Had Lorelei forgotten something? Bailey stepped into a small bathroom on the front side of the house to peer out the window overlooking the driveway. There were no cars out front except for her own and the police cruiser. She could see Officer Stallworth’s head drooped forward like he was sleeping.
Which, while not impossible, seemed unlikely.
A chill skittered up the back of her neck.
What if whoever had threatened Aiden—and her—was ready to carry out the job? She remained very still in the bathroom, listening for any sounds downstairs. She debated calling out to ask if anyone was there.
She hoped it was one of the boys. Except kids made noise. Lots of it. And it seemed frighteningly quiet in the house after the screen door had slammed.
Another soft creak sounded from downstairs, as if someone was trying hard to be quiet.
Fear clutched her belly in a tight fist. She knew how fast life could smack her on her ass.
What if it was J.D., looking for her?
Her mind running at warp speed, Bailey stepped silently back into the hallway and tiptoed down to Aiden’s room. She was getting out of here.
And she was taking Aiden with her.
SAM WASN’T HAVING any luck finding the women he wanted to see.
Rapping his knuckles on the door of apartment B in a duplex building just off the interstate, he waited for some sign of life inside the residence of the Wilkerson sisters. Faith hadn’t shown up the day before to give her promised testimony. Patience hadn’t been at home yesterday when he’d stopped by after questioning Tiffany McCord. Then Amy—the woman he wanted to see more than anyone else—had been avoiding him.
And she hadn’t even been subtle about it, surrounding herself with her family at the hunting cabin and working on renovations late into the night. Scott and Erin, the two Finleys with the most hands-on construction experience, had been there when he’d dropped in last night. And he’d heard the table saw working well past midnight, a sound that had carried on the still autumn breeze.
Reminding him that, with each new improvement at the cabin, his time with her dwindled.
She had to stay through the trial at least. She might not be offering any testimony herself, but she’d come back to town to support her sister Heather as she faced Jeremy Covington in court.
He was about to abandon apartment B when he heard someone unbolt the thin, red-painted door.
“Patience Wilkerson?” he asked, voice raised.
There was no answer, but her sister Faith’s face appeared in the narrow crack as the door opened. Short brown hair curled around the older sister’s face, and a yellow cap with the name of a fast-food joint sat on her head. A television blared in the background.
“She’s not here, Sheriff.” Faith’s voice was low and hoarse, like she’d been yelling. Or crying.
Sam stepped closer, peering at a dark shadow along the top of the young woman’s cheek.
“Is that a bruise?” He moved to tilt her chin up for a better view, but she jerked away, retreating deeper behind the red door.
“Please. My sister is not here. It’s just me and I’m really tired?—”
“Faith. Let me see your face,” he demanded, tired of women in his life keeping secrets.
He’d kept Gabriella Chance’s secrets from the rest of the world for years, costing him time with Amy, someone he’d really cared about even as a teen. Then Cynthia hid the news of his child from him. And now Amy refused to reveal her encounter with a predator. He’d had enough.
Slowly, the door opened. He didn’t step inside, instead waiting for her to come closer. When she moved into thelight so he could see her more clearly, the outline of a bruise around her eye became visible, darker near the temple.
“Who did this to you?” His cop instincts twitched with new urgency. After long, slow days of getting nowhere on this case, he was making progress, and he couldn’t follow up on the leads fast enough.
She debated lying. He could read it in her eyes.
“My sister.” She whispered the words, almost as if that might lessen the impact.
“Patience.” The woman rocketed from person of interest to danger to society. “Jeremy Covington’s new girlfriend.” He made the connection to test Faith’s reaction to it.
“I guess I’m the last to know.” Shaking her head, she ran an impatient swipe through her hair while the television played in the background—an ad ran for his foster parents’ pizza shop. “The guy who I believe assaulted me is behind bars and also happens to be nearly twenty years older than her. I don’t get it.”
