Page 79 of Still Missing You

“Hunter,” he breathes, and my chest aches at the sound of my name on his lips.

My relief is short-lived. I see another man, Matthew, but he’s barely recognizable, slumped in the corner, chained to the wall, wrapped in Dylan’s coat. His head lolls at an unnatural angle, his body too still.

Standing between me and both men is Nancy and her gun. Her eyes are wide, wild, red-rimmed, like she hasn’t slept in days. Her arm trembles slightly, but her grip on the weapon is tight.

My focus narrows. I could take her out, but if she fires, she’ll hit Dylan.

“Put the gun down,” I say, my voice steady despite the chaos in my head.

Behind me, I hear Linc moving in, boots crunching softly on the dirt floor. Nancy’s gaze flicks between us, something frantic and desperate burning behind her eyes.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.” Her voice cracks.

Dylan shifts slightly, easing himself between her and Matthew.

“Nancy,” he says gently, as if he’s talking to a frightened animal. “It’s over. Put the gun down.”

She shakes her head wildly. “No.” The word echoes in the unnatural quiet. “It’s not. No one can know.”

Sirens wail faintly, rising up in the distance. The police would be here any minute. I keep my eyes locked on her, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“The police are on their way,” I tell her. “It’s over. Put down the gun.”

Her expression twists, and she lets out a dry sob. “They won’t understand.”

“They will,” Dylan insists.

I flick a glance at him.

Even battered, even barely standing, he’s focused entirely on her, his voice calm and steady in a way that makes something tight in my chest loosen just a fraction.

“You protected your kids,” he continues. “That’s what matters.”

Nancy’s fingers curl harder around the gun. “You don’t know what they’ll think when they see me.”

“I do,” Dylan says. “They’ll see a mother who did what she had to do.”

For a second, something flickers across her face. Doubt. Hope. Then it shatters.

“You ruined everything,” she explodes. Her voice rises, sharp and broken, fear and anger spilling out all at once. I tense and take a step toward her.

Her gaze snaps to me, but her gun is still on Dylan. “You came here, asking questions, digging around. Pretending to be something you’re not. You made him panic.”

My jaw tightens. She’d left out some pretty big factors from this situation. Like that Jim had Matthew in this shed torturing him for the past two weeks, and he’d done the same to who knew how many other men.

“Jim was a murderer on the verge of getting caught,” I say. “That’s why he panicked.” I need to get that gun away from her, disarm her, but if I rush her, it might go off and take out Dylan. Cold dread slides through me.

Her laugh is harsh, almost hysterical, and her eyes shine with something raw and ugly. “I knew something was wrong for years. He had secrets, of course.”

She talks about torture and murder as if they were ugly habits instead of atrocities. I try to keep the disgust from my face, but I fail miserably.

Matthew lets out a weak, pained sound from the corner, and Nancy flinches.

“See?” Tears streak down her cheeks, mascara smudged dark beneath her eyes. “See? That’s what the police will think. That I knew.”

“Nancy,” Dylan says carefully. “Look at me.”

Her gaze snaps back to him.