Chapter 25
Tean offered to go by himself, but nothing he said could convince Jem to stay behind and let him handle it.
So, Tean watched as Jem dressed in the jeans, tee, and quarter-zip that Vaughan had brought them from one of the boutiques.
There was even a new pair of boots and thick wool socks.
Jem’s coat had dried overnight, and Jem took an extra minute to return his tools to the pockets before he started for the door.
Their new room was near a side exit that cut the distance to the chalet, which was a good thing—the cold, if anything, seemed sharper today.
Now that the storm had moved out, the thin mountain air was like a held breath.
The whole world had gone still, and the only sounds were Jem and Tean’s steps crunching through the snow.
Sunlight reflected off the snow to make the day impossibly bright, and Tean made a mental note that if they were going to spend any significant amount of time outside, they’d need sunglasses or ski goggles.
When they got to the chalet, Jem stopped short of the door and waved for Tean to hold.
Tean stood there, shivering inside his own coat as Jem walked a circle around the chalet.
When Jem disappeared behind the structure, time seemed to slow down.
Tean caught himself holding his breath, and he forced himself to breathe in four-counts until Jem reappeared, coming around the far side with the same unhurried stride.
Whatever yesterday had taken out of Jem—and Tean knew that, even if Jem would never admit it, exhaustion was the least of it—his mother’s phone call had made up for it with a fresh wave of—
Well, in anyone else, Tean would have called it mania.
That wasn’t quite right, of course. But something—Jem’s eyes, the way he moved, the way he didn’t seem to hear Tean, now that his mother had called with a fresh emergency—made Tean think of stories he heard, stories he knew were exaggerated or stereotyped, stories passed down through TV and word of mouth.
Stories about people who stayed up all night stripping wallpaper.
And all she had to do was call.
Tean tried to press the thought down. Tried to bury it with other thoughts: Jem was kind, Jem was forgiving, Jem wanted to help the people he cared about.
Thank goodness for all those traits. Those were wonderful traits.
And Tean’s own relationship with Jem hadn’t been perfect.
Tean had been lucky—sometimes, he thought luckier than he had any right to be—that Jem’s kindness and forgiveness had made it possible for them to build a relationship together.
But she’d walked out on him. She’d left him.
If Jem’s childhood memories could be trusted, the state had taken Jem from his mother.
But she’d never come back for him, never tried to get him out of care.
Worse, she’d stolen his identity. She’d ruined his credit.
She’d abandoned him to be abused, to be imprisoned, to be treated like an animal.
And Tean knew the reasons. She hadn’t been well.
She’d been abusing drugs. There was probably—even if Jem didn’t know it or didn’t want to talk about it—some mental illness, which frequently accompanied drug abuse.
And now that she’d gotten her life back on track, she was trying to have a relationship with her son.
Because he had tracked her down.
Not because she had wanted to find him.
And all she had to do was say one word. All she had to do was say, Jump, and Jem would jump like he was—like he was one of those stupid Mario Brothers. All she had to do was give him a glimmer of hope, and Jem would walk through fire for her.
Jem trudged through the snow to rejoin him, and for what felt like the hundredth time in the last few days, Tean reminded himself it was none of his business, and he should be glad Jem and his mother had found each other again, and anyway, the woman’s children were missing, and her husband had been murdered, and was it really so much to ask for Tean to show a little compassion?
And that helped.
A little.
“No sign of anybody going in or out,” Jem said.
Tean nodded.
Jem started for the chalet.
“Jem,” Tean said.
The blond man glanced back. The sun sparked in his beard.
Tean wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. All that came out was “Be careful.”
Jem cocked his head. But after a moment, he nodded.
Brigitte answered the door. She was dressed in a tunic sweater with a plaid scarf, leggings, and knee-high boots, and she’d found time to paint her nails dark red.
As soon as she saw Jem, she let out a sharp cry and pulled him into a hug.
Jem, whom Tean had once seen hug a man in a Pizza Hut because of something to do with free chicken wings—stood stiffly.
After a few seconds, he patted Brigitte’s back.
And then Tean had a strange moment, like he was looking into a mirror and had only realized things were reversed.
Jem wasn’t holding back because he was uncomfortable. Or if uncomfortable was the right word, then it wasn’t for the reason Tean had assumed.
Jem wanted to hug her.
He just didn’t know how. Or didn’t know if it was permitted.
Something washed through Tean that left him unsteady, his head full of—of something.
Everything wrong in his whole life, she was the one who did that to him. And now she hugs him like nothing ever happened.
“Thank you,” Brigitte was saying. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. They’re gone.”
“Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Jem said. “Let’s start there.”
In the living area, the smell of fresh coffee was strong. Brigitte insisted they sit. She brought them coffee and cream and sugar. She didn’t have anything to eat, she apologized, except a Luna bar, but would they like one?
Jem took the coffee. He shook his head at the offer of the Luna bar. A question was on his face, but it became clearer with each passing second that he wasn’t going to interrupt this spell of domesticity.
“Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” Tean finally said. “I’m sorry, but I’m confused. You said Maeve and Milo are missing.”
She looked at him as though she hadn’t really noticed he was there until now. “That’s right.”
Then what, Tean almost said, the fuck are we doing?
And a voice that sounded like Jem’s said, Swear jar.
Maybe Jem had the same thought, though, because he leaned forward, hands wrapped around the mug and said, “When did you notice they were missing?”
“This morning. I went to wake them up, and they weren’t in their beds.”
Tean managed not to say, Obviously this morning. Instead, he asked, “What time was that?”
“Around nine.”
The clock on the coffee maker said nine forty-five.
“I tried to find them,” Brigitte said. “You know how they love to play their games, sneaking around. But they’re not here.”
“When was the last time you saw them?” Tean asked.
Brigitte touched her hair, and when she answered, it was to Jem. “Well, they were in their room most of the day yesterday. You know how kids are—they don’t want their parents hovering over them.”
“When was the last time you saw them?” Jem asked.
“I don’t know.” Brigitte offered a tremulous smile. “Yesterday is a blur.”
“You don’t know when you saw them?” Tean asked.
Brigitte ignored him. “You can find them, can’t you?” she said to Jem. “You’ll find them.”
“What time did they go to bed?” Jem asked.
“Oh, their usual time, I’m sure.”
No one said anything to that, until Tean heard himself say, “Did you interact with Maeve and Milo at all yesterday?”
Brigitte still wasn’t looking at him, but she let out a scandalized huff.
“What does that mean?” Tean asked.
“I can’t believe you asked me that.”
“You still haven’t answered the question,” Tean said. “Did you interact with Maeve and Milo at all yesterday?”
“Excuse me,” Brigitte said, her voice growing pitchy. “I’m having a conversation with my son.”
“It’s a simple question—”
“Could you give us some privacy, please?”
“Did you feed them?” Tean asked. “Did you check on them? When was the last time you saw them?”
“Of course I checked on them,” she snapped. “I’m their mother! It’s not like I forgot about them!”
Color flooded her face. Tears filled her eyes. She held herself so stiffly that she trembled.
Jem’s head sagged. He rubbed his knees, and the new denim whispered under his palms.
Tean could hardly hear it; the blood in his ears sounded like the ocean.
“Why don’t you check out their room?” Jem said in a low voice.
Tean got up. Somehow, he made it up to the loft and let himself into the bedroom.
For a moment, he couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything.
She didn’t know.
She had no clue. No idea where her own children were. Didn’t know the last time she’d seen them or if they’d had anything to eat or if they were alive.
Even with the door shut behind him, he could hear them. She was crying. And Jem’s voice was a familiar murmur—he was comforting her.
From a vantage point at the back of his head, a small part of Tean was aware of the intensity of his anger—of how vast it was, how it had washed over him so quickly, how it simultaneously made him sick to his stomach and tense and full of the need to hurt someone. And that intensity frightened him.
He bent at the waist. Put his hands on his knees. Breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Box breathing.
Filling his belly. Then pushing it all out again.
When the worst of it was past, he wiped his eyes and made himself look.
First things first: he called Vaughan, reported the missing children, and explained what little he knew so far. The head of security’s voice was tight—anger, frustration, exhaustion, Tean couldn’t tell. But he agreed to begin searching for Maeve and Milo.