I fixed my gaze at a point in the crowd—a child, maybe two or three years old. He had dark hair and chubby, sun-kissed cheeks, and he was staring, wide-eyed, at Saskia.

“Sass and I are fine,” I said, keeping my eyes focused on the child and tuning everything else out. As if to prove my point, Saskia docilely observed a butterfly flutter by. The child watched, delighted.

And then Saskia snapped her teeth and swallowed the butterfly in a single gulp.

The toddler threw back his head and howled.

Jude glanced at Free, then cleared his throat. “We shall speak of this no more.”

Quite pleased with herself, Saskia cast triumphant looks at Duchess and NATO and settled back by my side. I watched as a woman about Cady’s age bent to pick up the screaming toddler. Her arms curved around his sturdy little body, and he laid his chubby cheek against her chest. I ached, watching them. Not because I couldn’t remember my own mother. Not even for little Bella, lost in the woods.

I ached because I didn’t want to be held. Most of the time, I didn’t want to be touched at all.

It was a minute or more before Bales Bennett made his way through the crowd toward us, a youngish woman I didn’t recognize by his side. He introduced her as Angela Anthony, Bella’s mother. Dark smudges marred the skin under her gray eyes. She looked like a breeze could have blown her away, but the animal part of my brain said that Bella’s mother could kill every person here—every single one—if it meant bringing Bella home.

“Mrs. Anthony.” The sheriff intervened before she could say anything to us. “What are you doing here? You should be at the hotel. You need sleep.”

The reply was immediate and guttural. “I need my baby.”

I had no word for the shuddering emotion in her tone. Like gnawing hunger. Like a jagged cut. I couldn’t label the feeling, but I knew it, viscerally.

“Cadence Bennett.” The sheriff shifted his attention to Cady. “It’s been a while.”

“Brad.” My foster mother returned his greeting. “Or should I say Sheriff?”

“I appreciate your coming all this way.” The sheriff showed too much teeth for my liking as he spoke. “But the rangers have already been over the campsite.”

“Not with these dogs,” Bales interjected. “My daughter’s the best in the world at training rescue animals. The rangers have already indicated that they’ll welcome her help.”

Subtext wasn’t my forte, but I knew, in my gut, the importance of hierarchy and competition and strength.

Cady was joining this search—whether the sheriff liked it or not.

“We might find something.” Cady addressed those words equally to the sheriff and Bella’s mother. “We might not. But I’d like to try.”