Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(78)

“I’m not.”

Liar. “If the FBI knows, then someone else does.”

“Maybe a friend of yours. Someone who’d know you had money and thought they could con you out of some.”

“No. I told you before I left, I didn’t tell anyone we were together.” Because he’d asked me not to. And I was a goddamn idiot.

“It certainly wasn’t me,” he said.

My free hand balled into a fist. “Other than your wife, who would care that I had your child?”

“It is not my wife.”

“Then who? Please?” I hated begging this man, but for Drake, I’d drop to my knees if that meant getting him home safe.

“It might be this woman I was seeing. We weren’t together long. Six months. My time with her began shortly after my time with you. She was . . . demanding.”

“You mean she knew you were married.”

“Yes,” he muttered.

“How would this woman know about me?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Unless she had me followed. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

He’d come to my townhouse twice after our breakup. Once, the night he’d asked me to forget his name. The night he’d offered me money. The night I’d told him about the baby. Then, just days later, he’d come to sign his parental rights away.

If she’d been following him, maybe she’d kept following me too. Out of jealousy? Spite? Curiosity? When I’d had Drake, she must have guessed that Oliver was the father.

“A name. Give me her name.”

“Averie Flannagan.”

“Averie Flannagan,” I repeated and Knox immediately took out his own phone, moving two steps away to call Winn.

“Goodbye, Oliver.”

“Memphis.” He stopped me before I could end the call. “This changes nothing.”

“Nothing,” I agreed and the line went dead.

Don’t give up.

We’d find Drake. We had to find Drake.

“Winn’s going to run her name,” Knox said. “See what she can find.”

“If she came to Montana, I doubt she would have stayed in Quincy. Maybe we should call some other hotels in the area.”

“There aren’t many. The closest is fifty miles away.” He held up a finger and scrolled through his phone. Then he dialed a number and pressed it to his ear. “Yeah, hi. My name is Knox Eden. I’m the owner of The Eloise Inn in Quincy. I had a guest who bailed on a room charge this week. I’ve been calling around because I guess she’s done it to a few hotels in the area. Any chance you’ve got an Averie Flannagan staying at your place?”

There was a pause, then Knox clasped my hand and began marching down the sidewalk, retreating the way we’d come.

“No problem. Do me a favor, I’m going to call the local sheriff. Don’t let her know I called. Appreciate it.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and began to run.

Any other day and I’d have a hard time keeping pace, but adrenaline and fear had me matching his pace, stride for stride, as we sprinted for the daycare center.

We ran right for my car, Knox hollering to Winn as he opened the door. “There’s an Averie Flannagan staying at the Mountain Motel on the way to Missoula.”

Winn snapped her fingers at an officer and took off for her own SUV. “Follow us. Stay close.”

Knox whipped us out of the parking lot and when one of the cruisers tore away, with Winn right behind, he drove with white knuckles toward the highway.

The miles passed in a blur, but no matter how fast we drove, it wasn’t fast enough. My knees bounced. My stomach churned.

“This is my fault. I should have called Oliver sooner. At Thanksgiving.”

“No,” Knox said. “This woman is crazy. If she really took Drake, she’s crazy. You couldn’t have stopped this.”

“We could have paid her.”

“And she would have asked for money until we had nothing left to give.”

“What if she did something to him?” My voice was barely audible. “What if she hurt him?”

Knox didn’t answer. Probably because those same questions were in his mind.

So we drove in silence, speeding along the road, until a small, U-shaped motel came into view along the highway, tucked into a grove of evergreens.

I gasped. Three sheriff cars were in the parking lot, each with their lights flashing.

“Winn must have called it in.”

I refused to blink as we got closer and closer, until Knox slowed to ease off the highway.

An officer in a tan shirt and matching pants walked out of a room. Behind him, escorted by another cop in uniform, came a woman.

A blond woman about my height. Her hands were handcuffed behind her back.

“I know her.” I shook my head, hardly believing my own eyes. “That’s the FBI agent who came to talk to me.”

“What?” Knox said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” What the hell?

Knox parked beside a car with New York plates. The moment the tires were stopped, I was out my door. The sound that greeted me when my foot hit the pavement was the best sound I’d heard all day.

A cry. From a little boy.

My little boy.