What if George had just shown up? What if he’d decided to come on his own?
Finn fought to open his eyes. He could just make out the form of George standing outside on the lakefront deck. His back was to Finn, his profile illuminated by the bright screen of the cell phone he held to his ear. It was dark out—Christ, it was really dark, and Finn was positive he had fallen asleep in the morning. The sliding glass door was cracked open just enough so that Finn could hear snippets of conversation, but not the whole thing.
“You ran out of here so fast … We could hardly talk in front of the kids…”
George sounded frustrated, impatient, but not unkind. Could it be Caitlin on the other end of the line? But that would mean she wasn’t here …
“Thank God it was Dr. Avery … I suspect he pulled some strings to get us all out of there … If he does tell my father, I’ll handle it…”
George backed up to lean against the side of the cabin, and his voice came clearer through the door.
“I promise, he’s fine. I’ve been looking in on him every forty-five minutes or so, like you asked. That stuff must really work, if he slept most of the day and is going to stay out all night too. Do you know my mom complains it isn’t strong enough? She’s so full of it…”
It had to be Caitlin. George wouldn’t dare talk about his mother that way to anyone else. Finn yawned, fighting to keep his eyes open. Slept all day … out all night. Was George talking about him?
“I still don’t understand how a three-year-old can choke down coffee, of all things. I don’t care how much creamer is in it.”
Finn squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, then tried it again. His blurry vision refused to clear.
“All right. Well, look. We were in agreement that you had to go, but when you get back, you are going to have to tell me what Finn could possibly have said or done to make you come down here and get involved like this…”
Finn’s ears strained at the sound of his name, trying desperately to stay focused, to fight the fog of sleep that still wanted to creep back in and overtake him.
“I know. Later. It’s just the small detail that I happen to be in the cabin with the man unconscious on the couch. You do know this could ruin us…”
Finn cringed. George was never supposed to get dragged into this. Neither was Caitlin. Finn didn’t want to ruin any more lives. He had only wanted the damn cabin key. He’d remembered about the alarm system—otherwise he would have just driven around down here until he found the familiar road, broken in, and hoped for the best.
“No, no, I’ll handle it. He’s sound asleep with the other kids. I know you wanted to take him with you, but I think it’s better this way. Our only shot at getting out of this. If we can just make her understand … Right. We’ll figure it out. We have to.”
George was hanging up, coming back inside. For a moment, Finn thought of feigning sleep. Maybe if George went into one of the back rooms, Finn could sneak away. Maybe he could still escape from this trap he’d unintentionally walled himself into. But that would mean going without Bear. Where was he? A fresh wave of unease washed over Finn. George had mentioned something about a doctor. But also about the kids being asleep.
Finn wasn’t sure he felt sturdy enough to venture out anyway—not even into the car, much less into the woods. His legs felt almost too heavy to move, and his stomach churned as if he’d had too much to drink. So he didn’t see any sense in pretending. He’d done enough of that. Too much. His eyes remained open and fixed on George as he stepped into the living room and slid the glass door closed behind him.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” George spoke with uncharacteristic sarcasm. “Welcome back to the world of the living.”
“How long have I been out?” Finn asked. “And where did you come from?” Finn attempted a good-natured laugh, but it sounded strange to his ears, and George didn’t smile in return.
“Figured you’d be starving,” George said. “I made you a snack.”
Finn struggled to sit up while George crossed the room to the kitchen counter and picked up a plate. Seconds later, he plunked it down on the coffee table in front of Finn.
“Peanut butter crackers,” he said apologetically. “If there’s one thing you can count on us to have, it’s kid food.”
Finn didn’t bring up the groceries Caitlin had unloaded into the fridge yesterday. He was starving, but now did not seem like the time to request a three-course meal. “Thanks,” he said. He shoved the first Ritz sandwich into his mouth in a single bite. It was delicious, he had to admit.
The men locked eyes, each daring the other to speak.
Finn took another cracker and chewed self-consciously as George stood over him, watching.
“Well, this is cozy,” George said finally.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Finn said, averting his eyes.
“Oh, come on. It’s exactly what it looks like.”
Finn strained his ears for any sound of life in the bedrooms behind him. He heard none. “Where is everybody?” he asked, his anxiety growing as the jolt of sustenance helped clear the fog from his brain.
“I don’t think you are in a position to be asking questions here,” George said. “No offense,” he added, and Finn found himself fighting back a hint of a smile. George really was one of the most amicable guys he knew. It sometimes seemed at odds with the fact that he was also one of the most powerful. He’d observed this dichotomy dozens of times watching George halfheartedly attempt to discipline the twins—though he suspected that had more to do with his absentee parent status than with a lack of backbone. Still, now that Finn was at his mercy, it didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility that he could get off the hook somehow. Caitlin had always been the tougher one to crack.
But if she wasn’t here, where was she? Finn’s eyes darted around the room as if expecting to see something he had missed, but everything looked basically as it had before he’d fallen asleep. The kids’ tent was erected in the middle of the floor, empty save for a stack of pillows and blankets. Finn cringed at the sight of chocolaty-looking handprints all over the nylon dome and hoped they didn’t belong to Bear. Here he was making a mess of his friends’ lives, but he was still worried about his son making a mess of their stuff.
“Milk?” George asked. “Juice?”
Finn was tempted to ask for something stronger, but knew it wasn’t a good idea. What he needed now was a clear head. “How long was I out for?” he asked again. George only stared at him.
Finn’s mouth was dry. And his blood sugar felt off. Once he was steady on his feet, then he would figure out what to do. “Juice,” he said softly. “Thanks.”