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With the blockade on Carter’s Creek still in effect, the Evergreen betas had been filtering in and out of the lodge between shifts like industrious ants returning to the hive. I made sure each one of them had a glass of iced tea or lemonade—coffee, for the night shifts—plus a sandwich and as many cookies as they wanted to eat.
They were going through them just as fast as I could bake.
“Shit. The chocolate!” I rushed to the stove, where I had a glass bowl perched atop a pot of boiling water. Turning the heat down, I studied the chocolate with a frown. “Ugh. No, this is never gonna temper the way I want now. Hand me the bag of baking chocolate on the counter? I might be able to save it if I add a little more.”
“Temper?” Xander asked, picking up the bag I’d asked for.
“Yeah. You melt the chocolate, heat it up to the right temperature, so it goes glossy when it hardens again instead of looking kind of dusty and dull. Nana showed me how to do it,” I explained, taking the bag from him.
“I don’t think anyone’s gonna care if they’re eating glossy chocolate or not. Not here, anyway.” He caught my waist as I tried to move past him. “Hey. When’s the last time you sat down?”
I wriggled free of his hold. “I can’t stand the thought of sitting right now.”
“You’re gonna wear yourself out, Cheeks,” he warned.
I shot him a helpless look but not a reply.
Waiting was the worst part of all of this. I felt like a shark in a vast, endless ocean. If I didn’t keep swimming—or baking, as it were—I’d stop breathing. I’d drown.
* * *
Despite all my preparations, the hour of Dennis’s arrival hit me like a bar of soap in a tube sock. Xander got the call in the early morning before the sun was even up. Dennis had already landed in Boston and secured a rental car. He’d be here around sunrise. If we decided to hire him, he made a point of explaining to Xander, the price of the car, the plane ticket, and the consultation would all be going on our bill.
We were more than willing to pick up that tab.
Xander and I showered, dressed, and rushed downstairs. With barely half an hour’s notice, we didn’t have much time to get our ducks in a row. For a man who’d taken two days to get here, Dennis was certainly feeling punctual now.
“What do you think he’ll be like?” I wondered aloud while I made coffee.
Xander looked up from the mugs he was washing in the sink—last night’s blockade crew had already been in and out. “I mean… Probably just a guy, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Beyond that. I’m just not sure if I should be imagining Van Helsing or Dog the Bounty Hunter.” I dumped the last of our coffee grounds into the filter cradle and set the machine to brew. “Or maybe he’s a stubby little bald man in a fedora and a trench coat. I don’t suppose you found a picture of him online?”
“There wasn’t anything to find. Dude’s a ghost. But some of the other packs I reached out to have heard of him and they say he’s legit, so at least we know he exists.” Xander held up a grenade-shaped coffee mug that read COMPLAINTS DEPARTMENT: PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. Threatening, considering the aforementioned number was on a ceramic tag attached to the grenade’s pin. A bright pink lip print marred the cup’s rim. “Whose lipstick is this? It won’t scrub off.”
“Looks like Nana Jordan’s shade. Maybe she joined Connell for a romantic midnight rendezvous at the Carter’s Creek blockade.” I glanced out the window toward the horizon. “Just put it under the sink and I’ll figure it out later.”
The sun was nearly up, which meant Dennis would be here any minute. I wasn’t sure why it mattered to me so much that everything was perfect when he got here. It wasn’t like he was going to judge us for having dirty dishes in the sink—not while our sons were missing. Being a bounty hunter, he’d probably be grateful he was getting something other than beef jerky and gas station fountain soda for breakfast.
But if I’d learned anything about myself over the last few days, it was that I was in dire need of the sense that I could control something about our lives right now. I needed that semblance of the impression that I had my shit together in any small way I could find.
If that meant presenting a clean lodge and an impressive snack spread, I’d take it.
“Did your friends in the other packs say anything about what he looks like?” I cracked open a Tupperware container on the counter and frowned. “Shoot. The night crew ran through all my cookies last night.”
“You’ve got some more in the freezer,” Xander reminded me, crouching down to hide the lipstick-stained grenade mug under the sink. “And, no, they didn’t, but why’s it matter how he looks? He can show up in a clown costume, riding a unicycle for all I care. Just as long as he gets results, right?”
“I guess.” I headed toward the freezer. “It’s not so much to ask that he’s got a kind face, is it?”
If Dennis Kerry was the man who’d bring our sons back to us, I had my fingers crossed that he didn’t look like the type that would terrify them en-route.
“Better if he looks like a rotten old bastard,” Xander mused. “We don’t need a kind man right now. We need a ruthless one.”
“I guess you’re right.” My frown deepened as I surveyed the contents of the freezer. The containers were inside where I’d left them, but every single one was empty. “Where did all my baked goods go? I thought I had a stockpile. Did you move them somewhere?”
Xander moved behind me and peered over my shoulder. “Looks like the evening shift might’ve wiped them out. I’m sorry, Cheeks. That’s the curse of baking so well, I guess. What’ve you got left?”
I sighed and went to the pantry. After a little digging, I emerged with my pathetic spoils. “A singular box of Caramel deLites.” I turned it over, looking for a date. “When did you last buy from the Girl Scouts? I don’t even know how old these are.”
