2

Back in his classic Jeep CJ, Zan cranked up his Amos Lee playlist and followed Auburn awhile. He’d been driving into Huntington to check on Bailey, but his mama had brought him up well enough that he’d still make sure Auburn got where she was headed. He shouldn’t let himself get derailed by a gorgeous face.

She drove about like he did—five over the limit, window down. He hadn’t been able to get her to go for a drink with him, much less give up her phone number, but he had to admit he’d enjoyed watching her braid that fiery hair and flip it over her shoulder before she took off.

What kind of loser would put a nail in a girl’s tire? Zan knew the answer as sure as hurricanes in September. Somebody like Mike.

His brother-in-law was exactly the sort of jackleg who would sabotage a tire. Hopefully, Kasia would be smarter than his sister. Keep herself out of danger.

His sister usually called every few nights, but a solid week had passed, and that didn’t sit well. “Call Bailey.” His Bluetooth dialed. Again.

He rolled his neck as it rang.

And rang. How many times had he called already? At least ten. Possible scenarios filled his stomach with lead. Bailey’d dropped out of contact twice before, and both times, he’d found her messed up—broken nose, busted lip, too hurting to stand.

“C’mon, Auburn. Let’s move.” Instinct suddenly shouted that it might be a good thing she’d turned down the sweet tea.

Auburn’s right blinker flashed. Wait. What? She was turning into the projects. Did Nail-in-the-Tire live there? Surely Kasia knew what kind of neighborhood Heritage Arms was.

He shoved his fingers into his hair, grabbed a fistful. Should he follow her?

Family trumps everything. His father’s voice blew into his head. And right now? He was afraid Bailey needed him more than an auburn-haired stranger. Zan wished Kasia well and hit the gas.

A few miles farther into town, at the stoplight across from Bailey’s upscale digs, his neck bristled with unease. Why hadn’t she picked up the phone? Was she hiding somewhere? Beaten senseless?

Or worse this time?

He hit the gas as soon as the light turned green. He cranked the wheel, careened into her neighborhood, gunned it toward her house. Everything looked dark. Her coupe sat in the driveway, but—wait. Was the front door ajar?

He parked at the curb and catapulted out. “Bay! Bailey!”

At the door, he hesitated, listened. Knocked as he entered.

Pieces of her splintered rocker littered the living room. Shattered glass glinted in the sunlight. The mirror. He froze. Glass snapped under his shoe. His pulse hammered. Nothing else.

He charged from room to room, desperate to find his sister. All he found was a mess—a desk flipped, papers strewn all over. The shower curtain torn down.

The house was empty.

He whipped out his phone and dialed his mom. Checked the pantry. Checked the closet in the guest room. Answer already.

“Hey, hon. What—”

“Have y’all heard from Bailey?”

“No, not since Tuesday. What’s wrong?”

“I’m at her place. It’s a wreck, and there’s no sign of her.”

“Check her closet.” Panic laced her voice.

He should not have called his mom—she’d fall apart with worry. Better dial it back.

Inhale. Count to three. Ease her mind now that you got her agitated. “You know? I bet she’s just out of town.”

No response. He’d better keep talking. “You think? Maybe she was just in an all-fired hurry or something.”

Still quiet.

Don’t miss anything, man. Zan’s fingertips traced the walls of the dark hallway once more as he inched toward her bedroom.

He paused in the doorway, gripped the frame. Catch it all. Every detail. The bedspread lay crumpled on the floor, and two dime-sized drops of blood stained one of the pillowcases. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. It didn’t have to be Bailey’s blood. Might be Mike’s. The closet had been ransacked. Hangers and boxes cluttered the floor, and not a stitch of clothing remained.

“Zan? What is it?” His mother sounded squeaky and scared. He should’ve called his father.

Deep breath. Be convincing. “Huh. Looks like she’s gone, Mama. Finally packed up her things and left.”

A shaky sigh was her only response.

He tried to slip a smile into his lie. “I bet she found a safe place to stay.”

“She’s safe, you think?” Her voice sounded a little steadier.

“You know? Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she mentioned visiting some friends awhile. I’ll track her down and call y’all later to say how she’s doing, all right? Sorry I got you all worked up over nothin’.”

She tried to laugh. “It’s fine. Good to hear she’s out of there for a while, hm?”

He wanted to hug her—promise her everything would be all right. “Yeah. I’ll call you soon.”

“Bye, sugar.”

His father needed to know about this, but first things first. Zan dialed the police as he stared out the window at his sister’s car. “I need to report a missing person.”

~*~

Whew! She’d rushed, but Kasia had the tables set up in five minutes flat. If Zan hadn’t come by when he did, she’d never have made it. The kids swarmed into the Heritage Acres Community Center and sucked the cool out of the room in a single beat. Kasia opened the last window and wiped her hands on her khakis.

“You all remember Miss Kasia?” Mrs. Peat called from the doorway of her office.

Heads nodded, some still half involved in conversations.

“We’re going to have a great time, Mrs. Peat. They’ll behave.” Eyeing them like Tatuś always did when he needed to be stern, Kasia scanned the room. A tiny freckled girl sneaked in the back and pulled out a folding chair. Her eyes shone with tears. She knocked Kasia’s authoritative façade right off. That girl needed a hug.

“If you ladies and gentlemen will get started on your homework, I’ll walk around and help wherever you need it.” She’d start with Freckles. “And remember, it’s fine with me if some of you older and wiser guys assist the little ones if I’m busy with someone else.”

Kasia made her way across the room, pausing only a few times to answer questions. She rested a hand on the chair beside Freckles. “Mind if I join you?”

Freckles bit her bottom lip, balled her hands so tightly they shook.

Instead of taking a seat, Kasia knelt beside the girl and reached for a small fist. It stilled instantly, tiny and clammy against her palm. Kasia risked the dam break, traced a tiny knuckle, and whispered. “Need a hug?”

The girl slid out of the chair and into her arms. The willingness to crumple into a stranger’s embrace saddened Kasia more than it surprised her. She searched for words—anything—to wrap up this frail little girl and warm her spirit.

“He’s gone.”

“Who’s gone?” Please say the dog. Let this be as easy as making flyers.

Freckles settled her head against Kasia’s shoulder. “Daddy. Loves somebody else now, Mama said.” A shiver ran through the slight frame nestled against her, and Freckles whispered into Kasia’s hair. “It’s my fault.”

A fire roared to life inside Kasia. “No, ma’am. Not possible.”

Silver-blue eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, lifted to meet her gaze.

“Nothing you did made him go away. Wherever he is, he misses you. I’m positive.”

Freckles blinked. She dashed away a tear with the heel of her hand. “If Daddy doesn’t love Mommy anymore, he’ll stop loving me next.”

Lord, forgive me if this is a lie. “Daddies never stop loving their little girls. No matter what.”

A mournful tune wound its way into Kasia’s head, and she hummed softly, sifted through mountains of sweet childhood memories and identified it. A song like that hardly belonged. Oh. It was the one Busia, her sweet grandmother, had sung all those summers ago.

Busia. Kasia ached to see her. Had it been too long since she’d visited?

It didn’t matter. She’d go tonight. Busia would know exactly what to say to a little girl who needed to believe she hadn’t wrecked everything.