Chapter Fifteen #4
I helped Katy to her feet, keeping an arm around her waist while she steadied herself.
Her legs trembled beneath her at first, but after a moment she managed to stand without buckling.
I stayed close, supporting as much of her weight as she gave me, my palm resting between her shoulder blades while she got herself moving.
We walked out of the farmhouse together.
Cool air met us outside, carrying the smell of dry grass and rain somewhere in the distance.
Katy drew a deep breath and pressed closer to my side.
She didn’t look back at the house or ask what was happening with Marcus.
She kept one hand curled into my shirt and walked with me toward the others, relying on my arm around her waist when her steps faltered.
Fox’s truck sat where we’d left it, the parking lights still on, casting a faint amber glow across the gravel.
I helped Katy into the passenger seat -- my hand under her elbow, steadying, same as I steadied elderly patients on exam tables -- and she sank into the leather with a sound that was half-sigh, half something older.
I closed the door, rounded the hood, and slid behind the wheel because Fox was already in the back, his radio in his hand, his eyes on the tree line where Hornet’s van had reappeared with its headlights off and its engine barely above idle.
Two miles down the county road a cruiser passed us going the other direction -- light bar dark, in no hurry yet.
I didn’t slow down. Didn’t speed up. Just drove, both hands on the wheel, needing the plain mechanics of the road to keep my hands occupied while the rest of me caught up with what had just happened.
The convoy rolled east toward the compound.
I drove. Katy sat pressed against my side, my hand on her back the entire way -- palm flat between her shoulder blades, feeling each breath as it came and went, counting them without meaning to, the rhythm gradually slowing as Route 9 unspooled ahead of us and the county gave way to trees and the trees gave way to the compound fence visible as a dark line against the Missouri sky.
The gate swung open as we approached. Cotton stood beside it, one hand on the chain, his green gaze tracking each vehicle as it passed, and when Fox’s truck rolled through, that gaze found mine through the windshield and held for a beat that contained everything two men who had seen worse could say to each other without words.
The compound was fully lit when we came through the gate.
Sodium fixtures illuminated the gravel lanes, the clubhouse porch, and the houses beyond it.
Our house sat fifty yards ahead, light showing through the windows.
I looked at it and thought of Ellie asleep inside, of breakfast at the kitchen table and coloring books left where they didn’t belong, of all the ordinary things waiting on the other side of the front door.
Katy reached across the seat and took my hand.
Her fingers were cold, the knuckles scraped raw where the cord had rubbed against them.
She threaded them through mine and tightened her grip.
I turned my hand around hers, careful of the damaged skin, and kept it there for the rest of the short drive.
After everything that had happened tonight, neither of us needed to explain why.
The truck stopped at the base of the clubhouse steps.
Fox got out immediately and headed toward Hornet’s van, already issuing instructions about whatever needed handling next.
I went around to Katy’s side and helped her down.
She was steadier than she’d been at the farmhouse, though she leaned into me when we started walking.
I put my arm around her waist and matched my pace to hers as we crossed the gravel toward the house.
She’d been taken from us that afternoon. Now I was bringing her home.
Ellie’s voice reached us before we reached the porch.
High, clear, carrying through the screen door in a stream of words about rocks and turtles and whether Doc was coming back for dinner.
Katy’s breath caught once against my collarbone -- a small, fractured sound that might have been laughter or might have been anything else entirely.
Then we were through the door and the house took us in like houses do when they’ve been waiting.
Katy stayed close as we moved farther into the house.
After the farmhouse, the familiar rooms looked almost painfully ordinary -- the couch, Ellie’s things scattered where she’d left them, two mugs still sitting on the kitchen table from earlier.
Nothing here knew how close we’d come to losing all of it.
I locked the door behind us and turned to Katy.
She was bruised, exhausted, and standing in front of me when there had been moments tonight when I hadn’t known if I would get that privilege again.
I reached for her hand, careful of the raw skin across her knuckles, and she gave me her fingers without hesitation.
She was here. We were home. Tonight, I needed nothing more than that.