He couldn’t take it.
Back in the cabin, he picked up his phone and stared at it. Should he call 911? Was this an emergency? He put the phone down and rubbed a hand across his face.Shit.He had no idea. And would they even believe him if he called it in?
A glance out the front window showed the snow falling thick and fast. With a sigh, he grabbed his coat and went back out. After a few tries, the truck started, and he set off for town, nerves humming like they did every time he left the safety of his mountain—only worse. He hated himself for getting involved. Hated himself even more for waiting this long and knowing that if he didn’t do it, the weather would make travel impossible.
He should have looked up the sheriff’s number, he supposed, but he needed something todo. With his body, his hands.
The Blackwood sheriff’s department appeared deserted when Luc pushed through its double doors, a blast of wind and snow sneaking in behind him.
“Help you?” asked a voice from somewhere in the back of the small reception area. Moments later, a man stepped into the room—not at all what Luc had pictured when he’d thought of an American police officer. He’d imagined someone gray and mustachioed, tall and wiry and weathered, with a paunch and a permanent scowl. A cowboy.
This man was dark and scarred. More hoodlum than lawman. As Luc took him in, he could feel the man doing the same, eyes narrowed, giving nothing away as far as conclusions went.
“I would like to…” He hesitated, at a loss for words. “A woman who worked for me is missing.”
“She got a name?”
“Abby Merkley. Abigail Merkley.”
“She have any family?”
“She… I’m not sure.”
“How do you know she’s missing?”
“She’s…she’s part of the cult on the mountain. The Church of the…something Apocalypse.” Luc shook his head. How could he not even remember that about her? In some ways, he knew her so well. He knew all about that bright dash of humor, that thirst for life. He knew exactly how she tasted after sampling his wines. For over a week, he’d plied her with foods, taken pleasure in watching her taste them, savor them, but never once had he delved too insistently into her life. Because he hadn’t wanted to know.
He should have asked. Should have found out if she was safe where she lived. Should have held on to Sammy last night with as much care as he’d kept the dog who awaited him in his truck, despite the threat.
“Come on back into my office,” the man said before turning and leading Luc into a room, where he invited him to sit in front of his desk. “I’m Sheriff Clay Navarro. Your name, sir?”
“Luc Stanek. I have a vineyard up on the mountain.”
The man didn’t react, which was a surprise. Basically everyone he’d met since moving to Blackwood had something to say about the vineyard, its previous owners, or its nearest neighbors.
“Tell me what happened.”
“She was working for me. For more than a week. I—” He stopped himself from saying more about her. Like, that he liked her, or that they’d… “She hasn’t come back.”
“You’ve only known her for a week or so?”
“Yes.”
“Any chance she just got sick of the job?”
Frustrated, Luc shook his head. “She had to cut through the fence to get to me.” The sheriff straightened up, his brows lifting. “I looked today, and they’ve patched it back up.”
“Is she being held prisoner? Did she tell you that?”
“She said they…they don’t practice medicine. I know she was unhappy with that.”
“Did you see signs that she’d been hurt?”
After a brief hesitation, Luc shook his head. “No. She’s too skinny, but that… No.”
The other man sighed, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. There was ink on his knuckles—faded-looking tattoos at odds with his neat, black uniform and close-cropped hair.
“Could you just go there?” Luc pressed. “Ask about her?”
