Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
"We’re heading back to the cabin," I tell Crewe. "Send everything you have on that blue pickup and any other hits on Wyatt's cards. We need to find Dad. And we still need the real Wyatt. Alive if possible."
"Copy that. Stay sharp, brother."
I end the call and look at Anniston. She’s watching me with those bright green eyes, worry and hope mixed together.
"Your dad’s alive," she says softly. "That’s something, Banks. A real lead."
"Yeah." I pull back onto the road. "But it also means he’s been out here this whole time while we’ve been tearing the world apart looking for him. And Nash and Sin are still missing. Wyatt might be dead. This whole thing is bigger than we thought."
She leans her head against the seat, still holding my hand. "We’ll figure it out. Together."
I nod, but my mind is racing. My father’s alive. He was six miles from us last night. Using another man's name. I don’t know if he’s running from something or toward something, but I know one thing for sure.
We’re not stopping until we find him. Until we find all of them.
And I’m not letting anything happen to the woman sitting beside me while we do it.
SIXTEEN
ANNISTON
I sit in the passenger seat of the truck, the mountain road curving gently beneath us as we make our way back to the cabin. The afternoon light filters through the tall pines. Banks is quiet beside me, his hands steady on the wheel, but I can see the tension in his jaw and the way his knuckles whiten every so often. The motel visit has left us both reeling. Billy Hawthorne was there, using Wyatt Rivers’ credit card, just a few miles from where we’ve been hiding. The thought keeps turning over in my mind like a puzzle I can’t quite solve.
I glance over at him again, studying the strong line of his profile. “If your father was so close,” I ask softly, my voice barely louder than the hum of the tires on the dirt road, “do you think he knows we’re nearby? Maybe he’s searching for you. For all of you.”
Banks doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his eyes on the road, but I see his throat work as he swallows. The silence stretches for a long moment, filled only by the occasional snap of a branch under the tires and the distant call of a bird somewhere in the trees. Finally he exhales slowly. “Maybe,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I honestly don’t know what to think anymore, Anniston. If he’s using Wyatt’s card, he could be trying to stay off the radar. Or he could be leaving breadcrumbs on purpose, hoping one of us picks them up. Hell, he could be running from the same people who are after you. We just don’t know enough yet.”
I reach over and rest my hand on his thigh, feeling the solid muscle tense under my palm. He covers my hand with his for a brief second, warm and grounding, before placing it back on the wheel. We don’t know what to think about anything right now. The whole situation feels like a tangled web, and every new thread only makes it more complicated. His missing father. His missing brothers. My own research that somehow links everything together. It’s a lot to carry, but sitting here with him makes it feel a little less impossible.
When we finally pull up to the cabin, the familiar sight of the small wooden structure nestled among the pines brings a strange sense of comfort. Banks parks and does his usual careful check of the perimeter before we head inside. The air smells like damp earth and pine needles, and the late afternoon sun warms the front porch steps. I follow him in, closing the door behind us with a soft click. He immediately pulls out his laptop and sets it on the table, already thinking ahead.
“I want to go back through your USB drive again,” he says, powering it on. “There might be something we missed. Any mention of my dad, or that motel, or anything that could connect the dots we haven’t seen yet.”
I nod, rolling up the sleeves of my hoodie. “I’ll make us some lunch first. We both need to eat. You can’t run on coffee and worry alone, Banks. Let me take care of that part while you work.”
He gives me a small, tired smile that makes something warm flutter in my chest. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
I move into the tiny kitchen and start pulling things together from the pantry and fridge. Canned tomatoes, a couple of onions, some garlic, dried pasta, and the last of the herbs we bought. It’s nothing fancy, but cooking gives my hands something useful to do while my mind races. I chop the onion slowly, the sharp scent filling the air and making my eyes water just a little. The knife rhythmically hits the cutting board as I think about everything that has happened in the last twenty-four hours. Sadie is safe. That knowledge sits like a warm light in my chest, easing some of the constant worry that’s been gnawing at me. Jace is with her. I still don’t know anything about him, but if he’s anything like Banks, she’s in good hands.