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He grins. “You bring things out of me, Hollie Carpenter.” He sobers, infusing faith and trust, endorsing me with his grip. “Jacob will survive, Hollie—just as his mother has.”
Once both our plates are empty, mine scraped completely clean, John accepts a refill for his third cup of coffee. He lowers one brow. “Why do I suspect that’s the first meal you’ve eaten in days?”
I grin. “Because it is, and you’re a detective, right? I assume you’ve been trained to notice clues.”
He chuckles. “True enough.”
I tuck my chin onto my curled fingers. “You know, I never talk about this stuff.” My voice catches. “Never, but…” I look into his rich brown eyes that I increasingly lose myself in. “I don’t know. I feel…better.”
The creases beside his eyes morph into smile lines. “I’m glad, Hollie. I guess confession is good for the soul.” The smile vanishes. “Not that you have anything to confess. That you did anything…What I meant was—”
I smile. “I know what you’re saying.”
While he’s finishing his coffee, my phone dings. I read, and my hope soars. “It’s Reagan’s mom. She’s says they’ve stopped—and they’re only twenty miles away!”
Chapter 28
John
The impulse to wring Jacob Carpenter’s neck is surprisingly mild. I’m irritated as heck at what he’s put his mother through tonight, but even I can take pity on the sorry sight in front of me.
Thanks to modern technology and Reagan’s mom, Hollie and I tracked the pair to the parking lot of a truck stop where they stopped to rest.
And argue. And cry. And basically to come to their senses.
Well, Reagan has opened her eyes to the stupidity of their plan. Carpenter I think sees it, too, though he’s putting on a show of still being ticked at his mother. But I can also see he’s softened considerably.
I feel like we’re a drama troupe on a stage, all of us under a giant light pole, putting on a show for passersby. Thankfully, it’s three a.m., so there aren’t many of those.
The hardest part for me is trying to let Hollie handle her foolish son on her own. His back is still up, resisting things she says.
I could get him back in a vehicle headed east in zero seconds flat—if she’d let me.
I watch the scene in silence. It will be best if he comes of his own volition.
“Jacob, you’re coming home with me, and that’s final. Mrs. Boswell is beside herself.” Hollie looks at Reagan. “Reagan, she’s worried sick about you.”
The girl nods, her tear-streaked face unpleasantly pale. She turns to Jacob. “This was dumb. I want to go home.”
Jacob squeezes her hands, his face earnest. “But…you and me…”
She sniffles. “Will still beus—but I…I want to go home, Jacob.”
Carpenter touches her face. It’s obvious she’s as sick as she’s been, so yes, I imagine she wants her own bed, and probably her mommy, too.
Jacob faces his mother. “Fine. We’ll come back.” He takes a step toward the girl’s car.
Hollie grabs his arm. “I don’t think so.”
He glares. “You don’t trust me?”
She folds her arms. “Why should I? You’re riding with us.”
Way to go, Hollie.
“Mom! Reagan doesn’t feel good. I’m driving her!”
“No, you’re not.” Hollie sweeps a look over the huddled, too-thin teen. “Reagan, do you mind if I drive your car? I promised your mother I’d get you home safely.”
