Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(31)

Carson did have a good heart. A tender one. Unlike his grandfather, he knew how to forgive.

Mood lifting, Josie carried the plates into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. “What day should we do some heavy-duty cleaning? Are you hosting the book club meeting this week or next week?”

“You don’t have to be my housekeeper, child.”

When Josie gave her a stubborn look, Oma simply chuckled and moved to the calendar.

*

A few hours later, Josie realized she’d fallen asleep on her living room couch. It wasn’t surprising, considering how late she’d worked at the Shadowlands the past two nights. Well, she’d better get used to it. Master Z had caught her last night before she’d left, said he was pleased with her, and hoped she’d continue.

Coming from someone so intimidating, the compliment had felt amazing. And she’d agreed to be the Shadowlands bartender. She sure wouldn’t get bored with her job anytime in the near future.

Yawning, she sat up. The house was quiet, the only noise the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

After Carson had come out of his room…once…to bid her goodnight, she’d put on a chick-flick DVD to try to lighten her unhappy mood. The movie was long over.

She glanced at the clock. Midnight. It was definitely time for bed. As she headed for her room, she paused outside Carson’s door. Dammit, my sweet son. How could she explain that his father had played her? That all he’d wanted was sex with a young innocent girl. Somehow…she’d have to talk to her boy, embarrassing as it might be.

She stroked her hand over the wood on his door. Where had the years gone? When he’d been a baby, sleeping next to her bed, every time she’d rolled over, she’d check on him, smile down at him, touch his tiny fingers. However did such an immensity of love fit into a human-sized heart?

Now he was older…and she only peeked in when she knew he was unhappy—like during the miserable days when he’d started middle school last September.

She tiptoed into the dark room. The nightlight and glow from his digital clock and electronics let her avoid the scattering of shoes, soccer balls and shin guards, and dirty clothes. There was enough light to see that his bed was empty.

She stared. Turned in a circle. Turned on the light. No boy.

He wasn’t in his bathroom.

In the kitchen, she flipped on the light. Empty.

The living room? Empty.

As she lit up each silent space, her anxiety increased.

The front and back doors were still locked with security chains in place.

She returned to his room, hoping against hope that he was hiding. But Carson had never hidden from her, not even when just a little guy and in a rage. He had never run away. Her boy tackled every problem head-on, even when he felt his mother was the problem.

A paper lay in the middle of his bed. She picked it up—Everett’s note. As fear ate the strength in her muscles, she leaned against the wall…and a breeze ruffled her hair.

The window was wide open—and the screen was off.


Eyes closed, Holt sat on the back patio, feet up on another chair. The night air was pleasantly cool and smelled of the briny Gulf and the tropical flowers in Stella Avery’s half of the backyard.

How long had he lived in this duplex now? He considered. Since late October when Uzuri’d tried living with the Drago cousins? Yeah, about a month and a half, although he’d only officially owned the lease for a couple of weeks. Damned if he didn’t like living in a residential neighborhood where the loudest night noises were a barking dog or someone coming home late.

A job as a firefighter and a paramedic could leave ugly shit in a man’s head. How a human body looked after a head-on collision or a house fire was…bad. Losing the fight to save someone’s life hurt. And those memories could turn into a knotted tangle of pain. Here, in this quiet backyard, he’d learned that simply sitting and watching the grass grow could drain away the tension.

A noise broke the silence, and Holt glanced at the other half of the duplex. No lights. Stella tended to retire early.

At the sound of footsteps, he checked the left and saw Josie walk into her backyard. His momentary annoyance at the disturbance disappeared when he realized every light in her house was on.

He set his beer down and walked over to the chest-high picket fence. “Josie.”

She spun, hope in her gaze. “Is Carson with you?”

“No. I saw him going into your house earlier, around sunset, when I was over talking to Duke.”

Worry tensed her face.

He glanced at her house. “I take it he’s not home?”

“He climbed out his bedroom window sometime in the last couple hours.” Her Texas accent had grown thicker with her upset. She stared around the empty backyard. “Oma would have called if he’d gone over there. He’s not in the house, not out here. Where could he be?”

“Maybe at a friend’s?”

“Oh, God, he might have gone to Isaac’s.” She pulled out her phone and quick-dialed a number. Holt heard the ringing, then a woman’s sleepy voice.

“Courtney, I’m sorry to bother you this late, but Carson isn’t in his room. I was hoping he’d snuck away to see Isaac.” A pause. “That would be great. Thank you.”


Josie could feel the hard edges of the phone digging into her clenched fingers as she waited.