The walk back to the house was slow because of Sophie’s limp, but neither one of them attempted to fill the minutes with small talk. Harrison appreciated it more than Sophie could possibly know. It was enough to have her beside him, to hear the soft sounds of her breathing and the steady crunch of her footsteps. He’d said terrible things to her, had blamed her for a situation that was well beyond her power to correct, but that hadn’t stopped her from coming to his aid.

“Sophie, I—” he began, but she yanked open the back door and pushed him through it before he could finish.

“Not now,” she said in a tone that was firm but kind. “You can tell me later. After we have her safe.”

What if we never have her safe?

He couldn’t voice the question aloud. It was caught, sharp and barbed, in his throat. Besides, he stepped into the kitchen to find himself facing not just Sophie’s oldest sister, but Dawn too. Both of them were standing near the sink with their arms crossed, their conversation low pitched and ominous.

It became all the more ominous when they stopped the moment they saw him standing there.

“Ah, there you are,” Lila said unhelpfully.

“Take a seat,” Dawn added as she pulled out a chair at the rough-scrubbed table covered with its nicks and scratches. For all that his house had been taken over lately, no one had managed to get a tablecloth over it. It sat there, ugly and stark, for everyone to see.

He might have run then, escaped with what was left of his energy, but Sophie stood by the back door, her hip resting against the kitchen counter. He was trapped on all sides by Vasquez women.

Strange that it should feel so comforting. Strange that he welcomed the cushioning, enveloping embrace of them.

“Why does this feel like you’re about to give me bad news?” he asked, looking from one face to another. The sisters probably didn’t realize it, but they were almost identical when they wore those serious expressions. They each had their own unique smile, but this earnest intensity was worn in the same flat press of their lips, the same dark eyes that appeared both troubled and concerned at the same time.

It was probably the shared tragedy of Sophie’s youth that had done it. They’d learned to share their grief. They’d figured out how to tackle the harsh realities of the world together.

Oh, how he envied them that. To face another tragedy alone was more than he could bear.

“What did animal control say?” he asked, his voice sharp. “They found her? She’s dead, isn’t she? You just don’t want to tell me.”