“I’m sorry about that,” Reyes said. “You think it had something to do with your mother’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know. Except that I all but told her the morning she left. Maybe it pushed her over the edge.”

“And now you blame yourself.”

He touched her arm. She didn’t pull away. And she felt it again, the anticipation of relief that she knew would come if he held his hand there. If she let it linger just long enough to travel through her. A little bolt of electricity. And from there, another touch, and another and another until they were swept away.

“Tell you what,” Reyes said, moving his hand. “Tomorrow we’ll check the land records and utilities for the property, and the log for the search and canvas. We can even go knock on the door if you want. And I’ll do a little looking into your father. Shouldn’t be too hard. We have all the bank and credit card statements.”

That would all be fine, tomorrow. But tonight—what about tonight and right now? Exhausted, confused, the hollow spaces wanting to be filled. She couldn’t fight it. Not now. Not tonight.

The words flew from her mouth.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Day sixteen

I wake up with two bodies beside me. Alice is lodged against my spine, under the covers. One arm over my waist, the other on the back of my neck.

But I feel another hand on my hip. Over the covers, but still heavy enough to feel its weight. The hand of a man. The hand of Mick.

I do not move a single muscle. I do not turn my head to see him, to confirm what I already know. I stare at the beams of light coming through the cracks of the boarded up window. And I wait for them to stir. His touch is repulsive, and yet I am suddenly filled with hope.

Be patient, I tell myself this morning, as the light comes in and the plan continues to form in my mind. Maybe I have more time than I thought. Maybe he is starting to like me the way Alice does.

I feel the hands touching me, the bodies stealing comfort from mine. I lie still.

Be patient.

Alice is the first to wake. She groans a bit and pulls me closer with her little arms, snuggling deeper.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back.

“He’s here with us,” she whispers.

“I know.”

I wait for her to giggle or feel her cheeks smile against my back. I think that this should make her happy, that we are all together in this bed. That I am being a good second mommy to her and pleasing Mick.

But her voice grows shaky.

“This is how it begins,” she says. “When he gets into the bed with us.”

“How what begins?” I ask.