Alyssa liked to think of herself as a good judge of character, but the last year had sorely tested that theory, and as much as she wanted to believe Tony’s expression was nothing more than sadness for a once-promising athlete he’d helped coach, she couldn’t help trying to decipher if there was more to it.

Which was why she found herself studying Tony’s hands, searching for any evidence of a recent struggle, or even powder burns. As if he knew what she was doing, he flashed her both hands before shoving them into his front pockets and walking out into the chilly night, avoiding more of both her and Cord’s close scrutiny.

Chapter Fifty-One

Thursday, October 10

Instead of lying in the hospital bed, Emerson Childress reclined on an extremely uncomfortable-looking plastic two-seater chair crammed into a tiny corner. One leg was drawn up to her chin with her arm wrapped around the knee while the other rested on the doctor’s rolling chair. Her ankle was wrapped in a medical bandage, and a row of black stitches stretched partway down the length of her calf with a matching set near her wrist. Hannah sat beside her, rubbing her sister’s back.

Across from them and perched on the edge of Emerson’s bed was Addis, her face and arms covered in colorful bruises and angry scratches, and her dangling feet covered in red hospital booties. When Alyssa had dropped by late last night to check on them, Grace, after ensuring Addis was asleep, had stepped into the corridor, her composure rattled as she relayed how Addis had disintegrated when her Uncle Mack had shown up at the hospital. Mack and Gabriel, she’d explained, looked so much alike that when they were younger, they sometimes were mistaken for twins.

Addis had been understandably inconsolable at the knowledge that she’d never again see her father or the mother that had driven her crazy more than anything else. She’d soaked Grace’s shirt as she’d begged her to bring them back. Even Mack had been shaken to his unshakeable core.

This morning, Grace and Mrs. Childress hovered nearby while Mr. Childress sat in a chair with both his hands extended in a way that reminded Alyssa of an umpire waiting for the pitch of the baseball.

‘Looks like a full house in here,’ Alyssa greeted everyone as she and Cord stepped into the room.

Grace peeked over her shoulder, the sadness in her eyes so deep and piercing, it threatened to penetrate the shield Alyssa had erected in order to steel herself for hearing the girls’ story. Mr. and Mrs. Childress kept their eyes glued on their daughter, but Mr. Childress did offer up a ‘Good morning, Detectives.’