The Stillwater Girls(65)

“Wren, it’s not a good idea. I’m sorry, but you—” the deputy begins to say, only I won’t hear it.

“I’m going with you,” I say, each word spoken through gritted teeth. “You’re not leaving me behind. I don’t care how unsafe you think it is. I’m not a child.”

Brant and Nicolette share a glance with each other.

“I know you’re not a child, sweetheart, but we just want to keep you safe,” Nicolette says, trying to soothe me with her voice.

“If Evie’s there, I need to be there.” I’ve never talked back to Nicolette or disrespected her wishes in her home, but I refuse to be kept from my sister. “She’s going to want to see a familiar face, don’t you think?”

Brant stands aside as he watches his wife, and all of them are quiet for a moment.

“Fine,” Deputy May says. “But you’re staying in my squad car the entire time. You’re not to set one foot outside of it until I say it’s safe to do so, do you understand?”

I’ll settle for that. “Yes.”

The next moment becomes a blur of keys and engines and doors and locks, and by the time it’s over, we’re loaded up: me with May, and Brant driving Nicolette and the man whom I’ve learned is named Chuck.

The early evening moon paints the sky in beautiful shades of deep blue with puffy white clouds still visible in the dark, but all I can focus on is the steady hum the car makes against the gray road.

Ten minutes later, we’re parked in front of a blue house that’s long and skinny, with white metal around the bottom. There’s no garage, no vehicle of any kind sitting outside. Just a shed and a small wooden porch by the door on the side.

May radios for backup before climbing out of the car.

“Remember, stay here,” she tells me before shutting the door.

With her hand on her belt, she approaches the rotting wooden porch, climbs the steps, and then raps on the door.

I glance at Brant and Nicolette in their car, Nicolette biting her painted nails and Brant’s jaw flexing as he watches. No one blinks. No one moves.

A moment later, May steps away, heading to the Gideons’ car. I can’t make out what’s being said, but I don’t need to. Her furrowed brow and downturned lips say it all.

The house is dark.

No one’s home.

My sister isn’t here.





CHAPTER 46

NICOLETTE

“We pinged him off a cell tower about five miles from here,” May says, leaning into Brant’s car window as we wait, parked outside Davis’s trailer.

I glance toward her squad car, making eye contact with Wren. “I should check on her.”

Climbing out of the passenger side, I’m met with the sound of a second door. Fully expecting Brant to try to stop me, to tell me to get back inside where I’m safer, I’m shocked to find it isn’t Brant at all.

It’s Chuck, and he’s headed toward the house.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping to watch as he strides with the confidence of a man who’s never known fear a day in his life. A moment later, he disappears around the back of the trailer. Perimeter check, perhaps? When he emerges, he heads straight for the trash, flinging the lid open and reaching inside.

“Hey, May, get a look at this,” Chuck says, holding up a colorful box. “Kid’s meal. Isn’t that old either—there’s mail in this trash bag from two days ago. Think I just found your probable cause.”

My heart bounds in my chest as I look to Brant. May brings her radio to her lips.

“We’ve got unmarked cars at every road leading up here, and we’ve blocked every exit. If he tries anything, he won’t get very far,” she says, heading back to the house. “Anyway, I’m going to need you to get back into your car.”

Running back to our idling sedan and climbing in, I watch from behind Brant’s dash as May kicks in the front door and disappears inside, swallowed by the dark.

Reaching for Brant’s hand, I nearly claw my nails into his flesh while we wait, at times forgetting to breathe.

A minute passes.

Then another.

And another.

My hope withers, but it doesn’t fade completely.

Glancing down the highway outside Davis’s property, I focus on the distance, half-expecting him to roll up and do something crazy when he sees us here.

“Nic.” Brant’s elbow jerks against my arm. A second later he’s climbing out of the driver’s side, his gaze transfixed on something. I follow his stare.

Standing on the rickety side porch is Deputy May, holding the hand of a little blonde girl rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Flinging the door open, I chase after Brant.

Wren follows.

Everything happens in slow motion, and I can’t take my eyes off that sweet face of hers, a face that feels strangely familiar and makes me cast away any and all doubts I held until this moment.

“That’s our daughter,” I whisper into cupped hands once I come to a stop next to my husband.

“That’s our daughter.” His voice is broken; he doesn’t blink.

Hand in hand, we go to her, to Evie—our Hannah—racing across Davis’s gravel driveway toward the leaning porch, where the sweet angel shields her eyes from our pointed headlights. As soon as we get within a few yards of her, Deputy May shakes her head and places her palm toward us, stopping us from coming any closer, and it’s then that I remember that this isn’t a joyous reunion . . . not for the little girl at the center of it all.