Page 84 of Into the Dark, We Go

"Where?"

"I’m not his babysitter."

Mitch glanced out the window and spotted both cars in the driveway. Just then, a figure stepped out from behind the trees.

"Probably making a call," Mitch said, turning back to me. "Want me to come with?"

"Nah, it’s just a jog. I won’t be long."

He didn’t press. Since his outburst, Mitch had been on his best behavior, and we’d all taken advantage of it, sometimes bending the buddy system rules.

The trail led me right to Nick. It wasn’t intentional. The path just happened to end where he stood. He didn’t see me at first, his back turned, phone pressed to his ear.

"It’s best if you do it in person. Please," he said, pacing a short line in the dirt with his boot.

I couldn’t hear the reply, but Nick answered, "Just do it. I’ll take care of the rest."

I approached from the side and cleared my throat to let him know I was there. He glanced over and raised a finger, signaling me to wait while he finished.

"Hey," I said softly when he hung up.

He pulled me into a hug, arms around my waist.

"Everything alright?" I asked.

"Yeah." His thumb traced small circles on my shirt. "Just some shipment issues. You know how it is."

I didn’t, but I nodded anyway.

"Why are you out here?" he asked.

"Just going for a jog."

He raised a brow. "You sure?" His hands slipped under my T-shirt. "I can think of better things."

"You know they can see us from the house, right?" I laughed, stepping away to maintain some distance. "I’ll stop by later."

"You know where to find me."

And that’s exactly how the evening unfolded.

The next morning,we settled into our usual routine: breakfast before going for another hike into the woods. A coupleof dry days had brought some relief, and we hoped for a less strenuous trek.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel broke through my morning haze. I dropped my half-eaten toast.

"Someone’s here!" I blurted, unnecessarily.

We stilled, listening.

The engine hummed, gravel shifted, and then the vehicle stopped just outside.

June rushed to the window. Nick rose silently, moving toward the door.

Mitchell was a picture of calm control, gun in hand. He flicked off the safety with a quick thumb press and checked the chamber.

"Is that—" My voice faltered as Mitchell strode to the window, weapon at his side, posture steely and ready.

"Who is it?" June whispered.