“I’ll pick you up. Seven sharp. If you're not ready, I’ll not take you anywhere.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I respond with a grunt when she tells me the townhouse she’s staying at. Sabaak escorts her to the door, and I don’t breathe easy until I hear her engine start and the 4-wheeler pull away.
“It’s your damn fault,” I tell Sabaak when he lopes back into the kitchen and settles by my leg as though his loyalty didn’t shift for a moment before. Can’t say I blame him when her presence had me acting out of character. Jesus Christ, I couldbarely be around her for a few minutes before wanting to devour her.
How the fuck am I going to survive this trip?
Chapter Three
Sylvie
He said YES!
I’m grinning ear to ear as I return to Acca’s store and find her niece watching me with a look that she had no faith whatsoever in my ability to pull this off.
“You are sure the grizzly bear that lives at the base of Mount Moffett willingly agreed to leave his cave? On his own free will?”
I nod, smiling at the niece as I hand Acca her keys. “We’re leaving tomorrow,” I say, tucking my gloved fingers into the pockets of my jacket.
“Dammit!” the niece curses, and I watch in confusion as she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crisp bill, begrudgingly passing it to Acca. “You win!”
“You guys made a bet?” I chuckle.
“Sure did,” the older woman says, snapping the bill from her niece’s fingers and sliding it into the front pocket of her apron. “Wyatt has a reputation for running people off. Scientists, students, researchers—they come through every now and then, hoping he’ll show them around. Most of the time, Sabaak chasesthem back to their cars before Wyatt even opens the door. On a rare day, he might agree to take someone on a short excursion around the island itself. But leave Adak entirely? Take someone off-island and overnight? Never.”
“Never!” the niece echoes.
“Then he must’ve been in an extremely good mood today,” I muse, but I’m met with blank stares from both women. I chat a little longer with them, prying what I can about the mysterious grump. Acca tells me his parents used to vacation on Adak Island when he was growing up—he was raised in Washington State. When they were killed in a plane crash, leaving behind more wealth than he knew what to do with, he sold everything and came here—over anywhere else in the world. This island was the closest thing to home he had left.
“If I had that kind of wealth, I would travel the world and not hole up on this island for sixteen years,” the niece comments, earning a smack on the shoulder.
“Not everyone finds fulfillment in worldly pleasures,” Acca says. “Some of us understand that it comes from within, from the richness of the relationships we form and the passions we pursue. If living here, away from all that noise, nourishes his soul, then why would he ever want for more?”
Acca’s words follow me as I walk to the inn for dinner. I try not to think about the stranger and his large dog, but they keep popping into my head. I wonder if he felt that charged silence between us in his kitchen and how he’d react if he knew the effects those hazel eyes have on me.
No.Focus. I have ten days and a thesis to save. I did not come to Adak Island to moon over a man built like a redwood tree.
The small restaurant at the inn is nearly empty when I arrive, just one couple seated in the corner chatting in low voices. I immediately identify them as tourists when I pass them to grab a seat by the window. Once I order my dinner, I sit back and pull out my phone to call my parents. I should have done it the moment I landed, but I wanted to be settled first.
My father’s grinning face fills the screen, his wide smile drawing one of my own. “You made it. How is it?”
“Chilly,” I say, noting with some irony that he is at the beach, the sunset streaking the sky with color behind him. “The people here are wonderful. And I’ve already found a guide. Tomorrow, I’m heading out to a nearby island to observe a large colony of Steller sea lions. I’m so excited.”
“Is it safe?” Dad asks, his brown creasing the way it does when he’s trying not to sound worried.
“Completely,” I nod, mouthing thanks to the waitress when she sets my food down. “The man taking me knows this place better than anyone. I’m in good hands. I’ll be safe, I promise you.”
“Wonderful. Be careful, honey,” he says as he hands the phone to Mom, who spends the next twenty minutes lecturing me on safety. I listen and start working my way through my dinner, assuring her of my safety between mouthfuls. By the time she’s satisfied I won’t get lost in the wilderness, my plate is empty.
I end the call with several more assurances, set my phone down, and am just reaching for my jacket when a shadow falls over my table.
I look up to find two men. One of them is older with copper hair that falls around his shoulders and a smile that is as polite as a well-sharpened knife. Behind him stands a large, bald manwith tattooed forearms folded over his chest, expression flat. “Sylvie,” the older man says. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your call.”
Something cold moves through me at the sound of my name in his mouth. “How can I help you?”
“Pardon my manners,” the man says in a deep voice as he pulls back the chair across from mine and sits, uninvited. His associate remains standing. “My name is Brett Monteith.”
