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“Not from us.”

Her gaze snapped up.

Wyatt leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs. “Nobody called the police. Nobody’s contacted whoever filed that missing person report. As far as I know, nobody outside this building knows you’re here.”

The change in her was immediate. Her shoulders dropped a fraction against the pillows, and her fingers loosened from the blanket.

He filed the reaction away.

The police scare her.

Maybe just as much as the person who’d driven her onto that mountain.

“You said you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He kept his voice low. “Did you see something?”

Her eyes locked on his.

For one second, he thought she might answer.

Then footsteps sounded outside the room.

Whitley’s attention shot toward the door, and every bit of softness disappeared. Her body went rigid beneath the sheet. Her delicate jaw lifted as if she were bracing for a hit.

Wyatt hated how fast she did that.

One second she’d been a woman who laughed at his shitty joke. The next she was back to surviving.

The door opened.

Carson stepped into the room first with Gabe and Hitchcock behind him. His gaze moved from Wyatt to Whitley, taking in the phone in Wyatt’s hand and whatever he saw on her face.

Wyatt stood but stayed beside the bed.

Carson focused on her. “Ready to talk?”

Whitley looked at the three men filling the doorway.

Then she looked at Wyatt.

Not Carson.

Him.

It lasted only a second, but Wyatt understood exactly what she was asking.

Can I trust them?

He gave her one small nod.

Her fingers tightened around the blanket again.

“Close the door,” she murmured.

* * * * *

Whitley felt like crap. Not only did her head throb but her fever was creeping up again. She just wanted to slip into a deep sleep, but apparently these questions couldn’t wait.

One of the men stood near the door beside Hitchcock, arms crossed, saying nothing yet. His presence was its own kind of statement, and she filed it away without knowing yet what it meant.