Page 24

“Apparently,” I whisper, easing his door almost closed.

She smiles. There’s something suspiciously emotional about it. Her chin does a little wobble. Her eyes get shiny behind her glasses.

I point at her. “No.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever your face is doing.”

She laughs under her breath, pats my cheek with one warm, papery hand, and walks away.

“Dottie?”

She turns back.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Does he, Maverick, does he travel like this often?”

She shakes her head. “He hasn’t been gone this long in a very long time. He takes occasional trips, when he has to. But usually is gone less than a week. I don’t know what happened for this trip to be so long.”

I’m not sure what answer I was hoping for, but that one gives me some relief. I tell myself it’s because of Shiloh. Because I know how much he misses his father.

I wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand on the way down the stairs. Clearly I’m having allergies.

The house is quiet. Every sound seems to travel. The grandfather clock on the landing ticks. A log shifts in the living room fireplace, and the ice maker drops a load of cubes in the kitchen like someone shaking dice.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket before I reach the kitchen.

Maverick: Dottie said you put Shiloh to bed.

I stop on the bottom step.

That woman works fast.

She must have texted him before she even made it to the laundry room.

Me: Your surveillance network is impressive.

Maverick: She said he asked for you.

My fingers hover over the screen.

Me: He did.

The dots appear. Then disappear. I wait.

Nothing.

I walk the rest of the way into the kitchen and set my phone on the counter, screen down, like that’ll make me stop thinking about it.

It buzzes.