Page 55

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

At ten minutes past midnight, Olivia slung her backpack over her shoulder and took one last look at her room.

She’d truly found this place to be wonderful. She’d miss her time here, her mornings with Tyson, her afternoons sitting on the beach, her evenings watching the sunlight disappear.

But she couldn’t be the tornado that destroyed Tyson’s life.

Keeping the lights off, she quietly walked to the back of the house, opened the door, and slipped outside. As she walked to the road, the ocean roared behind her and the wind rushed over the marsh grass lining the driveway.

Right on time, a car pulled up.

She hesitated only a second before opening the door.

Just as planned, Wes sat in the driver’s seat.

His eyes lit when he saw her. “Olivia . . . thanks for trusting me enough to ask me to help with this.”

“Thank you for dropping everything to come.”

“Anytime.”

She climbed in and shut the door.

Then Wes took off. He’d reserved a cabin in the mountains under his name.

Olivia should be safe there . . . until she could end this.

While there, she planned on continuing to do her research. To keep asking more questions.

She had to figure out who this new Admirer was—and figure out if Brian Elliot really was responsible for those other deaths.

She prayed Tyson understood. She’d left him a note explaining everything.

But she couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that captured her every heartbeat.

* * *

As Tyson lay in bed, unable to sleep, he kept thinking about that kiss Olivia had given him.

About how wonderful it was.

About how he’d been dreaming about kissing her again ever since they got here.

How he wished the moment between them didn’t have to end.

How . . . there was more behind the action than just a kiss.

It was almost like a goodbye.

He sat up straighten at the thought.

Was that what it was? Or was he reading too much into this?

Just then, his phone buzzed, and he grabbed it.

It was Scarborough. If the detective was calling at this hour, he must have a good reason.

“Sorry to wake you, but I knew you’d want to hear this ASAP,” Scarborough started. “I know it seemed as if Donald was the one behind what happened, but something about his guilt—and his death—left me unsettled.”

“Me too.”

“I decided to double-check some alibis, and I found a hole in another suspect’s story.”

Tyson’s pulse quickened. “Who?”

Scarborough rattled off a name, and Tyson felt everything go still around him.

No . . . it couldn’t be.

“Thanks for the update,” Tyson rushed as he ended the call.

Now, more than ever, he needed to talk to Olivia.

Praying he didn’t regret this, he hopped out of bed and threw his clothes on. Though it was almost 12:30, he had to know if his suspicions were correct. He’d ask for forgiveness if he was wrong.

He walked to Olivia’s room and gently tapped on the door. “Olivia? Are you awake?”

No answer. But she could be sleeping and not hear him.

He tried again with the same results.

Then he gently twisted the knob.

It was unlocked.

He cracked the door open, praying Olivia understood his reasoning for looking inside without her consent.

But it was just as he feared.

Her bed was empty.

Tyson’s heart leapt into his throat.

Where was she?

He threw on the lights and glanced around.

Her bag was gone.

But a piece of paper lay on the dresser—the burner phone he’d given her beside it.

With hesitation marring his steps, he walked toward it.

His name was on the top.

His gut clenched. “Please, Olivia, tell me you didn’t do what I think you did . . .”

He began reading.

Tyson,

I can’t let you lose everything for me. I know about the casino. You have to make sure the school is built.

I’m going somewhere safe. I’ll stay there until I’m able to show my face again. I can’t tell you where I’m going. Only one other person knows. It’s better this way.

I’m not sure if it’s possible that I already love you. My heart says I do. And love means putting the other person’s needs before your own.

I hope that one day you’ll understand. I’m doing this for you.

Love,

Olivia

His jaw tightened.

Her leaving was a terrible idea—no matter how noble her intentions.

He jogged back to his room to grab his car keys.

Maybe she hadn’t left the island yet.

If she hadn’t, then Tyson needed to find her.