CHAPTER SIX

      GAGE SPRINTED UP THE BEACH. His phone was in his pocket, but he didn’t pause for a 911 call, though the thought flitted through his mind. Not only was he unsure of the exact emergency, but he knew he could reach Skye way before any patrol car.

      All looked quiet ahead of him. Some of the cottages had their roof-mounted canister lamps, trained to spotlight the surf, turned on, but the sand itself was shadowed and empty of people. There was a glow coming from the direction of Captain Crow’s at the northern end of the cove, but Skye’s office was a quarter mile south...and appeared dark and deserted as he drew closer.

      As unease bubbled in his belly, he redoubled his pace while trying to maintain his calm. During his career he’d faced dozens of dire situations and always managed to keep his head. But it felt near to exploding now—his chest, too, as his heart thundered against his ribs.

      “Skye!” he shouted as he leaped onto the office step. His knuckles thumped against the door. “Skye? Are you all right?”

      Silence. His composure fractured, and he found himself hammering the wood with both fists. “Skye!”

      More silence.

      He yanked out his phone and started jabbing at the display to dial her number. Was she hurt? Had she left?

      A dozen questions whirling through his fragmented mind, he almost missed the crack in the door. A yellow edge of light leaked out. “Gage?” a voice croaked.

      He shoved at the wood to make room for himself. Skye gasped, but the sound didn’t register over his vital need to assess the situation. Inside the brightly lit room, he blinked, getting his bearings.

      Everything appeared fine. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Upended furnishings? A threatening stranger? But the room looked cheerful, with everything in its normal place...

      Oh, shit.

      Everything in its normal place except for Skye, who’d retreated to the far corner. She slid to the floor and curled into a self-protective ball, her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping her shins, her head tucked low. The pose was so disturbing he felt a clutch at his throat.

      “What the hell is going on?” he demanded in a harsh voice, then winced as she cringed, her body folding tighter as if she was trying to disappear.

      His gaze sped around the room again, still finding nothing alarming. In quick strides, he made it to the bathroom doorway. The closet-sized space was empty of anything other than toilet, sink, soap and towel dispenser.

      But ghostly feet were tapping up and down his spine and Skye hadn’t moved. Anxiety shook his insides again, but he tried to smooth his expression as he hunkered near her. “Skye?”

      She jolted as if in fear, shaking him to the core.

      Keep your head, he reminded himself. Keep her calm.

      “Skye. Honey.” This time she didn’t twitch a muscle, and it felt like progress. “Was...was someone here?”

      He could feel her struggle to find her voice. Finally she spoke, the words low and thready. “I don’t know.”

      Ignoring his yammering pulse, he studied what he could see of her. Sloppy, oversize clothes. Bare feet shoved into a pair of shoelace-less sneakers. Her person didn’t seem to have come to any harm, but her body shuddered with a fine tremor.

      “Why did you call me?” he asked.

      “I want to feel safe.”

      Okay. “What made you feel unsafe?”

      “I thought I heard someone trying to get in.” Her head inched up and she peeked at him over her knees, her pupils nearly overtaking the gold band surrounding them. “Did you see anyone?”

      He shook his head slowly, as if she were a wild animal that might flee if he moved too fast. “No. But let me go look again.” He made to stand and her hand shot out, gave his knee a brief grip, then retracted as if she’d been burned.

      “Don’t leave. Don’t leave me.”

      “All right.” He blew out a silent breath of air and tried to determine what the hell he should do next. Clearly she was frightened, traumatized maybe, and he didn’t want to make a misstep. Maybe her friend Polly? But Skye had called him.

      Gage kept his voice gentle. “Would you like some tea? I can take you back to your house—”

      “No.” New tension stiffened her body. Then he saw her shoulders slump. “Maybe. In a minute.”

      They kept to the corner, she with her spine to the wall, he sheltering her with his bigger body. He could smell her flowers-and-water fragrance and he breathed in the scent, using the long inhale to steady his ragged pulse. She was physically fine, there was no immediate threat, but he still felt on high alert, nerves jangling. It took all his newfound patience not to leap up and pace about the room.

      But he’d learned that sometimes the only power he had was that of waiting it out.

      Long moments later, her chin lifted. She didn’t meet his gaze. “There was no one around? You’re sure?”

      “I didn’t see anyone. I’ll check further when you’re ready for me to do that.”

      “I heard scratching. Maybe at the lock or at the door?” The hand she used to push her hair back from her pale face still trembled.

      “When you’re ready,” he reiterated, “I’ll look.” Though he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, he held his position. “Should I call the police?”

      “No.” Her hair swirled around her shoulders in adamant refusal. “It’s okay. I...I guess I’ll just have to go home.” Placing her palms on the plaster behind her, she drew to a stand.

      Gage came to his feet, as well. “Whatever you say.”

      But it was what she didn’t say that became the sticking point. At her nod, he did scrutinize the front door and the lock. Both the wood and the device