Chapters (47)
You can’t tell Micah, Paul said on his way out the door. Promise me you won’t say a word until I get back.
In the end, though, I didn’t make that promise, did I? I was angry about him leaving, angry he might not make it back in time for my doctor’s appointment tomorrow, moved to next week because of the snow. He said he had to go, that we’d talk about everything when he got back.
But when will that be? Paul has been gone for far too long already. What if he’s hurt? What if Jax hurt him?
“There are cops from five counties crawling all over Balsam Bluff, looking for a man who’s considered armed and dangerous.”
There’s so much to latch on to here, but one word is ringing in my ears: armed. Jax owns a gun, which shouldn’t surprise me. This is North Carolina. Everybody owns a gun. But Paul is unarmed and Batty Jax has a gun.
Micah turns the bottle in a hand, scratching absently at the lettering with a thumbnail. “If Paul is there, if the cops see him and think he’s Jax, there’s no telling what will happen.”
Paul’s words echo through my head, just as surprising as when I heard them the first time.
Promise me you won’t tell Micah.
I grab on to Micah’s sleeve, the words tumbling out of me. “You have to find him, Micah. He left with his backpack and three days’ worth of supplies, but he should have been back by now. He—”
“I knew it.” Micah slams the beer bottle to the marble so hard foam shoots out the top. “I knew that idiot would be halfway to Balsam Bluff by the time I came up the hill. You’d think he’d learn, after looking down the end of Jax’s barrel as many times as he has, but Paul has always been such a goddamn martyr. One of these days this bleeding heart of his is going to get him killed.”
Just then, from the depths of the house, a door bangs open. Chet tilts his head, listening for the source of the noise, but I already know. I race to the railing and lean over the stairs to the lower level, right as the alarm pad chimes. A computerized voice fills the air: basement door open. It’s the only way in without a key, but only if you know the code.
There’s movement just out of sight in the downstairs hallway, the thump of something hitting the ground. And then, finally, a familiar slope of shoulder, a patch of filthy brown hair.
“Paul!”