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Inside the house, Millie sits up on the sofa lapping the side of Sage’s face with her long pink tongue. Sage has her arm around the dog, and she’s squirming. Smiling. It’s an endearing smile that reminds me of her as a kid. So much better than the tears. I might even catch a trace of a giggle.
“Millie. Get off the sofa.”
The dog turns her head, making it clear she heard me, but instead of getting off, she lies down, resting her head on Sage’s thigh.
I scowl at her disobedience but let her stay. The sofa’s nothing too great, as it’s one that’s been around the block. A dog stretching on it won’t hurt a thing.
Sage had a heart and double lung transplant when Sam and I were at the Naval Academy. During my last two years of high school, she’d been back and forth at Duke Hospital. It had been touch and go. The family, our community, the school, everyone rallied behind her. Congenital heart defect and additional complications. The transplant had been a success, but recovery had been a bumpy road that first year. It took a lot out of Sam. The worry and concern from afar weren’t easy on him.
When we were in high school, his sick sister consumed his parents. Sam could’ve raised hell or resented his youngest sister for all the attention she garnered, but he didn’t. I’ve never met a family so close. Seeing how close the Watson kids were made me wish I had a sibling. The last time I saw Sage was when Sam and I graduated from the Naval Academy. Almost didn’t recognize the dark-haired beauty with her doe-like brown eyes at graduation. She’d been flirty too. Full of herself. Post-surgery, she’d blossomed into a new person. Older. Mature.
A few more drinks, and she might’ve had me seriously thinking about crossing a line that would’ve severed my friendship with Sam. And she was seventeen. A no-go.
On the stoop, I’d estimated she was in her twenties, based on her smooth complexion and her slight frame. But, if memory serves, she’s only five years younger. So that would put her at twenty-nine, almost thirty. Still beautiful in a natural, girl-next-door way. And god, she looks so much healthier. Even exhausted with matted hair, she practically glows.
I always thought of her as a fighter. If someone thought they could scare her by showing up with a gun, they seriously underestimated Sage Watson. She took what might knock someone else down and dug her heels in. She went to Carolina, against her parents’ wishes. Insisted she wanted to live a normal life.
“Are you still a teacher?”
She jumps a little. She saw me come in, but I suppose after what she’s been through, any sound risks rattling her. Exhaustion paints her face, from the bloodshot eyes to the sleep-deprivation bruises below them.
“Kindergarten. It’s summer break.”
“Still live in Rocky Mount? Or did you move to…” I wrack my brain, trying to siphon through the stories I heard over the years from Sam and my mom. “Durham?”
“Asheville. Moved there a couple of years ago.”
That’s right. “I’ve heard good things about Asheville.”
“I like it.” Her health medic bracelet clinks against an Apple Watch with a black screen. No doubt the battery is dead. Which means nothing is monitoring her heartrate. Does she need it to?
“Did you pack your medicine? Do you need me to?—”
“I’m good.” Her arm tightens around Millie’s thick neck, and her head jerks, like she’s in danger of falling asleep on the spot.
“Shower first? Or sleep?”
Those eyelids snap open, and she shakes her head. “I…if you point me to a hotel, I’ll stay there.”
“You’re staying here. You need sleep.”
“But—”
“Sleep. You’re no good to anyone if you collapse. I’m going to do some research. See what we can get on Sloane’s phone records, credit cards and such.”
“But…I didn’t pack…I don’t have any of—” A yawn forces its way out.
“I have resources. I’ll get what I can. When you wake, we’ll talk. You can barely keep your eyes open. If you crash, you’re no good to Sloane.” I bend down and offer my hand, as that’s more appropriate than scooping her up and carrying her, which is what I’d prefer to do. “We’re going to tag team this. You got here. I’ve got the baton now. I’m gonna pull what I can. When you wake, we’ll convene and decide on a course of action.”
She stumbles two steps past the sofa…and screw it. I bend, scoop her legs, and lift. She’s light in my arms, and all my protective instincts surge. If someone’s after Sam’s little sister, they’ll have to get through me first.
She’s not the frail girl I remember, but I’m still not letting her fall. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let some sick fuck hurt her.
“You don’t need to carry me.” She pushes her palm against my chest, and I shift her in my arms.
“Shh.”
“I’m okay, Knox.”
