you?â
âNever had much to say.â
âOkay, well, I am going to find him and make sure he is arrested. No one is going to take away my child, do you understand that?â
Mick found he was holding his breath at the sheer ludicrous magnificence of what heâd just heard. It tickled something inside him, whirling around like a feather. âYes, I do.â
âGood. Please donât tell me Iâm silly or crazy for trying it and most of all, donât tell me to leave it to the police.â
âOkay.â
âAnyway, I am going to the Pick and Pack to find out who that person was who bought the bag full of snack cakes because it seems like that might be a lead.â
âYou figure theyâll tell you?â
âI have a source.â
Her chin was up, mouth in a determined line that made her look all of about eighteen. He hid a smile. âFair enough. Iâll try not to cramp your style by following too close.â
âYouâre not going to try to talk me out of it, or order me to go home?â
âNo, maâam. Not my place, and you told me bossing wasnât polite.â
âWell, it isnât.â She sighed, brushing a speck of something off the dashboard. âLook. Iâm sort of a direct type, so Iâm just going to say it. I know you feel guilty about my sisterâs murder. You blame yourself. I did, too, for a while, and maybe part of me still does judging by the way I blasted you at Aunt Vivâs, but Tucker is the one who killed her. You donât need to trail around as my personal bodyguard. This isnât your responsibility anymore.â
He shifted a fraction on the seat. âI appreciate that.â
âAnd Iâd really rather that you didnât. Iâve got police all over the place, and they donât seem to like you or Mr. Donaldson very much.â She took a breath. âYou make things harder for me.â
âCanât leave.â
She cocked her head, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. âWhy not?â
Mick looked away at the ribbons of cloud floating across the moon. âI used to have this sense, back in Iraq, a sort of twinge that started up in my gut. Sometimes it was as if I could feel the bad guys coming.â He slid his gaze back to her. âGot that feeling now. Canât walk away.â
âI donât want to be cruel, but your sixth sense didnât kick in about Tucker.â
He wondered if she knew that it was a knife he had twisted deep in his own gut many times over. A breeze toyed with the collar of her jacket.
âYouâre going to follow me anyway, arenât you?â
He nodded.
âFine. Iâm to going to get some bags of flour while Iâm at the Pick and Pack,â she said over her shoulder as she got out of the car. âTheyâve got a sale, and I think best when I bake bread, and if Iâm going to find Tucker before he finds me, Iâm going to need to do a lot of thinking.â
Her small silhouette looked slight against the darkness. In a moment, sheâd revved the motor and taken off. As he followed, he tried to understand Keeley Stevens. Could the woman think she would be able to find Tucker and have him arrested all by herself with no skills, no training, nothing but a passion to succeed? He smiled in the darkness and thought of his mother. She approached every situation with confidence, never imagining that failure was an option. His father still had the crooked pots from her ceramics phase.
He recalled the day the dog had torn apart Cowboy Pete, his favorite toy. His mother had gamely rounded up a sewing kit, and though sheâd never put thread to needle, she reconstructed Cowboy Peteâs body. His missing eye was another matter, solved when sheâd found a bead from one of her necklaces and glued it in the hapless cowboyâs empty socket. Cowboy Pete had never quite looked the same. Funny how Mick
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