“Then it might be abandoned?” Nic said. “And then never searched, the owners never questioned about the night of the storm . . .”

Booth contemplated this.

“I know the buildings were searched. Reyes did it himself—with one of the state troopers. I heard them talking about it at the diner, how they were falling apart—those old red brick buildings you can see from River Road. But the land—all of it? And the foreman’s house, I don’t know.”

Nic smiled politely. Booth picked up a spoon and stirred his cup. He added more sugar. He added sugar like a person who really didn’t like tea.

“Can I ask you something else?” she said then.

Booth crossed his legs and leaned away from her. But he still managed a polite, conversational smile.

“How well did you know Daisy Hollander?”

The air became thick between them. Booth froze with that smile on his face. Nic froze as well, acutely aware of the trigger she’d just pulled.

Reyes had been right.

“Daisy?” Booth said softly. “Why do you keep asking about her?”

Nic pushed her chair out and slowly got up.

“You know what,” she said. “Let’s finish this later—I forgot I needed to call my father.”

She started to walk away. When her back turned, she heard Booth’s chair scrape the wood floor. Then his feet shuffling.

He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around. And just like that time in the shed, she felt a kind of strength that was belied by his appearance.

“Why are you here?” he asked her.

Nic shook her head back and forth. No words would come.

“Why are you asking about Daisy?”

Her fear seemed to startle him then. He stepped away and released her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Nic went for the door, but he was upon her again, holding it closed with one arm.

“No—wait. Please don’t go thinking . . . I’m not like this. I’m not like this.”

Nic stood perfectly still as he began to cry. His face was close to her shoulder, warm tears dripping onto her skin.

“You don’t understand,” he said then. “No one understands. No one knew the truth.”

Nic spoke softly but with conviction. “Let me open this door.”

Booth stepped back several feet, his head hanging in shame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not like this.”

Nic opened the door, her mind screaming at her to run from this room.

But instead, she turned around.

“What is the truth?” she asked.

Booth wept into his hands, his tall frame hunching over like an old woman.

“She was pregnant,” he said.

Nic stared at him, mesmerized by his despair.

“That’s why you kept looking for her?” she asked.