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Luke wraps his hands around the back porch railing, stares dazedly out into the early morning. Dawn on the horizon. The river glitters with the arrival of the sun. Nearly twelve hours since Sal’s gone missing. A torture Luke can barely withstand.
By now, because of Sal’s phone call, the cops are taking it seriously. They’ve come to the house, taken statements and left. Left Luke with reassurances that they’re doing all they can to find his wife. Left Luke with instructions to wait while they work.
But he can’t. All he can do is think about that phone call, the phone call that threatened to bring him to his knees. Sal’s scream, the door breaking, shattering, is like a thread of terror ringing in his ears. The mere thought of Sal going through something like this again, when she’s survived so much, has him sick to his stomach.
And the kicker of it all—
She’s pregnant.
It should be his greatest joy; instead, it’s his worst nightmare. He’s fucking terrified. The thought of her alone, hurt, kept somewhere, worrying about the baby, about him. He can’t even imagine what Sal’s going through. They’ve wanted it for so long, but all Luke can focus on is his wife. Once he gets her back, he’ll do everything under the sun to tell her how goddamn happy he is, but right now her safety—their safety—is the only thing that matters.
Footsteps behind him and Luke turns.
Not surprisingly, it’s Seth. His brother’s been giving him space since he dropped the bombshell, but he’s been there, in the margins, waiting, and now wears an agonized expression.
“If you wanna take a swing at me, you can.” Seth holds his hands out as he steps toward Luke. “I kinda want to kick my own ass to tell you the truth.”
Luke sighs. “I ain’t gonna hit you. I sure as hell wish you woulda told me. Hell, I wish she woulda told me.”
Seth lowers his head and nods. “I know. I sure am sorry, Luke.”
The guilt and pain in his voice has Luke feeling for Seth. Because his brother was going through hell tonight. Knowing Sal was gone, knowing she was pregnant and trying to keep her secret until he couldn’t any longer. That’s Seth. Loyal as hell. A pain in his ass.
Luke drags in a rough breath. “Right now, I don’t care about any of that. I just want her home. I want her to be okay. I want—”
He breaks off, his throat knotting with grief. He can’t force the words out. Can’t bear to entertain any other thoughts other than Sal home with him. Safe.
Seth places a hand on Luke’s shoulder. Squeezes.
At the sound of a doorbell, the tinny chime floating faintly onto the back porch, Luke stiffens. Groans. “It’s the cops.”
But when he and Seth retreat inside, he’s surprised to see a young girl in the foyer. Tears in her eyes, a knapsack dropped on the floor, wringing her hands as she speaks in low tones to Alabama and Griff.
Luke frowns. “What is this?”
“Luke,” Jace says, hustling over, his face flushed. “You want to talk to her.”
Griff turns, snaps his fingers. “Now, Kincaid.”
“Sit down, honey.” Alabama guides the girl out of the hallway to a kitchen chair. There, everyone assembles, looking to Luke as he enters, Seth on his heels. Alabama lasers her gray eyes to Luke. “Luke, this is Molly Banks.”
The girl’s eyes widen at the appearance of Luke. “It’s my fault. She tried to help me.”
Luke swallows and steps forward. “Who tried to help you?”
“Sal. Your wife. I saw it on the news—she’s missing?” When Luke nods, she whimpers. “I didn’t listen. I went back to the house after she told me not to. Chris knew. He knew I was trying to leave. I got out, but—I know he went after her.”
“Oh, fuck,” Seth says somewhere across the room.
Instantly, Luke lights on the brief conversation he and Sal had days ago. The girl she helped. The girl who reminded her of Roy. Fuck. That was it. He had it all along, in the recesses of his mind—he had it and he just didn’t know it.
“It’s all my fault,” Molly moans. “I told him about her.”
“Who’d you tell?” Luke asks in a low voice.
“My husband. Chris. He was so angry. He said he’d find her if he couldn’t find me.” Molly bursts into sobs. “He’s going to hurt her. I know it.”
“Christ,” Griff mutters.
