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I shrug, and Tobias curses waking Mallory.
“Are they here?” She tries to sit up and winces.
“Easy pumpkin. Not yet.” He smooths her hair from her face.
“Knock, knock. Time for meds and a walk if you’re up for it. The faster you start moving, the easier recovery will be,” the chipper nurse says.
“Read the fucking room. Take her vitals, give her the meds, and get the fuck out.” Shock hisses at her.
The nurse starts to cry and runs out of the room.
“Jesus Hannah,” I shake my head at her.
“I need some air.” She stands, and Cody falls over, catching himself at the last second.
“A little warning!” He calls after her.
The guys ask where she’s going and she flips them off.
My phone rings, and I grab it quickly. I rush to answer so quickly that I don’t even look at the screen.
“Darlin’,” I sigh in relief.
“We’re okay. What’s going on?” He sniffles and coughs to clear his throat.
“Don’t let them put the news on. It’s not good.” My heart sinks.
“We haven’t found the babies yet. Sasha and Makayla were found dead from an apparent drug overdose. There are two car seats missing from the car their bodies were in. I just wanted to check-in. I’m sorry it’s not better news.” I frown.
“But the Amber alert was canceled.” He curses.
“It’s been moved to a recovery Sugar.” Meaning the police think the babies are dead.
NO.
Cowboy
I hang up the phone and turn back to my brothers.
They found the car by the golf course as the helicopter was taking off again. They called it in to the sheriff and the whole scene is tapped off and crawling with officers now.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Seer says, looking around the area.
“Someone knew they’d be here to supply the car. Do either of them have family or ties to the area?” Wolf asks Abel, who hasn’t looked away from his laptop.
“Sasha has a grandmother in the area. The car’s plates match. Let’s go!” We pile into my dad’s truck and cut through the ranch to the main road.
“How far?” I ask as I drive faster than I should.
“Fifteen minutes.” What, the only people that are close to us are the Johnsons.
“Where?” My brother Colton asks the same thing I’m thinking.
Abel spits out the address we all know.
“They don’t have kids,” I say as I speed up more.
Mr and Mrs Johnson left that property to the only relative they had. A niece from New York. None of us ever met her because she was too good for us country folk. I remember Mrs Johnson telling my mama before she died that the girl was a no-good drug lord that should have been aborted.
