Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(93)

“When did this happen?”

“Ten days ago. We have been searching ever since. A friend is searching, too. She used to be one of the wild people. She said she would find Summer, but we have not seen her since she left, and then, last night, Sidra disappeared.”

“This friend,” I say. “You said she’s a wild person? Are you sure she didn’t take Summer herself? That’d be a nice trick—steal your child, blame it on the others, and then offer to get the baby back herself.”

Baptiste hesitates. I’m watching for some sign of calculation in his gaze. There are possibilities here that lay the blame for Summer’s fate at his feet. Maybe he exposed her himself, pretending hostiles took her. Maybe Ellen did take her—rescuing her from unfit parents. If so, he’ll see an opportunity here to blame Ellen, especially if he knows she’s dead and can’t defend herself.

I’m watching for the look that says he’s considering his options. Yet when he hesitates, he only seems to be thinking through what I’ve said, wondering if it’s possible that Ellen took their baby. Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says. “When Sidra told her the wild people took Summer, Ellen was confused. Like you said, she claimed they don’t have babies. She knows of two groups in the area. Tribes, she calls them. Neither allows babies. She thought we were mistaken. Then we showed her the skull, and she said it was definitely the wild people. Her own tribe, judging by the markings. After thinking about it for a while, she said she re membered one woman who wanted a baby. Ellen wondered whether this woman might take Summer, in hopes that the tribe would let her keep her. Or maybe she wanted a baby more than she wanted to be in the tribe.”

“Take Summer and flee with her,” I say.

He nods. “There wouldn’t be any reason for Ellen to steal Summer.”

“Down south, plenty of people can’t have babies and would happily pay for one.”

His brow furrows. “How would Ellen get Summer down south?”

“Maybe she didn’t think you should keep Summer. You and Sidra have only been on your own for a year. Adding a winter baby seems … unwise.”

His cheeks color. “It was an accident. Ellen used to be a nurse. She said if we didn’t want the baby, she’d have helped us end the pregnancy. If we did want the baby, she’d help us with that, too. It was completely up to us. We decided to have the child. The birth was easy, and Sidra’s milk came in, and Summer was healthy.”

All true. Abby—Summer—was indeed healthy and well cared for, and from what I learned from Tomas and Nancy, Ellen had been helping the young couple, just as she promised.

So why was Baptiste carrying the gun that might have killed Ellen? I’m not seeing an easy answer here, and I need to set that aside. There’s a bigger issue to deal with.

“Tell me about Sidra,” I say. “She disappeared last night?”

Baptiste nods. “When I woke, she was gone. I didn’t worry at first. She isn’t sleeping well, with Summer gone. Neither of us is. She also needs to rid herself of the milk a few times a day. Ellen said that was important. She has to…” He struggles for the words. “Express, Ellen said. Express the milk, even if it goes to waste, so she’ll keep producing it for when Summer comes back to us. It’s painful—the milk—so Sidra often gets up in the night. I’ve told her to just do it in the tent, where it’s warm, but I think she liked the excuse to…”

Baptiste looks away. “It hasn’t been easy for us, with Summer gone. Sidra thinks I blame her because she was with Summer when it happened.”

“Do you?” That’s Petra, challenge in her voice.

Baptiste snaps, “Of course not. Sidra was ambushed. Maybe it’s my fault. I ran as soon as I heard her screaming, but it wasn’t fast enough to catch whoever took Summer. Sidra says she doesn’t blame me, and I say I don’t blame her, but … It’s been difficult. I think she’s found excuses to spend time away from me, and that hasn’t made things easier. When I woke and found her gone, I didn’t want to run after her. I…” He trails off.

“You wanted time away, too,” Petra says. “You did blame her.”

He spins on her, and I cut in with, “Petra? This isn’t about you.”

Her eyes spark, but her cheeks color, too, even as she turns a glare on me. I meet it evenly. She knows what I mean, just as I know why she’s saying this. She lost her daughter in a car accident. At the time she’d been divorced, but she’d had a good relationship with her ex … until the accident. Petra had been called to pick up her daughter unexpectedly after having a couple of glasses of wine. While that impairment didn’t contribute to the accident—it was the other driver’s fault Petra blew under the legal limit—her ex couldn’t forgive her and drove her to the brink of suicide.

Now she’s looking at Baptiste—whose baby was lost on her mother’s watch—and she sees her ex, and I need her to back the hell down. We lock gazes, and after a moment, she nods.

“Continue,” I say to Baptiste.

“I knew Sidra needed time away from me, like she does after an argument. I wanted to give her that, but I wanted her to know I care, too. If I left her alone too long, she might think I don’t want her around either. I got up and made her breakfast, and then I went looking for her. I discovered she hadn’t been out expressing milk. She’d been emptying her bladder. I found the spot. I also found her night-torch there, extinguished, and signs of a struggle.”