“Lunch is the least dependable meal of the day.” He reclaimed his seat and lifted his fork, again waiting for me to take a bite before he began eating. “It’s smarter to fuel up now in case we don’t get another chance.”

The mountain of potatoes loomed, and though I shouldn’t have kept scooping them in, I did. I only stopped after noticing Graeson’s attention on my lips as I chewed. I fumbled the fork and grabbed a napkin. “What?” I wiped my mouth. “Did I get grease on my face?”

Voice gone coarse, he ground out a single word. “No.”

There wasn’t enough liquid left in my glass to wet my throat when he looked at me with that potent mix of grief and guilt I understood too well. Living, even for a moment, after someone you loved had died, carved up your insides. I drained the juice and still felt parched. “I need a refill.” I pushed my chair back. “Do you want anything?”

Shadows darkening his eyes, he shook his head, gaze falling to the condensation beading on his water glass.

“Graeson…” I began, not sure where to go from there, comforting others an unfamiliar task.

“We don’t have long.” He flicked off the droplets one by one. “Vause is expecting you.”

Easing from my seat, I approached the beverage station and poured more orange juice, drained the glass and then repeated the process. A prickle of awareness swept over me, and I turned. Graeson sat at the table, fork on his napkin, waiting for me, the ghost of his sister haunting his gaze.

The drive to Falco was silent but for the low buzz of the radio, the car filled with things neither of us was saying. I had turned to answering emails on my phone to distract myself from the price I was about to pay in order to purchase another scrap of information that might help us end this man hunt before another girl was taken. Graeson’s voice, after such heavy quiet, startled me into dropping my cell in my lap.

“You reek of grief.” He killed the radio. “The closer we get to town, the more intense it becomes.”

Suppressing the urge to sniff myself, I wrinkled my nose. “I’m thinking of the victims.”

It wasn’t an outright lie. It was a miracle this one girl out of so many had escaped. I hadn’t stopped wondering what made her different since Vause told me about her. My job put me in direct contact with victims, their families and friends. Meeting a survivor? That was almost enough to buoy my introspective mood.

“That’s not it. You’ve been distraught since you spoke to Vause.” He cut his gaze my way. “Who is Lori?”

The bottom fell out of my stomach. “You were eavesdropping?”

“My hearing is superior to yours,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I can’t help what I overhear.”