Chapter 24
“What can I do for you today, Judge?”
“I need to color match some paint for our upstairs bathroom remodel,” Judge Wilby says with a wink.
“Come on back.” I tilt my head for her to follow me.
The store’s been slow today, but there’s a customer or two puttering around and I can never be too careful.
I lead the judge to the back corner where the paint mixer is stationed. She grabs a random paint chip while I open a can of base white.
I get the mixer started paying no mind to the controls—because Judge Wilby isn’t here for paint. She’s here for information, and the loud paint mixer is the perfect cover.
“You beckoned?” she snarks. Doesn’t look good for an officer of the law to be trading favors with the likes of a Clark. But it’s the family business for generations and it’s served me well over the years.
“I’m going to call in a favor here soon and wanted to give you some motivation.”
“Is that so?”
I nod. Silence is the best tactic to get people talking, and I have no problem waiting.
The paint mixer whirs and clanks, blending the “bathroom wall” color.
I never offer information first or freely. It’s useful to know what someone wants, and how bad they want it before I reveal anything.
Swiftwater is a sleepy town, but not without its own cesspool of issues. Illicit substances passing hands, bets being placed and cashed out, theft, and other petty crime are commonplace.
More often than not, the information I trade is more personal in nature. I’d put any paparazzi, reporter, or teenage girl to shame with the amount of gossip I peddle.
“Do you know where I can find Barker?” she asks, impatiently.
Ted Barker’s a frequent flier in our local jail. You’d think after two DUIs, license suspension, jail time, fines and community service, a person would stop getting behind the wheel of a goddamn car after knocking ‘em back.
Not Ted. This time, he plowed through the field at the park in broad daylight. Thank god kids were in school and not out playing, but people walk that path regularly and he could’ve killed someone.
He’s done-for this time, and he knows it. Which is why he’s holed up in an abandoned fishing cabin a few miles down Whitetail River.
I know this because his wife made a deal with me to obtain proof that her sister’s husband was having an affair. In exchange for that proof, Ted’s wife told me where he hides out when he skips town.
She sold out her husband for her sister, and after the hell Ted’s put her through, I can’t blame her.
“I do,” I answer, obscured by the rattling paint machine.
The judge eyes me, her jaw clenching rhythmically.
“What do you need in exchange?” she asks.
“Does it matter?” I counter.
Her silence is all the answer I need.
“Fishing cabin where the Whitetail forks by Burnett’s south pasture.”
I stop the paint mixer and hammer the lid on. Whether or not the paint is ready is of no concern. Judge Wilby pays for her periwinkle paint and steps out into the freezing afternoon.
I’ve been stocking up favors for when Mia needs help getting out from under her low-life, soon-to-be ex-husband.
I’d happily call in every favor I’m owed to protect her.
A few more customers come and go before I check the time. The girls will be bouncing through here after school any minute.
I’m just sliding my phone back into my pocket when it rings. The screen displays the saved contact for Swiftwater Elementary.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Clark?” a female voice asks.
“Yep.”
“I’ve got Harper and Everly Whitaker with me in the front office. Mia didn’t come to pick up the girls.”
Ice shoots through my veins.
“I’m on my way.” I hang up the call.
Focused panic engages autopilot as I close the store, put on my coat, and rush out to my truck. Super-human restraint prevents me from speeding down Main Street and from parking the truck illegally on the school’s front lawn.
“Daddy!” Harper says, unperturbed by the change of her ride home. A year of being picked up by a different aunt or uncle every day has desensitized her to last minute shake-ups.
“Hey, Harp.” I hug her tiny body when she rushes me.
“Mr. Greyson?” Everly’s tiny voice comes from behind Harper. “Where’s my mama?”
“She must be tied up with something, but I’m sure she’s fine,” I try to reassure. But the razors in my stomach know otherwise.
“Let’s get you girls to Cecelia so she can stuff you full of cookies and milk.”
Everly’s tight smile does nothing to mask her worry, but she comes without question. Once the girls are buckled up, I take a beat to get control of the situation.
When I went up for lunch, I was disappointed to find Mia’s note. The scraps of communication she leaves for me usually light me up, but the empty apartment foreshadowed what the note would say.
Delilah invited me to lunch at the ranch. I’m sorry I’ll miss you. Your lunch is on the bottom self of the fridge.
xo
The hug and kiss at the bottom of her message assuaged my loneliness marginally. I’ll take any affection Mia’s willing to give me. Even two letters at the bottom of a sticky note.
Mia’s never once been late to get the kids, let alone not show up. I might be overreacting, but my gut tells me to call in reinforcements.
New Group Message: Reid, James, Connor, Olivia, Isabelle, Delilah, Cecelia, Walter
Me: Find Mia.
My phone clanks into the cup holder and I head toward Lucky Spurs Ranch.
The roads are icy, and my pulse upticks every minute we’re closer to the ranch with no sign of Mia’s car.
The girls tell me about their day at school and I nod and grunt at all the wrong times. They need normalcy in this situation but I’m too worried to do anything more than drive. After what feels like an eternity, we pass under the Lucky Spurs Ranch sign.
Mia’s car isn’t here.
“Alright, why don’t you girls run inside and get warm,” I say, helping them out of the truck and passing them their backpacks.
Everly looks back at me, fear written across her face, and I feel like a piece of shit for not reassuring her.
I follow them into the main house where Cecelia wraps both kids in a mama-bear hug, jovial as ever, but when her eyes meet mine, I know.
Mia’s not here.
I stomp through the house to the den where I find my closest friends.
“Where is she?” I bark at Delilah.
“Why don’t you try that again, Clark,” Connor bites, stepping in front of his wife.
They don’t deserve my fear-driven wrath, but I’m unraveling. It’s above freezing today, but the temperature’s dropping by the hour as the sun follows its path west. She could be cold, injured, missing, or…
No. I’m not going there. I can’t. She has to be okay.
Delilah ducks under Connor’s arm, hugging his waist. “She was here all morning. We ate lunch at my house. I had to leave for a meeting but told her she was welcome to stay. I haven’t seen or heard from her since around one o’clock.”
“That was two and a half fucking hours ago,” I snap.
“Grey.” Reid’s booming voice carries through the den. “We know you’re worried. We all are. But you’ve gotta keep your head.”
Izzy reaches into her back pocket and what she hands me stops my heart.
“We found it in the snow outside the stables.”
Mia’s phone.
Fully charged. Dozens of notifications of missed calls from the school, texts and calls from the group.
Blackness closes in. The woman I love is somewhere alone, freezing, and likely injured. And she doesn’t have her phone to call for help.
What if Carter found her? Will he come back for Everly?
“Goddamn it!” I shout.
“Greyson,” Izzy hisses. “The girls are in the kitchen.”
My hands dig into my hair, nails scraping my scalp as I pull on the strands until the pain grounds me.
“Listen up.” Reid takes over. “The road from the ranch to the highway is just shy of nine miles. We each take a vehicle and stagger, searching for tire tracks or any clue to where she is.”
“We called the sheriff, and they have squad cars heading our way, and an ambulance on standby,” Connor adds.
“Livy texted,” Delilah says meekly, not wanting me to bite her head off again. “James and Walter are picking her up and they’ll canvas town before heading to the ranch.”
It’s not enough. Not enough eyes. Not enough time.
Armed with the plan, we scatter to our vehicles and head down the road. One by one, we pull off to the side of the road, staggered a mile or so apart.
I park my truck and leave it running in case I find her and need to get her warm and to help as soon as possible.
The wheel creaks each time I bash my head into it. This can’t be happening.
Not my Mia. I just got her. I can’t lose her.