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Emma had served coffee and leftover cookies from the night before. Ginger gave the same interview. They tried calling Nate and Nick, and neither one answered. The worry sitting in the bottom of Ginger’s stomach felt like acid, and she couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard she tried.
A radio beeped, and a voice came from one of the officer’s belts. “Be advised, we have the suspect’s truck turning onto the road. Again, the suspect’s truck with license plate four-seven-seven-alpha-charlie-beta-alpha has just turned onto the ranch road.”
Ginger shot to her feet despite one officer saying, “Ma’am.”
But a rush of adrenaline, combined with anger, had her marching toward the door and yanking it open. The radio beeped again, and the same voice spoke, but Ginger couldn’t hear it through the windstorm in her ears. She went out onto the front porch and right on down the steps as her truck came into view.
Her truck.
With Nate behind the wheel. Oh, boy, he was going to get it, and get it good. Her fingers clenched into fists as she stomped down the sidewalk.
Nate pulled past the gate and kept on coming, and every regret Ginger had ever had in her life streamed through her. If she’d just have waited a few hours, he’d have come back. No one would’ve had to know he’d been gone.
Ginger realized then that he wasn’t alone in the truck. Of course, she’d expect to see Connor. But she saw Nick too.
A sob wrenched itself from her throat, and she started running. Nate couldn’t pull into the garage with all the police and prison vehicles in the driveway, and he simply parked behind one of them.
He got out of the truck with his hands up, calling, “I’m not armed. I came back. I’m not armed.” He only took a few steps away from the truck before he dropped to his knees, his hand still straight up in the air,
Ginger wanted to rage at him, but Nick was getting out on the other side of the truck, and she raced toward him. “Nick.”
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m fine.” He caught her and held on, but the reunion was short lived as he turned to help Connor out of the vehicle. “Stay by me,” he muttered to the little boy, his attention past Ginger and toward the house.
She turned and watched as no less than six armed men approached Nate with their weapons raised. She stepped in front of Connor and said, “Don’t watch this, bud.” She reached behind her and pressed his face into the back of her leg, because no one should have to see their father figure get pushed to the ground and handcuffed from behind while five other men pointed guns at him.
They hauled Nate to his feet, and when he came up, the first thing he did was look at Ginger. “I’m sorry,” he called. “I had to go, and I’m sorry. Nick will tell you everything.” The officers wrenched him around, and Nate walked the way they wanted him to as they marched him over to a prison van and loaded him into the back of it.
Then the six of them stood there as if they didn’t know what to do next.
Ginger sure didn’t.
Slowly, she turned back to Nick, questions racing through her head. “Well?” was all she could get out.
“You should really have him tell you,” Nick said. “It’s so much better when he explains it.”
“I don’t think I have that option,” Ginger growled.
“Yes, you do,” Nick said, his dark eyes narrowing at her. “If you wanted to talk to him, they’d let you talk to him. All you have to do is ask.” He bent and picked up Connor. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go see if Emma has any cookies left or if those nasty prison guards ate them all.”
Ginger watched him walk away, dumbfounded. Nasty prison guards? No explanation? He’d just flitted off to the mall to do who-knows-what and he was going to walk inside and ask for cookies as if nothing had happened?
She cast a look toward the prison van and the men guarding it. All it would take was one step to get her going in the right direction. The problem was, she didn’t know if that one step should be toward Nate or toward the homestead.
So she didn’t take it.
Couldn’t take it.
