Hidden Away (KGI #3)(38)

Sarah would just stay with him from now on. It’d make Garrett’s job a hell of a lot easier. Not to mention a good deal more pleasurable.

Several minutes later, he jogged up to his porch and opened the door. It was quiet inside, which meant Sarah probably hadn’t rolled out of bed yet. It was still early and she needed her sleep. Still, he found himself quietly approaching the bedroom. He just wanted to check in on her. That was all. It wasn’t like he wanted to watch her sleep. Never mind the fact he’d spent a good portion of the early predawn hours doing just that.

When he pushed open the cracked door, he frowned when he saw the bed empty save for the cat, who was still curled into a ball next to the pillows. He pushed in farther. “Sarah?”

Lying on the bed was the note he’d left her, only it was folded out so that what he’d written was on the outside. He picked it up and saw that on the inside she’d written him a note.

Thank you for everything, Garrett. I have to go. Please take care of Patches for me.

His gaze flew to the spot on the floor where her bag had lain. Only now it was empty.

“Son of a bitch!”

He tossed the note aside and took off at a dead run. He checked the other rooms in the house just in case she hadn’t left yet, but came up empty. He hit the porch and leaped off the steps, his gaze scanning the beach. She hadn’t come into town on the main road. He would have seen her. And there were no footprints leading down the beach path.

But to the west ...

Small imprints in the still damp sand led away from the cottage toward the more remote edge of the island.

“Son of a bitch, son of a bitch,” he cursed over and over as he took off.

Where the hell was she going? And how the hell could he protect her when she wasn’t where he could see her at all times? Damn it. He’d only just convinced her to stay in his cottage, a point he planned to press. He was going to make damn sure she stayed under his watchful eye. Yeah, that had worked just great. He’d f**ked up and left her alone, thinking she wouldn’t—couldn’t—run in the short time he’d left her.

He’d learned the hard way with Sophie that it never paid to underestimate a woman and f**k it all, he’d done exactly that with Sarah. Again. Christ but he was the world’s biggest idiot. Here he was, Mr. Bad-Ass Special Ops dude and he couldn’t keep track of one defenseless female. When would he learn that women never stayed where you put them?

He followed the erratic footprints, losing them once or twice when the path became rockier. Several times he had to backtrack, and he overshot the last time. It wasn’t until he climbed down to the beach over the outcroppings that he saw where her footprints picked back up. Only this time they didn’t parallel the shore. They led directly into the surf, disappearing as the water rolled onto the beach.

He stood staring left and right but they ended here at the water’s edge. Holy f**k. Someone had picked her up in a boat. It was the only explanation unless she’d lost her ever-loving mind and walked into the water.

She may be a lot of things, but no f**king way had she committed suicide.

He glanced around again, but there was nothing to be seen. No houses. No people. She’d picked the most remote spot possible to make her escape and that hadn’t been dumb luck. She’d planned her escape route, and the time in which she’d pulled it off wasn’t left to panic and last minute. She’d planned for this eventuality.

Yeah, he’d totally underestimated her and that pissed him off more than her flight. He felt like a first-class fool, and he hated feeling like a dumbass.

Christ, he’d been handed this cake job, and he couldn’t even manage to keep a defenseless, scared-out-of-her-mind woman in his sights. Yeah, nice. This was why he’d gone into the military. None of the missions he’d ever gone on had involved chasing a damn woman all over the world.

He turned and stalked back down the path he’d come. She couldn’t have gotten far, and hell, what was out there anyway? The only thing that made sense was that she’d hopped to the next island. If he had any hope of catching her, he had to get there quick.

When he reached his cottage, he threw his crap into his bag and started to walk out. A plaintive meow halted him in his tracks.

Goddamn cat.

He stared at it for a long time and then shook his head. He reached down, picked up the limp ball of fur and stuffed her into his bag. She yowled once but he zipped it up, leaving a small opening for her to breathe and set off for town.

By the time he reached the row of shops, Patches was making her displeasure widely known. Garrett glanced at the bookstore. Weren’t little old ladies who ran bookstores supposed to love cats?

He entered, throwing the door open so hard that the bell gave a disgruntled clank instead of the light tinkle. The shop owner gave him a wary glance from behind the register as he approached.

He plopped the bag onto the counter and the woman took a step back, looking at the bag like she expected the antichrist to pop out.

“I have a cat,” Garrett began. “Well, it belonged to Sarah. She was in here a day or so ago?”

The woman nodded but she still looked at Garrett like he was an axe murderer.

“Sarah had to leave unexpectedly and, well, so do I. I was hoping you could take the cat?”

He smiled, hoping to soften her obvious wariness but it felt more like a grimace. He couldn’t believe he was standing here with a goddamn cat. He should have just left her at the cottage. Cats could fend for themselves, right? While he was standing here f**king around with the animal, Sarah was getting farther away.