“No. I’m not,” I huffed. “I had a meeting.” Wearing jeans, a white tee with a black and red checked flannel shirt buttoned over it and ratty sneakers, Isaac had no room to judge my wardrobe choices. “Since when are you the fashion police?”

“I’m not.” He shuddered. “One cop in the family is plenty.” He picked at a dried mustard stain on his shirt pocket then started cleaning the yellow crust from under his nail. “So is Cord meeting us here or…?”

“No.” I scanned the now-empty lobby one more time then checked my phone before turning to go. “He’s not.”

Cord Graeson and I weren’t actually dating. That was just the lie he had told my family. Being a fake boyfriend, he wasn’t obligated to do the couples thing and meet me at the gate. Though it might have been nice if he’d at least texted me an excuse instead of hanging me out to dry with Isaac.

“You want to take point?” Isaac jingled his own keys in hand. “You’re the one familiar with the area.”

“Not hardly.” The state of Georgia and I were acquaintances, not friends. “I’ve been to Villanow once.”

“That’s once more than Mom or me.” He tossed his keys in the air then caught them. “Keep it between the lines, Cammie. Mom will watch your six. I’ll take the rear.”

Outside the airport, the caravan waited. Four silver Airstream trailers, three trucks, two parking violations and Aunt Dot. Stepping into the parking lot felt like coming home.

I climbed behind the wheel of my truck and settled in for the forty-five minute drive ahead of us. All those empty miles allowed me to work up a good head of steam over Graeson’s absence. We had a missing changeling to find and a serial killer to put down—for good this time—and he was burning precious hours by playing hide-and-seek.

Two quarters of the way into our trip, I stabbed the button on my infotainment screen and gave the voice command to call Aunt Dot, who was hauling Theo’s trailer in addition to hers.

“ETA fifteen minutes.” I drummed my fingers. “Don’t run me over this time, okay?”

“That was one time, and I paid the insurance premium to have your trailer repaired.” She puffed out an insulted breath. “The audiobook I was listening to was intense. I wasn’t prepared when you made a sudden stop.”

At a red light.

Hence the fifteen-minute warning.

“Maybe turn off the radio until we get where we’re going?” I suggested.

“You dent one bumper, and people act like it’s the end of the world,” she muttered, ending the call.

The remaining miles slid past my windows, a montage of evergreens that blurred after a while.