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He caught her arm. “You need clothes—and grab that damn vest.”
“But—”
“No.” Steeling his voice, he said, “Get dressed and grab that vest. You won’t leave this house without it—nothingmatters to me as much as you do. Understand?”
“But if it’s one of the kids ... hell, it could even be Brant.”
“Stop arguing and get dressed. It will take less time.”
Isabel glared at him, then growled before swinging around and rushing to her room. He followed to make sure she’d listen and turned to leave only after he saw her shimmying into jeans.
He paused at a window and looked up the street where the bus was still stopped at the main road. Nobody had gotten off. “We know what’s up with the Brimley kid yet?”
“No,” Miles said. “We checked in with the mother just an hour ago. She was picking the kid up and they were going to the house we rented for them. We asked if she’d heard from her husband and she said he’d been calling her off and on for over an hour, claiming he needed a ride, then getting angry when she wouldn’t leave work to come get him. We had a man call, trying to help get him settled away from the situation and that didn’t work.”
“He didn’t buy the electric line repairs,” Travis said, still watching the bus.
A sedan turned onto the street and drove steadily in his direction. “What kind of car is our guy in?”
“A Ford Taurus—roughly 2014, 2015. Dark grey.”
Travis said softly, “He’s here. And if it’s not Lloyd Brimley in the front seat, it’s somebody else.”
Travis looked up as Isabel came out of the bedroom, holding the vest by the straps. He took it from her and adroitly fit her into it, securing it with the straps on the side. “Grab your hoodie. Hurry.”
Her face tight with strain, she started to turn her head. But Travis stopped her, his hand on her chin as he drew her toward him as if for a kiss. He’d already moved out of the line of sight and now, with her pressed against him, she was as well.
“He’s here,” he told her gently. “And we think Lloyd’s with him. Right now, we don’t know about the kid, or anybody else. Get your vest. He knows nothing about the agents we have on site, nothing about the rest of my team and he has no idea what I’m capable of. None. Let’s keep it that way.”
Isabel met his gaze and after a moment, she nodded.
He kissed her gently, quickly, then let her go.
Adjusting his position, he went back to keeping watch on the car as it slowed to crawl in front of Lloyd’s house and slowly turned into the drive.
“Mom, the driver issaying Ihaveto get off here ... and there’snobodyworking on the road or anything here,” Brant said, his face red as everybody on the bus stared at him. The bus driver glared at him and Brant turned his back on the grouchy old asshole, hitched up his backpack. “Look, I can’t juststayon the bus!”
He jumped off and the bus driver waved for him to cross the road, then pulled off in a cloud of stinky exhaust. Several cars that had been piled up behind the big vehicle gunned their engines and Brant spun around, feeling like all of them were staring at him.
Hopefully, none of them were his dad. If his dad was waiting ... but no truck turned down the road and he didn’t see the vehicle in the driveway, either. But as he walked, the relief drained away and realization settled in.
Therewasa car in the drive. And it wasn’t his mom’s.
And his dad wouldn’t ever drive a car like that—hell, Brant doubted he’d ever drive acar.Men drive trucks,his dad always said. Brant didn’t know what the hell it mattered, but his dad never shut up about it.
The door swung open just as Brant considered calling his mom.
And he saw his dad. Relaxing a little, he broke into a jog, even as a pinch of nervousness gripped him. He hadn’t told his dad about how he’d been hanging out with Jacob some ... or that he’d been talked to Aaron. He couldn’t tell him that. Because his dad would his shit.
He didn’t like hiding it, but he didn’t know what else to do.
Lately, he’d been thinking a lot about what Travis had said, about treating people and all. All his dad did was push people around and he wasn’t ever happy. But Isabel ... fuck, she was so pretty. And nice. She did lots to help people and she was always smiling.
“Hey, Dad,” he said, as he approached their yard. Over the hood of the car, he saw the pale blue eyes of the guy who’d climbed out of the driver’s side door.
The frisson of nerves in Brant became a trickle, then a river, because those eyes held ice.
They weren’t mean eyes, not like his dad’s when he was drunk or angry.
