Page 82 of Tanner

When Tanner finally looked at him fully, Miles stopped. Tanner looked him over. No badge out, no radio clipped where Tanner could see it. He hadn’t come here as a deputy. He’d come as Miles, and Tanner wanted to go to him but—

“Boarding now,” the bus driver called. Tanner looked at the open doors then back at Miles.

He could hear his own breathing. Too fast and too loud to his own ears. He shifted Savannah higher and felt how badly his arms were shaking.

Miles took one more careful step and then stopped.

Tanner stared at him and knew that this was either where he got on the bus or where everything he had been holding together started to break.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Miles saw them before Tanner saw him. That gave him maybe three seconds to read the scene and understand how bad it was.

Tanner stood near the boarding lane with one bag in each hand and Savannah on his hip. She was crying into his neck, her cheeks wet and red and little hands fisted in the front of his hoodie. Tanner looked like he hadn’t slept in a couple of days. His eyes kept looking over the room. Threats, real or imagined, all getting logged. His jaw was tight enough to hurt just looking at it. Even from a distance Miles could see the twitch in his leg and the way he kept shifting his grip on the bags as if he expected somebody to try and take one from him.

This wasn’t Tanner making a scene. This was Tanner cornered, and seeing it hit Miles hard.

Miles stopped just inside the station doors and forced himself not to move too fast. The wrong speed would blow this before he got close enough to speak.

He took the room in first. Bus at bay three. Line forming. Driver already on edge and trying to keep people moving. No visible uniforms. Good. No one from the station staff looking interested in Tanner and Savannah beyond the crying. A couple of passengers glancing over because children crying in public always drew eyes.

Tanner still hadn’t looked his way, so Miles started walking.

Not straight on. From the side, and slow enough that Tanner could track him the whole way if he turned his head. He kept his hands where they could be seen and his shoulders loose on purpose even though every muscle in his body was tight.

Halfway across the room, Tanner looked up and spotted him, and his reaction was instant.

Every line in Tanner’s body changed. Shoulders up, his weight shifting and his grip tightening on Savannah and the bags tightening. Eyes going hard in that way Miles had seen before in people who had decided the room was no longer safe and they needed to get out.

So Miles stopped, and he knew Tanner needed to see him stop.

The bus driver called boarding. People began moving forward in a loose line, ticket stubs and phones in hand.

Savannah said, “Home,” in a tired voice.

Tanner’s hand went to the back of her head at once.

Miles stayed where he was. He wanted to close the distance. Every instinct he had was pushing him to move. Take the bags. Calm Savannah. Put a hand on Tanner’s shoulder and say I’ve got this. But none of that would help just then. Not when Tanner was ready to run.

Miles murmured, “Hey.”

Tanner didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to the bus, then to the doors, then back to Miles. Then over Miles’ shoulder toward the entrance.

Miles watched, knowing Tanner needed room more than he needed words right then.

“Last call for bay three,” the driver shouted.

Savannah made another small, broken sound and pressed her face harder into Tanner’s neck.

Miles took in Tanner’s hands. The white grip on the bag straps. The tremor there. The way he was holding Savannah too tightly and still somehow with care. He could see the conflict plain as day even from where he stood. Tanner had gotten this far on momentum. Momentum had brought him all the way to the bus. But now Savannah was crying for home and Tanner stood frozen.

Miles moved closer and Tanner’s whole body tensed so he immediately stopped again. “I’m not here to trap you,” he said.

Tanner’s mouth flattened. “Then leave.” The answer came fast. Too fast.

Miles kept his tone even. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”