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He was speaking to thin air. Quinn’s silent shadow stretched, stretched, and vanished into the other shadows etched into the snow-bleached moonscape. The only reply was the surf crashing against the rocks below. An empty sound. An edge-of-the-world sound. The snow continued to drift down, sticking to the posts, stinging Andy’s face.

What just happened?

He limped back inside the cottage and fumbled off his wet clothes, using the bathroom towels to dry off. The struggle on the porch couldn’t have taken more than three minutes at the most, but he was soaked, cold to the bone. He dragged on the jeans and sweater he’d bought at Smiles and Styles, one of the village’s only boutiques, and sat down—folded up, really—on the side of the bed. After a moment, he reached for the phone.

But then he hesitated.

Shouldhe report this? That was the obvious thing to do, right? But it was after nine o’clock and off-season, which meant no one would be in the front office. He’d have to leave amessage, and then they’d have to wait for someone to respond. How long would that take? He could phone Safehaven PD directly, but after the events of the day, the last thing he wanted was to give Chief Millard any excuse to drag him in for another interview.

In the midst of this dilemma, Quinn returned, looking cold and grim. “I fucking lost him in the fucking trees. Are you sure you’re—” He broke off, raising his eyebrows. “Not that I’m criticizing your fashion choices, but…”

Andy glanced down at his red, oversize sweater. An embroidered owl in a Santa Hat perched precariously on irregular letters spelling out the words HAPPY WHOO-LIDAYS.

“It’s all they had left. I couldn’t get back into Uncle C.’s apartment, so I had to buy a change of clothes.”

Quinn laughed, joined Andy on the bed, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Youarehaving a rough day. Sure you’re okay?”

Despite the lightness of Quinn’s tone, there was real concern there, a genuine desire to comfort. The fact that it made Andy’s eyes prickle probably said more about Marcus than it did Quinn.

Or maybe not.

Andy nodded briskly, but then gave in to the temptation of Quinn’s broad and inviting shoulder. It was a relief to let go for a moment, to close his eyes and breathe in the comforting scents of Quinn’s warmth and nearness.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here faster.” Quinn’s voice was quiet. He rested his cheek against Andy’s hair. Why that simple gesture closed Andy’s throat, he couldn’t say.

He managed a gruff, “Better late than never.”

Quinn laughed again, raised his head. He had always laughed easily as a kid. Always saw the funny side, despite the harsh reality of his homelife. Not that people didn’t have itworse. Quinn’s grandparents had not abandoned him. They had taken him in, raised him, maybe even loved him in their way. But they had distrusted him. Always. The old man had definitely resented him as an unsatisfactory placeholder for their adored daughter.

“How did he get in?”

Andy sighed. “I unlocked the door. Like a total dumbass.”

“Ah.” Quinn left it at that, for which Andy was grateful. Quinn’s restraint reminded him of something.

“He didn’t say anything. He didn’t say a word the whole time we were wrestling out there.” Why that made it worse, was hard to say, but it had made the attacker seem more inhuman.

“Do you think he’s someone you know?”

Andy moved his head in negation, but…Didhe know his attacker?

“Could it have been Clark?”

“Clark?Where would you get that idea? No. No way. This guy was tall. Taller than either of us. Shorter than Marcus. Thin but muscular. Wiry, I guess. I couldn’t see his hair. I couldn’t make out his eye color. He was covered from head to foot.”

“Age?” Quinn asked.

“Age?”

“Did he move like a young man or an older man?”

“He wasn’t a kid. That’s for sure.”

“It could be the guy I saw in the alley behind Time in a Bottle.”

Andy muttered, “I should hope so. How the hell many people are involved in this catastrophe?”

“It depends on how much money’s involved.”