The curtains were closed, leaving the cottage draped in shadow. I moved forward slowly, not wanting to trip. The door creaked as Owen stepped inside and pushed it closed. As he moved close to me I froze, my heart rate accelerating. Leaning forward he reached past me and light flared to life. His bright green eyes bore into mine without looking around the small room.

“Ava?”

“Yes?” I licked my lips.

“You’re safe here.” He didn’t touch me. Didn’t squeeze my hand or even smile. Yet, I did feel comforted. I had a feeling that he didn’t tell people that often. And if he was telling me, that meant he believed it.

“What are we going to do?” I said the words quietly. He had offered me help, I’d have been a fool to not accept it. Even if I was still wary.

“Why don’t you change and I’ll get some food ready? We can talk while we eat.”

“I don’t have anything with me.” I looked down at my dirty dress and torn stockings.

He looked me up and down before walking into an adjoining room. I watched as he opened a few drawers and pulled things out. I chewed on my nail as he walked back to me and proffered his bounty.

“The bathroom is right over there.” He motioned to a door next to the bedroom.

“Thanks.” I took the clothes and walked past him. The bathroom was small but functional. It was neat, with a fine coating of dust on everything that suggested it had been a while since anyone had used the cottage.

I locked the door as quietly as I could. It wasn’t that I thought Owen was going to peek in, it was just more of a precaution. That man didn’t have to go peeking into bathrooms to see naked women. They probably lined up on the sidewalks waving their panties for him.

When I looked into the mirror I frowned at my reflection. My makeup had not held up well to rolling around on the pavement. Of course, being shot at hadn’t helped either. I looked through the shelves in the corner until I found a wash cloth and used it to clean up. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but looking like I had just pulled an all-nighter at a club probably wasn’t a good idea.

Owen had given me a cable knit sweater that was a little large and a pair of jeans that were snug enough to make me consider not buttoning them. I decided that if I had to do any more rolling around on the ground I didn’t want to lose my pants so sucked it in and zipped them up. My hair was a mess, hanging around my face in clumps, so I pulled it all the way down and tried to work some of the knots out. It was silly to care what I looked like, but it felt good to take a few minutes to do something so normal.

When I was finished I took my clothes and shoes out to the living room. Owen was on the phone while stirring a pot on the stove, his jacket and tie discarded on the sofa. There was a tattoo on his left forearm that curved up and around, but I couldn’t see exactly what it was. I took a seat at the table, quiet so I wouldn’t interrupt. I had no idea who he was talking to or what they needed to know, but I didn’t want to announce my presence.

“No. Tell him there was a complication. Nothing I can’t handle.” He stepped away from the stove to grab two bowls from a shelf. He stone-cold voice was so at odds with his movements, I felt like I was watching two versions of him battling for reality. “He knows how to reach me.”

He set the bowls down before throwing the phone on the counter. I watched as he worked, enjoying the complete contradiction of him working in the kitchen. He was definitely at home in the cottage, even if there were no photographs on the walls. There was no hesitation when he reached for something, because he must’ve reached for it a hundred times in the past. It made him seem normal, not a hardened hired killer.

“I was going to make tea, but it seems we’re out.” He flung a dish towel over his shoulder and leaned against the counter. “The clothes fit?”

As his eyes ran over me I fought the urge to fidget with the giant sweater. I felt like I might as well be naked under his scrutiny. His gaze lingered on my shoulder where the wide neck of the sweater kept slipping off. Instinctively I reached up and touched the spot he stared at, wondering what it would feel like to have his mouth there instead. The moment seemed to draw out and I realized I hadn’t answered his question.

“They’re fine.” I cleared my throat and looked down at the table. “What are you making?”

“Canned soup. I don’t keep perishables here.” He nodded toward the open cupboard. Cans lined the shelf.

“Not here often.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.” He folded his arms over his chest as he regarded me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for so I sat there quietly. “How are you holding up?”

I shrugged. What could I say? I’m fine? That would be a lie. I wasn’t bleeding or having a panic attack, but I also wasn’t comfortable or happy.

“You seem to be handling this pretty well.” He turned to stir the pot again.

“No. I’m not. Inside I’m huddled in a corner and crying.” I folded my hands on the table in front of me. “I have no idea what’s going on, I’m in a stranger’s cabin wearing a stranger’s clothes, and all of my belongings, including my passport, are back at Tess’s apartment.”

“Tess?” He turned around and looked back at me.

“My friend. I’m housesitting for her while she’s on her honeymoon.” My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to me until that moment, but what if those people hadn’t been looking for me? “Oh my God. I need to call her. She might be in danger.”