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Still no sign of Tom.

I turn back to Sophie. “Will her father be here later?”

Her fingers twist into her apron. “I’m assuming he will. For dinner.”

Again I hesitate. But when I look at Lucy with her grandpa, she looks truly happy for the first time since I took charge of her. Surprisingly, it stings a little. I decide that whatever strange tension exists between the three adults in this situation doesn’t belong to her.

“Yes, you can stay,” I call to her, earning a grateful smile from Sophie.

“You call me if anything changes,” I tell Sophie before leaving.

Her eyes meet mine, the anxiety in hers slightly less than before. “We will.”

The men are waiting outside the Redwood Run police station when I pull in twenty minutes later.

Three motorcycles lined near the curb shouldn't make my pulse feel unstable, yet here we are.

Briggs leans against his bike with his arms crossed, dark sunglasses hiding his eyes despite the weather. Torin sits on the brick wall nearby, turning a lighter over between tattooed fingers. Ashby stands nearest the entrance in a dark coat, one hand in his pocket and that same calm, composed expression that keeps wrecking my internal stability every time I look at him.

It’s official, I’m attracted to competence.

Ashby notices me first. “You came alone?” he asks once I reach them.

“Lucy’s with Sophie and Mick.”

Briggs straightens slightly. “Tom there?”

“No.”

Their collective ears prick up at that.

Torin’s brows pull together. “He was supposed to have her today?”

“Apparently, he has errands to run.”

The silence that follows feels meaningful in a way I can’t fully explain yet.

Ashby opens the station door for me. “Let’s confirm what we can first.”

The Redwood Run station is smaller than Everwood’s. Cleaner too. Less fluorescent misery. Someone has attempted community friendliness with potted plants and a bulletin board advertising both wildfire preparedness and a pancake breakfast fundraiser.

The officer at the front desk looks up from paperwork as we approach.

Then immediately looks wary.

Probably because Briggs resembles something out of a true crime documentary, and I don’t mean the detective.

“Can I help you?” the officer asks, pulling himself up straight, scanning the two large men flanking me.

“Yes,” I say before anyone else can speak. “I need to confirm there’s an active missing person’s report for my sister, Maggie Sterling.”

He reaches for the keyboard. “So, you’re her sister.”

“That’s what I just said.”

He shoots me a look, then starts typing. I wait on tenterhooks in what feels like an unnatural silence before noticing him frowning at the screen.

“Is something wrong?” I ask, but he doesn’t answer.