Episode one
A sharp noise jolted Brittany Johnson awake.
She stayed frozen beneath the blankets, staring into the darkness of her room while the old inn groaned around her. The wind coming off the Oregon coast had been brutal all evening, rattling windows and making the ancient pipes whine behind the walls. Normally, she could ignore it.
Tonight, she couldn’t.
Another sound drifted up from downstairs.
A heavy scrape.
Brittany slowly pushed herself upright, every nerve suddenly alert. Moonlight leaked through the curtains, washing pale silver across the room. She looked toward the narrow door connecting her bedroom to her son’s.
Still shut.
Still quiet.
Thank God.
Bob slept lightly these days. One bad dream could have him crying out in seconds, and Brittany had worked too hard helping him feel safe again to let some random noise ruin that progress.
She held her breath.
The sound came again.
Not the house settling.
Not the wind.
Footsteps.
Her stomach tightened instantly.
Someone was downstairs.
Across the hallway, Randy and Maria Keller slept in the master suite. Randy’s rough snore rumbled faintly through the walls, steady as an engine. Neither of them had heard anything yet.
Brittany slipped carefully out of bed and reached for the robe hanging from the bedpost. The cold floorboards sent a chill through her bare feet as she tied the robe tightly around herself.
For a moment, she considered waking Randy.
But she already knew exactly how that would go. Maria would panic. Randy would grab the old fireplace poker and storm downstairs like he was thirty instead of nearly seventy. Bob would wake up frightened. The entire house would erupt into chaos.
And for all she knew, the noise could still be nothing.
Maybe a raccoon digging through trash again.
Maybe a drunk tourist trying the wrong door.
Still, unease pressed heavily against her chest as she eased open her bedroom door and stepped into the dark hallway.
The inn felt different tonight.
Too quiet.
Too watchful.
Brittany moved toward the staircase, careful to avoid the loose third step she’d discovered during her first week working there. The downstairs sat almost completely black except for faint strips of moonlight creeping between the curtains.
Then—
A cupboard slammed shut.
Brittany stopped instantly.
That was no animal.
Someone was definitely inside the kitchen.
Fear prickled across her skin, but underneath it came something harder. Anger. The kind she’d learned to hold onto after spending years feeling powerless.
She wasn’t powerless anymore.
Her gaze swept across the hallway until it landed on the decorative umbrella stand near the front door. Inside it rested one of Randy’s old wooden canes.
Perfect.
She wrapped her fingers around the smooth handle and drew in a slow breath. Her karate instructor used to say panic made people sloppy. Control your breathing. Control the fight.
The memory steadied her.
Brittany moved silently toward the kitchen entrance and pressed herself flat against the wall beside the swinging door.
Inside, she heard the refrigerator open.
Glass bottles clinked together.
Then chewing.
Seriously?
Who breaks into a house to eat?
Despite herself, irritation briefly outweighed fear.
The intruder moved closer, footsteps slow and unhurried, as though he belonged there.
The kitchen door swung inward.
Brittany reacted without hesitation.
She drove the cane hard into the man’s side.
A shocked grunt exploded from him as he doubled over. Brittany dropped the cane, grabbed his shoulder, and slammed her knee upward into his stomach. The man collapsed backward into the hallway rug with a painful groan.
Before he could recover, Brittany snatched a heavy ceramic vase from a nearby table and raised it over her head.
“Don’t even think about getting up,” she warned, breathing hard.
The intruder rolled onto his back, wincing.
“You always this friendly at night?” he rasped.
The voice hit her first.
Familiar.
Impossible.
Brittany stared harder as moonlight spilled across his face.
Strong jaw. Dark hair. Crooked nose.
Her pulse stumbled.
“No way,” she whispered.
The man squinted up at her with obvious pain. “Brittany… if you’re planning to kill me, at least let me explain why I climbed through the window first.”
The vase nearly slipped from her hands.
Wilson Harper.
Of all the people in the world.
Wilson—the boy who once swore he loved her.
Wilson—the man who vanished when she needed him most.
And somehow, after ten years of silence, he had just broken into her kitchen carrying a bag of stolen cheese sandwiches.
