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CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Tyson knocked softly on Olivia’s door. “Olivia? It’s Tyson. I’ve brought some food.”

After a moment, the door opened.

Olivia stood in front of him, somehow looking smaller with her hair damp from a shower and the oversized joggers and sweatshirt she wore.

But the haunted look in her eyes was what cut him to the core.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She glanced at the food he held before stepping back to let him in.

“I wanted to.” He set the tray laden with vegetable soup and homemade bread on her nightstand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been drugged and left to die in a root cellar.” A ghost of her usual humor surfaced briefly before fading. “Sorry. Defense mechanism.”

“No apology needed.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in her lap and ignoring her food. “Any word on Donald?”

Tyson shook his head. “Not yet. I actually just got an update before I came up here. The police are still searching. However, they fear . . . they fear Donald might be the one behind this.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

He nodded grimly. “They found a mask in his house.”

Her breath caught. “And roses?”

“I’m not sure about that detail yet. All we can do right now is wait and see what the police discover. I know it’s hard.”

“I don’t know what to think.” Her gaze drifted to the window.

“Listen . . .” Tyson remained standing, maintaining a careful distance. “I think you were right with what you said earlier. I think you shouldn’t stay here.”

Surprise flickered in her gaze, and she stood. “Of course. I should leave.”

“You should. With me.”

“What?” She blinked as if she didn’t understand.

“I need you to pack your suitcase, Olivia,” Tyson told her. “I want to take you somewhere safe, where no one will be able to find you. This location has been compromised.”

Olivia’s eyes flashed to his, the blank look he’d become accustomed to seeing still present. He could almost see her processing the words. The idea. What it would mean to leave with him.

“What about Chandler and Wes?” she finally asked.

“It’s best if it’s just the two of us. For now, at least.”

Olivia didn’t say anything.

Tyson fully expected her to refuse.

To his surprise, she nodded—although the action seemed robotic. “Okay then.”

Relief filled him—and concern. The fact Olivia hadn’t fought him showed more of her mental state. That worried him.

He took a step back, knowing he needed to get busy if they wanted to leave soon. “Eat. Then we need to be ready to leave in an hour. Okay?”

She glanced at her food and nodded. “Got it.”

Tyson prayed this was the right choice.

* * *

Tyson had arranged a private plane to take them to an island off the North Carolina coast. He’d let Scarborough know of his plans to take Olivia out of town, just not where he was taking her.

Not that Tyson didn’t trust the detective, but the fewer people who knew where they were going, the better.

The entire time they traveled Olivia appeared catatonic.

Tyson knew she was processing everything, trying to absorb and deal with what had happened. In good time, she would talk. It might not be with him, but she had to eventually talk with someone.

She probably only said three words the entire trip. Otherwise she simply stared out the window, asking no questions. Just how deeply this incident had affected her was overwhelming.

Tyson tried to put himself in her shoes, to imagine what she was feeling. When he thought he’d arrived at that point, he realized that in his imagination he couldn’t even begin to touch her actual emotions. She was a strong woman who was at her breaking point.

He swallowed hard at the thought. No matter what the state of things between him and Olivia was, he couldn’t stand to think that someone had purposely put her in this position.

The realization infuriated him and left him feeling helpless. Whoever was doing these things was a coward. The man wouldn’t show his face and thrived on people’s fears.

It was disgusting.

By the time they landed on Ocracoke Island, it was nighttime. Tyson had arranged a car and driver—Ernest Bryant—to wait for them. Ernest served as caretaker for Tyson’s property here.

Silently, they drove down a strip of dark beach, sand dunes barricading the road on both sides of them.

Tyson glanced at Olivia in the back seat, wondering if anything was registering with her.

The same blank expression still captured her face.

They drove past a couple of restaurants, a bed-and-breakfast, and a gift shop before turning down a back road. Tires rumbled over broken seashells beneath them.

Eventually, they pulled up to an old beach house facing the Atlantic Ocean.

This place had been Tyson’s haven after his father had passed. And no one knew about this house except for Tyson, his mother, and Ernest.

Tyson had found healing and a refuge here.

He prayed Olivia might also.