Chapter 43
It was the sound of his curses that had her feeling hope—and the memories came rushing back. Greer’s head hurt. She thought maybe she’d passed out, for a little bit. Maybe the tape was cutting off her oxygen, too.
Panic, nausea…she wanted to vomit.
He was just telling her things, rambling things. About Kurt’s brother. About his time in prison. He was complaining about her family, about what they had, and how people owed him something for his crappy life.
He’d grown up in foster care. But so had so many other people—Kurt, Ayla and Aubrey, Brenton Ryce. They had turned into good people. She wanted to tell him that. To tell him to stop making excuses for choosing to hurt innocent people.
Her baby was all she could think about. Her baby, her family…
Kurt and his precious baby girls. She wanted to hold those little girls again.
To braid Bristol’s hair like she’d braided it at the barbecue.
Bristol wanted hair like Mari Lynn’s. Bronte…
Bronte barely had any hair at all now. Just a baby—a sweet baby.
Greer’s baby—if he killed her, her baby died with her.
The baby she and Kurt had made together.
She wanted Kurt to get to see their baby, to hold their baby. She wanted him to have a chance at the family he had never had. And she wanted to see her parents holding her baby. She wanted her baby to have a chance to live.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Until he jerked the truck to a stop and climbed out.
Then he was lifting her out.
And they were at the reservoir—maybe ten miles from her house.
Where the creek that bisected her family’s lands flowed into the reservoir.