“And between you and me, I’m hoping he doesn’t find her,” Holt says off the record, of course.
“So, what does this woman look like?” I ask.
“Petite, blonde hair, brown eyes, killer body she hides under baggy, second hand clothes. Seen anyone like that around?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I hedge. More like abso-fucking-lutely. “What’s her name?”
“Ginnie Winslow,” he says.
“Never heard of her,” I say honestly. Thank God that I can. The need to get to Abby is overwhelming.
“Well keep an eye out,” Holt says. “I have the feeling she could use a friend. Especially if the husband catches up to her.”
“Yeah,” I say absent-mindedly. “I will.” I most definitely will.
I hang up the phone and push back from my desk. I grab my white ranger hat from the coat rack by the door and rush out to my truck, eager to get to the cafe and see Abby. I just need to see that she’s okay—safe.
The drive to the cafe takes me about half the time it should have and when I hurry through the front door and the bell chimes my arrival, Abby looks up and smiles at me. My long-legged stride takes me to her with a purpose and the smile slide right off of her face.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she asks me in her quiet voice. She’s scared, and I hate that I have put that look on her face.
“Do you know a Ginnie Winslow from West Virginia?” I ask her. Her expression completely shutters, closing me out. Her lack of reaction is all the response that I need. I just don’t know how to go from there.
“Ginnie Winslow is dead,” she says.
“That’s all I need to know for now,” I say before turning on my heels and heading back out the door. It’s not until I’m in my truck that I realize I didn’t hug her or kiss her or promise Abby that everything would be okay. I went into full battle mode and my warrior forgot that Abby is soft and sweet and need reassurance and affection. It’ll have to wait for later. I only hope that I get the chance.
