“Us.” My lips press to her cheek quickly and earnestly. I step back, allowing for Griffin to take my place.
He cups her cheeks and places a kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes, basking in the heat. “Sweet dreams, Sunshine.” His hands fall away from her face, and he steps back.
We stand together on her porch and don’t allow her to break our gaze as she shuts the door and turns off the outside light, draping us in the stillness of the night. Neither of us move from our post.
Griffin taps his fingers at his side. “We still need to…”
“We will,” I finish for him.
“She seemed…”
“I agree.” My head dips in a single nod.
“Do you think she’ll…”
“We’ll convince her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
KNOX
Before the sun lit up the sky, I was up and on my bike despite my lack of sleep the night before. Griffin and I have a lot of questions. We weren’t able to get answers out of Raven last night, but today, I plan on getting answers from somewhere else.
The journey takes a couple of hours. I use that time to prepare myself and build up the thick concrete walls around me. All too soon, I’m pulling into the prison parking lot, killing the engine.
Sitting on the saddle, I stretch my neck. My eyes roam over the red brick façade of the Huntsville, Texas State Penitentiary. The process of checking in and getting to the visitor room is extensive.
Once I’m in the room, it’s like something out of a movie. Everything from the glass partitions to the cord phones. I’m not the only visitor in here, but the room is hardly full. I’m directed to a small stool that seems fit for a toddler and not a thirty-eight-year-old man.
A loud buzz sounds from the room on the other side of the glass, and a large door opens. In walks a guard followed by a line of men in orange jumpsuits.
The moment Amos passes over the threshold, his eyes go straight to me. A cocky smile lifts the corner of his mouth. It takes all my willpower not to smash my fist through the glass and wipe that smug look off his face.
With a confidence he shouldn’t have, Amos sits down and picks up the black phone, raising it to his ear. I do the same, internally grimacing at how sticky it is.
“It’s good to see you, son,” he greets me.
I let the title of son roll off my back. This man hardly deserves the title of father, which means I’m not his son. Jumping straight to the point, I respond, “You said you had proof. Where’s your proof?”
“You know, I’ve been here for over twenty years, and you haven’t visited me once,” he says, acting offended.
But I won’t play his game. “The proof.”
Amos’s knuckles holding the phone turn white. “You know, if it wasn’t for me, you’d have been living on the street. When your mother didn’t want you boys, I fed you and kept a roof over your head. You should be thanking me.”
“Griff was right. This is a waste of time.” I pull the phone away from my ear and move to hang up.
“Wait!” Amos blurts out. “Wait,” he repeats more calmly.
I return the phone to my ear and sweep my hand out in a motion that cues him to get on with it.
“I didn’t kill Scarlett Whitlock.”
“The proof, Amos,” I prompt again.
“She’s alive.”
I hunch forward, my voice menacing. “What? Is this your idea of a joke?”
