I shook my head again.
Normally, I harped on Talia to open up and confess her feelings. I encouraged her to talk and air her struggles—she rarely did. Strange, how we’d swapped roles.
Everything felt different. That bastard had tipped our worlds upside down and I just . . . I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be hugged or coddled. I didn’t want to talk.
I wanted justice. I wanted revenge so badly I could barely see straight. And since Winn had yet to apprehend Cormac Gallagher, all I had to keep my sanity intact was work.
So I forced a smile and reached for Talia’s hand, holding it tight when her palm touched mine. Then I let her go and walked to the fridge, taking out the ingredients for cinnamon rolls.
Talia stayed for an hour, watching me work in silence. I sent her home with a to-go container of soup so she and Foster wouldn’t have to cook dinner. Then I spent the rest of the evening alternating between work and answering text messages from my other siblings and parents.
Winn came into the shop ten minutes before we closed at seven. I knew immediately by the look on her pretty face that she wasn’t here to deliver good news.
“Hi.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I lied. “Find anything?”
Her dark ponytail swished as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Search and rescue did another sweep of the area with the dogs. They put them on the elk again today, having them track it. But about a mile away from the river, they lost the scent.”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes, disappointment settling like a thousand pounds on my shoulders.
“I’m not giving up.” Winn took my hand. “I promise.”
“I know you won’t,” I whispered.
Winn would do everything in her power for our family. But there was no missing the dark circles beneath her eyes that had been there for weeks. Ever since the shooting at the hotel.
Quincy was supposed to be a safe town. Shootings and strangulations weren’t supposed to happen here. Everything was falling apart.
And Winn took so much of that on herself. Too much.
I wanted, more than anything, for Cormac to be apprehended. But if Winn couldn’t bring him in, how heavy would that weigh on her already burdened heart?
My gaze flicked to the empty table where Vance had sat earlier. What if he was the answer?
“Do you want dinner?” I asked Winn.
“No, that’s okay. Griff called on my way here and said he was making burgers.”
Some of the stress lifted from her face at my brother’s name. I had no doubt she’d go home to the ranch, to his arms and their two children, and the sparkle would return to her deep-blue gaze.
“Want to come out?” she asked. “You could spend the night.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to clean up here, then go home.” A hot, steamy shower might take away some of the pain. Maybe tonight I could actually get some sleep.
“You sure?”
I nodded, looping my arm with hers and walking her to the door.
“We’re all worried about you.”
I sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“We all know that too. But we’re still going to worry.” Winn pulled me into a hug, then stepped outside, lifting a hand as she climbed into her vehicle.
Waiting until her taillights were two blocks down Main, I shut the door, twisting the lock. Then I shut off half the lights, leaving the others on to illuminate the space as I swept, mopped the floor and stacked chairs.
Crystal had offered to stay and close tonight, but I’d sent her home. Sunday evenings were slow, and after she’d left, not a single customer had come in, allowing me to clean the kitchen space.
It took less than thirty minutes for me to finish closing up. The shop smelled like sugar and vanilla and the citrus polish I used on the hardwoods. I was about to shut off the rest of the lights when I glanced out the front windows.
A tall figure strode down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, moving toward the hotel.
Vance.
He walked with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. The streetlamps lit his broad frame. He seemed in no rush, his gaze roving in every direction like he was trying to memorize Quincy. Or maybe he was hoping that if he looked close enough, he’d find a clue that would lead him to Cormac.
Was I that clue?
I flipped the lock on the front door, then I put my fingers to my lips, whistling the way Dad had taught me as a kid.
The noise split the night air.
Vance stopped. Turned.
I nodded.
When he was ready, whether I was or not, I’d take him to the river.
CHAPTER FOUR
VANCE
The bell on the coffee shop’s door greeted me as I stepped inside. The jingle was light. Cheerful. The chime did nothing to stop the tornado of anticipation and dread that had been twisting my insides since I’d climbed out of bed at three this morning.
The five cups of coffee I’d guzzled hadn’t helped my frazzled nerves. Pacing my hotel room had made me feel like an animal trapped in a cage, so well before dawn, I’d set out to explore Quincy, as I had last night.
The air was cold, my breath billowing as I walked. My boots left tracks in the frost that coated the sidewalks. The sun was beginning to creep toward the mountaintops, burnishing their tips in gold, but the sky was still dark. The only light in town came from streetlamps and porch lights. Nearly every building on Main was dark, save The Eloise Inn.
And Eden Coffee.
The café was empty. The tables on each side of the aisle were lined in neat rows. The chairs were pushed in, ready to be shifted and filled.
The barista from yesterday rushed out from the back hallway, a towel in her hands. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” I said.
“What can I get you?”
Before I could answer, Lyla emerged from the same hallway. Her steps faltered, only slightly, when she spotted me.
I could still hear her whistle from last night. It echoed in my mind, just like the sight of her standing in the coffee shop’s doorway seemed imprinted on my brain.
Beautiful. Brave, Lyla.
“Hi.” Her voice was just as jagged as it had been yesterday. “I’ll take care of him, Crystal.”
“Okay.” Crystal nodded, then hurried away.
“Hi.” I came to a stop at the counter, taking in Lyla’s face, searching for any sign of doubt. A hint that she’d changed her mind. But if there was any uncertainty racing through that pretty head, she didn’t let it show.
We hadn’t spoken last night. We hadn’t traded details or phone numbers. There’d just been that whistle.
Then she’d retreated inside the coffee shop while I’d lingered outside, watching as the lights went out.
“Would you like anything before we go?” she asked.
“Coffee. Black.” I reached for my wallet but she waved it off.
With practiced efficiency, she filled a paper to-go cup and fitted it with a collar and lid.
No scarf today. Lyla wore a black turtleneck sweater to cover her throat instead. It fit her frame, molding around her slender shoulders and the curve of her breasts. The collar itself climbed her jaw, concealing nearly every bruise save for those directly below her ears. But she’d kept her long, dark hair down today, the silky, chocolate strands draping nearly to her waist. The loose waves hid most of what the sweater didn’t.
“Five minutes?” She set my coffee on the counter.
“Take your time.” I took my coffee and walked to the front windows, sipping the scalding liquid as I peered out at the sleepy street. A single truck had rolled by in the time it took Lyla to gather her coat and pull a slouchy knit hat over her hair.
She tucked her phone in her coat pocket. If I had to guess, she’d turned on her location services. Or maybe she’d told Crystal or a friend where we were headed in fear that I was a serial killer.
“Would you like to drive?” she asked, tugging on a pair of gloves.
“Sure.” I opened the door for her—earning more of that happy jingle—then I led the way to my truck, parked outside the hotel.
Lyla nodded her thanks when I opened the door for her, then she climbed in as I made my way to the driver’s side.
“How are you feeling today?” I put the truck in reverse but kept my foot on the brake. “You sure about this?”
“Yes.” No hesitation. The catch in her voice had nothing to do with a change of heart, just the lingering effects of her wounds. “Head north.”
“All right.” I let go of the brake and followed her instructions.
As we hit the edge of town and sped down the highway, my pulse quickened. I wasn’t sure if it was her anxiety or mine, but the tension in the truck became so thick, so heavy, that I could hardly breathe.
This was breaking all the rules. This went against every protocol, every courtesy, that had been drilled into me since the academy. By rights, I should have checked in with the local authorities yesterday.
I’d always played by the rules. I’d always been considerate of other departments. Where had that gotten me?