It’s Troy—and the curse dies on my lips.
Only he can understand what I’m going through, after what happened to Jess last year. Not exactly a great comfort. Jess was tortured. Christ, please tell me the same thing isn’t happening to Zara and Peony.
“How’re you doing?” His tone tells me he knows the answer.
I grunt, not having enough words to give a reasonable reply, and begin pacing on the grass.
“It’s never easy for men like us to sit on the sidelines and rely on someone else to save someone we love.” He turns a patio chair to face me and sits, elbows on his knees. His expression is the same tortured one I recognize from when Jess went missing. He knows things Jess never told the rest of us about her ordeal. “You have to trust the cops and FBI to find that person. You have to trust someone who doesn’t have the same thing at stake as you do—your heart. And that’s damn near impossible.”
“I just want to be out there looking for them.” My eyes lock with Troy’s. “I love Zara. I love her as more than just a friend.” A dull ache sits in my chest at everything I want to tell Zara. Of how much I love her. Of how I plan to make up for the time I wasted denying my feelings for her. I want a forever with her.
“I know. Glad you finally figured that out for yourself.” He flashes me a tired smile, which then flattens into a twisted line. “As for looking for them…unlike in your novels, this is real life. And killing the bad guys isn’t an option for a civilian. Not when it could result in us doing time instead of the ones who should be locked away. We have to rely on the justice system to do its job.”
I snort a laugh, the sound void of humor. “What about justice for Kenda? What about Athena and the girls who were lured into sex trafficking? Are they going to experience justice?” I drop onto the grass, as if the only thing that kept me standing was the bravery I no longer feel. “Fuck, why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t they figure out who took them and where they went?”
The back door opens, and Noah walks to where we’re sitting. He’s inhis uniform, so this isn’t a friendly visit. His expression warns me he doesn’t have good news.
A winter freeze turns my body cold, the August breeze unable to defrost it.
I would stand, but my legs refuse to work.
I can only stare at him. Stare and hope that’s all it takes to kill the bad news on his lips. To make whatever he has to tell me not be true.
“The state troopers found Zara’s car. Her purse and phone were inside it.”
His words flick on the small amount of hope in me, and I push to my feet. “Where?”
“Down an embankment. In Cascadia State Park.”
“They got out?” Hope in my chest expands into something bigger, brighter. “I’ll let the Search and Rescue know. Zara and Peony might’ve taken shelter in the forest.”
Noah lifts his hand, astopgesture. “Other than the purse and phone, there was no evidence that Zara and Peony were in the car when it went down the embankment.”
Hope deflates into a wrinkled balloon, and I frown. “What are you saying? You think someone staged the accident?”
“That’s what it looks like. Possibly to distract us into pooling our resources to look for Zara and Peony near the site of the accident. But in case we’re wrong, Search and Rescue has been called to the area. However, the FBI is still focused on the possibility they’re in New Orleans.”
I start walking toward the house, calling over my shoulder, “Okay, I’ll head to the accident site now.” I need something to do other than sit here like a helpless idiot.
Noah grabs my arm, stopping me. “You’re not going to help them. You’re family.” He releases my arm. “The rules are clear when it comes to family members.”
Fuck the rules.“I can’t just sit here waiting.”
“You don’t have to sit here waiting. But you do have to let us do our job and keep out of the way. I mean it, Garrett. Go for a run with Lucas or Kellan or Troy. Do whatever you need to, as long as it has nothing to dowith Peony’s and Zara’s disappearance. Or finding the man who murdered Emily.” Noah’s nostrils flare at the last part, a slight crack in his cop mask.
No one knowswhere Kellan is, so I go for a run on my own. My head is no clearer by the time I return home than it was when I left.
Athena is curled up in the armchair, staring into space, like she was when I left. From the sounds of it, everyone else has moved into the backyard.
“Hey,” I say, still digesting the news she told me two nights ago about her and Kenda. How if things had gone according to plan, Athena would be Peony’s mother and not her nanny.
“Hi,” she replies, her voice lifeless.
“You said you prefer the name Athena, not Krista.”
“That’s right.”
“But Peony calls you Nina. Why not just stick with that name?” I’ve been wondering that since finding out her real name isn’t Athena.
