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In the kitchen, she opened every single curtain while Oliver searched the drawers.
“Got one.” He held up the flashlight like a prize. He toggled the switch—once, twice. Nothing. He shook it, tried again. “Damn. Batteries must be shot.”
“Any extras in there?”
Oliver’s hand plunged back into the drawer. Items rattled and shifted as he searched. “Nope.”
“If your buddy wasn’t single, he’d have some candles we could light. I haven’t seen any around, though.”
“Me neither.”
The next round of thunder cut straight to her gut. She bit her cheek against the encroaching panic. “There’s nothing in this house for a power outage? How long do power outages usually last?”
“Storms like this are rare here. Though this is the season for them.”
“Hate storms, hate power outages, hate that I’m stuck here with only three weeks to find Kyle.”
Not giving Oliver a chance to see exactly how much the damn storm affected her, she returned to her room, closing her door with trembling hands.
Chapter 24
The whimpers woke Oliver.
Had an injured animal gotten caught in his house? He’d become adept at seeing in the dark. Had no need for light. Not bothering to dress, he trudged through the house in his boxers.
Was it a fox? How would an animal have gotten in? Now he was going to have to hunt it out and release it into the downpour outside. Maybe the creature could huddle inside for the night. It seemed cruel to send it out in this storm.
Following the sharp, plaintive whimpers, he took the stairs two steps down at a time.
The cries grew louder.
Don’t be coming from her room.
He checked the bathroom and laundry first. No. They were most definitely coming from Addison’s bedroom.
The sounds couldn’t be her. Please don’t let it be her.
The last thing he needed was to walk into her room and find her there, in bed, all… sobby and vulnerable.
If she wanted to cry, that was her business. He’d have nothing to do with it.
Spinning on his heel, he turned away. Thunder jolted the house.
Her scream cut through the fading rumble. He was flinging open her door before he thought better of it.
The room smelled like her—like a fancy dessert he’d never have the fortune to savor. She’d left the curtains open, and rain strafed the windows. Trees thrashed in the dark just beyond.
He almost missed her slight form in the middle of the bed, covered with every single blanket she could have possibly found. The sobs racking her body made her entire bed frame shake as much as the wind-battered trees outside.
He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong?”
When she didn’t answer him, he tried louder. “Yarrow. What’s wrong?”
More whimpering, but no intelligible sound.
Logically, he needed to go over to her. It was the only thing that made sense. And yet his feet had gone leaden, as if his entire body protested him being this close to his enemy’s sister.
With a curse—and a groan for good measure—he reached her. Not letting himself think any further, he closed his hand over where he suspected her shoulder might be under the covers and shook.
