My heart is pounding, but I cross my arms. “And you always were the kind of man who mistakes other people’s fear for power.”
His eyes narrow into slits. A pulse beats hard at his temple. “I’m trying to give you a chance,” he says. “Think this through. Help me, or I promise, I promise you’ll regret it. I know you’rethe way in for me, Roxy. I know you can give me the answers I need.”
The heat of the day presses down like a hand over my mouth. I want him gone. I want him nowhere near my life.
“I’m not helping you,” I hiss. “If you come back here, or talk to my daughter, or step foot on my property again, I’ll make sure Makari knows.”
Eric’s face drains, but he recovers quickly, forcing a laugh that’s too loud, too brittle. “You think that man would stick his neck out for you?”
“He wouldn’t have to,” I say. “Just knowing you were sniffing around would be enough.”
The threat lands. I watch him absorb it. His jaw clenches. His eyes go cold, dead, empty in a way that’s worse than his anger.
“You think you’re safe here?” he asks softly. “You think that mountain king you work for will keep you safe just because he likes the look of you?”
I don’t answer.
He steps back, shoulders rigid, hand tightening on his belt—not reaching for his gun, not quite—but close enough to make my breath shallow.
“You’ll help me,” he mutters. “One way or another.”
Then he turns and walks down the steps, across the gravel drive, and disappears into the trees as if he’s been swallowed whole. Did he walk here? What the hell.
I stand there for a long moment, gripping the doorframe, heartbeat thundering under my skin. The river rushes steadily behind the house, unaware of the danger that just stood here, inches from my face. The breeze that had felt warm earlier now feels too thin, too shallow.
Inside, I hear Andi humming around her stuffed fox. She’s lingering, I know, trying to listen to the conversation eventhough she knows she shouldn’t. When I go back inside, she’s watching warily out of the corner of her eye. Pretending to play.
I close the door behind me and lock every bolt.
She looks up from the neglected fox. “Mama?” she asks. “Who was that?”
“No one important,” I say, forcing a steady breath.
But that’s a lie. He’s important now, in the worst way.
I cross the room to her and kneel, pulling her gently into my arms. She melts against me instantly, warm and soft, smelling like peach juice and sunlight. I hold her until she’s gently squirming away.
Then I straighten, turn toward the windows, and stare out into the forest where Eric disappeared.
I recognize the feeling creeping through me now—a slow, rising dread threading through veins that have been too calm for too long.
Chapter 20
Makari
Bar Harbor is too bright today. The kind of crisp, crystalline brightness that makes the water look glass-cut and the sky unnaturally wide. Tourists crowd the sidewalks near the pier, spilling out of cafés and rental shops, wearing shorts and sunglasses and that relaxed coastal glow that says their biggest concern is whether the ice cream will melt before they finish it. Many of them are the reason that the legitimate side of my business thrives, but they’re an annoyance today.
