The man shoved onto his feet with a donut clenched between his teeth and a cup of coffee wrapped in one fist. He set off toward the parking lot, and I trailed him. Music on the ride to the airport was as twangy as the soundtrack to Falco had been. He pulled next to the curb and popped the hatch. I took the hint, climbed out with Harlow’s bag tucked under my arm and grabbed my carry-on from the trunk. The second the latch caught, the SUV’s tires spun, burning rubber toward Abbeville.

Rooting through the pockets of my overnight bag, I touched a slice of heavy plastic. My cell? I hadn’t spotted it since I woke at the Rebec home. I powered it up as I strolled through the lobby of the airport and checked my messages. My thumb was hovering over the first digit of Aunt Dot’s number when the screen went dark.

“Dead battery,” I grumbled. “Perfect.”

In the age of cellular supremacy, phone booths were long extinct. I had no idea if my charger had survived Graeson’s and then the conclave’s packing efforts, and I was too tired to dig through my belongings to figure it out. That meant waiting in line at the customer service kiosk, which was slightly less painful than visiting a dentist when in a major airport. I blessed this bucolic Alabama town as I walked right up to the counter.

“My battery died.” I pasted on a smile that didn’t come close to matching the brunette behind the counter’s megawatt grin and dropped the bags at my feet. “Do you have somewhere I can make a call?”

“Sure, hon.” The attendant set a light blue phone with a dark blue cord on the edge of her desk. “Instructions for dialing out are printed on the handset.”

“Great.” I dialed Aunt Dot, my fingers foreign on the raised square buttons. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” She stepped away and gave me a modicum of privacy.

“Pumpkin,” Aunt Dot boomed in my ear. “Did you get my message?”

“No. Sorry. My phone died.” The sound of her voice was a balm to my nerves after the last twenty-four hours. “I just wanted to call and let you know I’m at the airport. I should be home in time for dinner.”

“Home?” She cackled merrily. “Honey, have you spoken to Cord lately?”

“Yes. Wait— What?” My heart shriveled to the size of a raisin. “How do you know Graeson?”