7:10 p.m.

Andrew ripped another page from his notebook, crumpled and tossed it at a stack of its comrades in the corner. One had gotten caught in a spiderweb, dangling in the wind. The spider didn’t seem to mind. It was still there; hardy creature out here in the woods. It would take more than badly written prose to make it evacuate its home.

Andrew sat back, pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Maybe it was pointless. Here was the perfect setting for a psychological suspense thriller with his very own thunder and lightning. What more did he need to get in the mood to create a masterpiece of murder? Maybe he just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t even blame it on his injured collarbone. Yeah, it hurt like hell when he gripped a pen, but somehow the pain seemed less annoying than the absence of words.

He stared at the lantern’s flame, its light dancing across his page. He had left only a small lamp on in the cabin, not realizing that the storm had brought nightfall much sooner than usual. Actually he had no idea what time it was. But then that was one of the reasons he came here to write. He had always loved the disconnect he felt from the rest of the world.

Below the screened-in porch he could see the lake’s surface glittering in the flash of lightning. The storm had swallowed every last shadow, and everything outside the cabin’s cozy confines was veiled in darkness. Across the lake a single light at the boat dock glowed yellow.

Andrew knew there had to be a dozen cabins tucked back into the woods around the park’s lake. It was just impossible to see any of them at night without their lights on. Up until yesterday they had probably all been occupied, one last getaway. Wasn’t that what Labor Day weekend usually signified for everyone? Everyone, it seemed, except Andrew. His getaway began the day after, and he had been counting on the isolation and seclusion. Yet he always forgot how complete and total the darkness could be out here. The storm only seemed to add another thick blanket of dark and quiet.

He loved the quiet when he was writing, but not when the words wouldn’t come. Not when he felt as if he had to yank them out one by one. Times like this the quiet, the silence, was too much. It was annoying. It made him hear things that he would never have paid attention to before, like the refrigerator’s motor and the gurgle of water in the toilet bowl.

Outside, tree branches creaked and scratched against each other. There had been whippoorwills earlier, calling to each other across the lake, crickets, too, but the steady rumble of thunder had quieted the night creatures. Even the spider stayed put. Andrew realized he couldn’t hear the helicopter anymore, either. For a while, it had been a swirling hum in the distance, but now it, too, was gone. He was completely alone. Not such a bad thing. Not at all like Tommy seemed to think.

He had spent plenty of time alone in the past several years since Nora had left. His choice. He had decided to focus on his new career. He told himself he didn’t miss feeling obligated and then guilty when he didn’t follow through on those obligations. He liked not having to answer to anyone. He needed the freedom to take off and seclude himself for weeks without Nora accusing him of shutting her out. These were the things he told himself.

He had grown up in a house listening to his father and mother argue about anything and everything. He’d shared a bedroom with his older brother, who allowed him two drawers in the dresser they also shared. His younger sister tattled on him whenever she caught him reading in one of his hiding places. He grew up longing for his own space, a piece of privacy. Now he had all he wanted. Why would he ever consider giving that up? And, as much as he missed Nora, he had to admit…God, he hated to admit it but it was true—when she finally left it had been a relief. And he wasn’t even sure why.

Who was he kidding? He knew why. He was afraid of commitment, plain and simple. He was afraid of depending on someone other than himself, of counting on someone and then being let down. He had come to believe that maybe he was meant to be alone. And then Erin Cartlan came along, and suddenly he realized what he was missing in his life—what he truly wanted all along—was standing right in front of him. Right in front of him but miles out of his grasp.

He rubbed his shoulder and readjusted the harness. He stared at the blank notebook page, then glanced back into the cabin. The thunder had begun to change from rumble to cracks and came now as a resounding crash. He hadn’t noticed that the rain had started until he felt a spray of it coming in through the screen.

He stacked his notebooks and file folders on top his laptop and headed inside. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive. There was always tomorrow.