She was gone.
Mitch had known that when he saw her car wasn’t in the garage, but he’d torn through the house anyway, hoping to find something—anything—to prove him wrong. He dropped down onto the bed in the suite down the hall from their room, staring into the closet. Some of her things were still there, but the suitcase and most of the clothes weren’t. Several hangers lay strewn on the floor, as if she hadn’t been able to get out fast enough to take care in packing. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she hadn’t stuck around to work through all of this. Bolting was a thing she did. He knew that from first-hand experience. She’d been scared of what she felt in Scotland. It had been far more than fear he’d seen in her face today. It had been utter devastation.
He could relate. The found
