Page 93 of Drifter’s Heart

“What?” West takes my phone out of my hands as it blows up and places it on the coffee table. “Why?”

I laugh hollowly. “Maybe I’m the drama llama, West. Who knows at this point. Maybe I don’t fit at all. I don’t care.”

“Yeah?” West says warily as Cord looks on with a strained sort of interest like any distraction is both good and irritating right now.

No tears come. I don’t give a fuck. I’ll wait tables to make ends meet. I. Don’t. Care. So long as we get my daughter and Lanie and the baby back unharmed, the asshole singing nurse who ruined my week and the rest of the nursing staff can go to hell.

My family is right here. This is what matters right now.

“Jesus,” Cord murmurs. “I’ll put in a call, work it out for you. Screw that, Winnie. You did nothing wrong.”

I wave a hand. “I’m fine.”

Silence reigns over my head. I sense action even if I can’t see it.

Finally, West speaks up. “What?”

I straighten and hold out a hand to each man. “I’m done. Done with the politics. This is where I need to be. Present with my baby. Present with you both. Let’s get through this. I’ll fuck around with work later.”

Cord makes a dissatisfied sound as West squeezes my hand. I settle against him, grateful for his eternal support. My brother, to his credit, opens his mouth, seems to think the better of it, and shuts it again.

“Okay. We’re done.” A uniform stands before us, stripping off gloves that he tucks into a pocket. I try not to grimace. Old habits.

“Done,” I repeat. “So, what now?”

“Now we go back, analyze what evidence we’ve collected, and give you a call when we get results.”

I grip the boys’ hands and try not to scream. There’s a thin, high-pitched noise, possibly coming from me. West rises, picking me up and taking me away from the sofa area as the cop looks on, more than faintly alarmed.

“Come on, Rand. Let’s get you doing something useful. Tell me where he’d go.” West leads me to the kitchen and turns me around.

The sheer emptiness of the townhouse engulfs me in echoes of silence. It’s deafening inside without them. The walls are too close, the rooms too tidy. I can’t look at my kitchen without seeing the evidence—or lack thereof—that Brad might have stolen someone that I love more than anything.

“Brad? He has a home up the hill. In Cloakton’s inner suburbs. It’s a clean house. Very dainty. He bought it for the other woman he—” I bite my lip and shake my head. Nope. I’m not getting into that story today. “But would he take Sally there? And Lanie?”

West’s jaw works. “Winnie. You gotta think. This man is not in his right mind. He’s potentially taken a woman and a child.”

“His child.” Guilt slams me. “Oh, God. I’ve done this. I’ve taken her away from him. This is my⁠—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” West’s arms wrap around me, pulling me in tight. “This isn’t your fault, Winnie. People make choices of their own. You didn’t tell him to take her. You didn’t tell him to come in here the other day when he knew better. A person understands boundaries, even when they don’t like them. He’s not making real choices, beautiful. Not good ones. But I need to know what he’ll do, where he’ll go.”

I stare at him. “Lanie said there were calls.”

“When.”

“I—when we were away. She thought they were prank calls.” Didn’t she? Had she said that? Did I ask? “I didn’t ask her. Oh, my God.” I lean forward and his arms slide around me.

“Breathe, Winnie. Tell me where he’ll be.”

My mind clicks on. “No.”

West’s arms tighten. “We need them back.”

“Yes. And I’ve told the police all this. You do not need to go and get them. You do not need to go and—and—” I stare at him, knowing full well what West is capable of doing.

I’ve seen him around Coyote, taking care of threats to my brother’s herd over the years. He’s turned me around before the gunshot has echoed across the field.

Younger Winnie never shed a single tear. I do now for the man I love, who stands before me, who doesn’t recognize limits.