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“Is it urgent? I could have my husband drive you.”

“I’ll call the tire company,” bit out Oliver. “No one is driving her but me.”

“Fair enough.” Mrs. Buckley returned to the house. “I’ll put the kettle on. This could take a bit.”

***

How long could a tire company from the nearest town over possibly take to get there? thought Addison, sinking to the couch in the living room.

Her head had started to pound an hour ago. Even a third cup of coffee hadn’t helped.

Curling into a ball against the thumping in her temples, she pulled a throw pillow over her head.

Oliver had surprised her by opening the blackout curtains around the downstairs himself—though he’d left the sheers in place. The filtered light had inspired Mrs. Buckley to deep clean. Addison had offered to help, but was quickly waved away to the living room.

The tow truck still hadn’t come.

Who could have slashed the tires? And when? She’d have noticed it during her last run, wouldn’t she have? Or maybe she’d missed it, and this had happened days ago and not during last night’s storm at all.

The hope of getting on the road early crumbled under the weight of defeat.

Two weeks and six days until the court date, and yet she was no closer to finding Kyle than she’d been the week prior. Whoever slashed the tires must be connected to the search for him in some way. Oliver’s home was too remote for this to be random.

Her eyeballs throbbed beneath heavy lids. She burrowed her face deeper into the cushions. In the kitchen, the scrape of chairs being moved, the vacuum’s whine on hardwood, the clatter of something dropped—noise was everywhere.

A shiver raced along her skin. Blindly, she reached for the throw draped over the sofa arm and dragged it over herself. The effort drained the last of her strength, and she sank deeper into the cushions.

Distantly, she heard the tea kettle whistle. A honk from somewhere beyond the windows. Mrs. Buckley and Oliver’s low tones in the foyer. Then glorious silence.

“Yarrow?” Oliver’s voice, just above her, as he gently pulled away the pillow. Cool fingertips brushed along her cheek. “You okay?”

A deep ache had settled into her muscles. “Dandy.”

“You never nap.”

“You don’t know me,” she grumbled. She really was feeling off, and all this talking wasn’t helping.

“Mrs. Buckley left.” He withdrew his hand. “She made breakfast, but we didn’t want to wake you.”

Mourning the loss of his touch, Addison burrowed deeper into the cushions. “Tired.” Strong arms slid beneath her, and the world tilted. “What—stop.”

He gathered her closer, carrying her with ease despite her protest. “Just getting you to bed. You can sleep more. The tow truck is here, but it’ll be a while yet.”

Oliver laid her down in her familiar, comfortable bed and tucked the cold blankets around her. A dry brush of lips against her temple, and then he was gone.

She woke up to pain. Her joints hurt. Her skin hurt. Rolling over to her side exhausted her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this tired.

Clenching her jaw didn’t stop her teeth from chattering. Why was she so cold? Up. She had to get up. Netta. Kyle. She couldn’t waste time lazing around.

Fighting the sheets that had somehow tangled around her ankles, she clambered off the bed—

The ground swayed beneath her.

Blindly, she ran for the bathroom, falling to her knees at the toilet. Barely made it, but made it.

Forcing herself to stand, she brushed her teeth, bent over the sink like a half-deflated balloon.

Oh God.