Dammit, she hadn’t considered that.
Greta looked up at the second-floor window again, at the drawn curtains, at the room where her sister was sleeping offthe years of exhaustion her body couldn’t seem to shake. Alice had barely spoken since coming home—a handful of words, whispered and hoarse. The doctors said it would come back. The trauma specialists said she needed time.
Time was what Greta had promised her.
“I won’t tell her,” Greta said finally. “She won’t know I went.”
“What about Bear?”
“I’ll tell him. He won’t like it, but he won’t stop me.”
Naomi’s shoulders dropped. She looked out across the ranch yard, at the barn where Bear and Logan were working, at the mountains rising behind the property. The sun was climbing higher now, burning off the morning mist.
“Tell me you’re sure,” she said. “Because once I make this call, it’s done.”
Greta thought about the families. The mothers who still kept bedrooms ready. The fathers who still looked for faces in crowds. The sisters who still searched for answers in every news report about unidentified remains. She’d been one of them for fifteen years. She knew how horrible it was not knowing.
“I’m sure.”
Naomi exhaled in a rush. “Okay. I’ll set it up for tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”
“No.” Greta shook her head. “Not you. Bear will drive me. I love you, but he’s the only person I want waiting for me in that parking lot.”
“Abso-fucking-lutely not.”
Bear stood at the kitchen counter with both hands flat on the surface, his shoulders rigid, his jaw working like he was chewing glass.
She’d expected this. Bear had been steady through everything—Alice’s rescue, the police interviews, the reporters that had shown up on Maple Street before Boone ran them off. He’d kept Logan away from the cameras. He’d sat with Greta at three in the morning when the nightmares woke her.
Of course he hated the idea of her going to see Cody. She’d known that before she even opened her mouth.
“Bear—”
“No.” He didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the counter, on his own hands, on anything that wasn’t her face. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“Then don’t have it.” She crossed the kitchen and stood in front of him, close enough that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “I’m telling you, not asking you.”
His jaw tightened. She watched the muscle work, watched the tension spread from his jaw down his neck, into his shoulders.
“Greta.” His voice came out rough and he squeezed his eyes shut. “He hurt your sister. He hurt you. He put his hands on you and locked you in that basement?—”
“And I knocked him the fuck out with his own fucking chain.” She touched his cheek and waited until he opened his eyes again. “I want to get the names.”
Bear’s hands curled into fists on the counter. The knuckles went white, then red, and she watched him fight with himself, watched him try to find the control he was always so careful about maintaining.
“At least let me come in with you.”
“You can’t. Naomi already checked. He said just me.”
His head dropped forward, and the breath left him in one long rush. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet.
“Greta.” Just her name. Just the way he said it, low and rough, and she felt it in her chest like a hand closing around her heart.
She stepped closer. Close enough to feel the heat coming off him, close enough that she had to tilt her head all the way back to keep his face in view. She put both hands on his chest, flat against the flannel, and felt his heartbeat under her palms, fast and hard.
“I need you to drive me,” she said. “I need you to be in that parking lot. I need to know that when I walk out, you’ll be right there to hold me.”
His hand came up and covered both of hers, holding them against his chest. His palm was rough and warm, and his fingers curled around hers like he was trying to keep her from going anywhere.
