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“Uh-oh, what?”
When Bianca turned to face her, she swallowed. “She was in here last night. I heard her crying and I tried to talk to her, but she just got mad because I had a mother and she didn’t, then she told me to leave her alone.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“You weren’t here.”
“Did you mention it to Santana?”
“No.”
“Why the hell not?” Pescoli demanded.
“Because I just thought she was in one of her moods. You know,” Bianca said, getting her back up a little. “She’s always upset about something. Not the most stable person I know.”
“She just lost her mother and her stepfather. And now the guy who attacked her is dead. She has a right to be upset.”
“And now you do, too?” Bianca threw back, her eyes showing that she’d been wounded. “You can’t find Tucker, so you’re taking it out on me?”
Pescoli stopped short. She was right. “I’m sorry. Now, we just have to find your brother. And Ivy.”
Her cell phone buzzed and she glanced at the text. From Santana.
What RU talking about? I’m with the horses. He’s asleep. In his room.
“No,” she said aloud, as if her husband could hear her. “He’s not.” The phone rang in her hand. Santana had given up on texting.
“Tell me you’re kidding,” he said.
“I’m not. He’s gone. So is Ivy.”
A swift intake of breath on the other end of the connection. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “I’ll be right in.”
She was already making her way to the stairs where she ran down the steps and raced through the kitchen, not bothering to take down a jacket as she threw open the back door and ran outside. Up the stairs to Jeremy’s loft she hurried, through the snow, slipping slightly on the icy steps. She tried the door, found it locked, and pounded wildly while calling his name. “Jeremy! Open up!” When there was two seconds hesitation, she thumped more loudly, her bare fist aching from the cold and the pressure with each hit.
She hauled back to strike the door again when it was opened suddenly and Jeremy stood in the doorway. Dressed only in his boxers. She didn’t wait for him to ask anything, just pushed her way past him and into the dark interior where, of course, Ivy was in the bed. Lying on her stomach, this time without her shirt or bra. Rousing, she grabbed the edge of the comforter and squinted at the open door.
“Mom!” Jeremy said. “Some privacy! What’re you thinking?”
“Where’s Tucker?”
“What?” Jeremy said, then, “You can’t keep barging in here and—”
“Where the hell is your brother?” Snow melting on her cheeks, desperation burrowing in her heart, she glared up at her son willing him to have the answer. But the expression on his face was blank, even confused. He was staring at her as if she were stark, raving mad.
Oh, no. No. No!
She turned her attention to Ivy, cowering, holding the covers over her bare breasts. She stalked to the side of the bed and glowered over her niece. “Where is he?”
Ivy’s eyes were round. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t see him last night?”
“No . . . Jesus, what are you saying?”
Jeremy was still standing near the open door, snow and cold air blowing into the room. “Mom, really—”
“He’s gone!” she cried, her voice cracking as she straightened and the reality bore down on her. “Jeremy, Tucker’s gone!” Tears clogged her throat. She sent a scathing look at her niece, saw a lacy red bra in the tumble of clothes on the floor, picked it up, and flung it onto the bed. “Get dressed!” she ordered. “Both of you, downstairs.” Blinking hard, she fumbled her way to the door. “We have to find him. We have to find him!”
