felt her shoulders drop. She’d come all this way. This couldn’t be the end of it.
Colter kept talking as he put a pot on the little stove and poured in milk and cocoa. She barely heard his words as she thought about the note that had been found. Thought about Alanna, somewhere in the Alaskan wilderness with her kidnapper.
“...Military Police don’t do that. In a war zone—”
Kensie’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“That kind of tracking work,” Colter said, as the scent of cocoa filled Kensie’s nostrils. “We don’t—”
“No, not that. You said you were Military Police?”
“Yeah.” The word was full of wariness.
“So, you know how to run an investigation.”
“So do the civilian police. And they actually have authority here,” Colter said as he handed her a steaming mug of cocoa.
The heat felt wonderful in her hands, the scent tempting her. But she just clutched it and stared up at him. “They don’t want to help me.”
He frowned as he lowered himself stiffly onto the chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Why not?”
Internally, she cursed her stupidity. If he knew the truth about what the FBI thought, he’d call her crazy, too. He’d probably join the chorus of people trying to get her to return home.
She postponed answering him by taking a gulp of the cocoa. It burned its way down her throat, making her eyes water, but it also seemed to warm her from the inside, so she took another sip and then another. When the mug was almost empty, she lowered it to her lap, realizing her teeth had finally stopped chattering.
Pins and needles danced along her feet and hands, but they’d gone numb when she’d been outside. The painful return of sensation was a good thing.
“Kensie,” Colter prompted, staring at her with light blue eyes fringed with pale brown lashes.
He was more than just good-looking. The hard, battle-worn expression he seemed to constantly wear disguised it, but when he stared at her like he was now—with curiosity and sympathy—awareness settled low in her belly.
Suddenly, it wasn’t just the scent of cocoa tempting her.
His dark blond hair was cropped close, military style, but she suspected it would be soft if she ran her hands through it. There was no hint of matching scruff on the hard planes of his jaw, but she wanted to slide her hands over the skin there, too, to pull him close and see how much control he’d have if she kissed him.
As she stared, his pupils dilated. Fire seemed to race over the icy surface of her cheeks and she ducked her head, trying to gain control of her emotions.
It had to be the fear of dying all alone of hypothermia. Or the stress of chasing after Alanna. Or maybe she’d just ignored her own needs for too long.
“It’s old,” Kensie blurted, hoping he hadn’t noticed what she realized had been blatant ogling. But of course he had, or she wouldn’t have seen the reciprocal attraction.
“What’s old?”
She wanted to smile at the confusion in his voice, a little part of her hoping he was still as distracted as she was. The more sensible side of her brain reminded her that she was stranded in his cabin and she barely knew the man.
The voice of reason in her mind won. She straightened in her seat, meeting his gaze with an all-business stare. “The case is fourteen years cold.” She shrugged, hoping he’d believe it, because it was the truth. It just wasn’t the whole truth.
She rubbed Rebel’s chin with her free hand, to distract herself from the lie by omission. She prayed he wouldn’t read it on her face.
“So, they’re not going to help you?” He sounded incredulous and a little outraged.
The combination just made her like him more. But she couldn’t afford to be distracted by him. Not when Alanna might be out there somewhere. Not when everything inside of her was screaming that he could be the break she’d been waiting for most of her life.
And she had him. She could feel it. He sympathized with her pain and he had skills she’d never possess. With his help, they might really be able to bring Alanna home.
“It’s a resources thing.” She paraphrased what she’d been told hundreds of times over the years. Police always had to work on new cases, missing persons who hadn’t been gone for years, who had a higher chance of rescue. The longer someone was missing, the less chance they had of ever being found.
Years ago, they’d first learned the realities about Alanna coming home as months went by with less and less interest from the police and the community. Her parents had made a promise. They’d do whatever it took to be sure that wasn’t Alanna’s fate.
But fourteen years of disappointment and two other children who needed them had taken its toll. Kensie knew it was her turn to take up the torch and keep that promise.
She stared expectantly at Colter, sensing his next words would be a wary agreement to try and help.
But he just shook his head sadly. “Believe me, I understand your pain, Kensie. Probably better than you realize. But I’m no good for you. I’m no good for anyone. I can’t help you.”
* * *
MAYBE SHE WAS CRAZY.
It wasn’t just her parents and Flynn who’d begged her not to fly out to Alaska on a questionable piece of evidence and a thin thread of hope. It was also her friends, the ones who’d been by her side since childhood, who’d watched how the constant surge of hope followed by inevitable, bitter disappointment had almost torn them all apart.
She’d overheard family friends talking about how Flynn’s car accident had been a necessary wake-up call for her parents, reminding them they still had two children who needed them. And in some ways, it had. But it had also been the day they’d decided to accept something Kensie never would: that Alanna was gone for good.
But right now, hopelessness reared up.
After his announcement that he wouldn’t help her, Colter had gone outside to dig out her truck over her objections. The whole time he’d been gone, she was worried he’d hurt his leg or freeze out there. But he’d bundled up in much better winter gear than she owned and forty-five minutes later, he’d reappeared.
She could tell he was trying to hide how badly his leg hurt, so she’d forced herself to keep quiet rather than asking. But guilt had followed her closely as Colter drove behind her rental all the way back into town. She’d parked by the police station where she’d first seen him playing fetch with Rebel, rolled down her window and debated what to say. She’d known him only a few hours and yet she’d been struggling to say goodbye.
Apparently, he had no such quandary. He’d given her a wave, a solemn “Good luck,” and off he and Rebel had gone.
She’d probably never see them again.
The
