by Stone, Kyla
The truth was, he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it. It was too terrible. Too awful.
The friend Noah had trusted and loved was a murderer. He had been a part of the massacre that had killed forty-seven people and nearly killed Milo.
Noah had believed Julian when he’d promised that he would diffuse the situation—instead, Julian had betrayed him and ordered the deaths of Liam Coleman and Bishop.
And not only that, a dark voice whispered in his mind. Julian was also Gavin Pike’s brother. Had he known what his brother had done? Could he have known about Pike? About Hannah?
His mind recoiled. Everything in him revolted. He felt the past dragging him down and struggled to resist it.
He buried Julian down deep with all the other ugly things he couldn’t bear to think about. He had to move forward, to bury the past and leave it there. It was the only way to survive.
He had to survive—for himself, for Milo and Hannah, for the town.
“Julian has paid for what he did,” Noah said in a choked voice. “He’s dead now. Bishop’s family is avenged. It’s over. We can all move on. It’s best for everyone if we move on.”
“It’s not over.” Hannah frowned, a line appearing between her brows. “Julian told Bishop that Rosamond knew. That she approved of Julian releasing those monsters to create mayhem. She played a part in the massacre.”
Hannah’s words hung in the air between them like a threat.
This was the fear he couldn’t bear to face. The unspoken whisper that haunted his waking hours, that tormented his dreams.
Noah shook his head. “Bishop was mistaken. Julian was delirious, out of his mind. He just wanted someone to blame. He acted alone. I know Rosamond. She’s a good person. I know her.”
“Like you knew Julian?”
He balked. “That’s not fair.”
“Rosamond is Gavin Pike’s mother.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Her eyes narrowed. “A mother has two angry, violent sons. Where do you think that violence comes from?”
“I don’t believe that.”
“A mother knows,” Hannah said quietly. “How can she not?”
Noah shook his head wildly. She was wrong. Hannah was wrong. Rosamond was like a mother to him—a good mother. She cared about him, about this town. She loved Milo like her own grandson.
She’d welcomed him into her home, her family when his own parents couldn’t have been bothered. To let those ugly doubts even enter his head was a betrayal. He didn’t want to betray her. He couldn’t. “I can’t believe that.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“I need you to trust me, Hannah—”
“Wait.” Hannah pushed off from the porch railing. She shielded her eyes with her hand and scanned the yard. “Where is Milo?”
“He was right here. He must be in the back.” Noah turned and looked. “Milo!”
No answer.
Noah turned in a slow circle. Took in the trees, the houses, the empty road. The front yard was a mess of crisscrossing footprints. Broken-off pine boughs stuck up everywhere like little Christmas trees.
The snowman was finished. Milo had stuck in twigs for the arms, stones for the eyes, nose, and mouth, and wrapped his own scarf around the snowman’s neck. It flapped forlornly in the breeze.
“Milo!” His voice echoed across the frozen lake behind the house. “Milo!”
There was no answer.
A frisson of fear lanced through him. “Check inside!”
Hannah was already heading toward the front door.
Noah jogged around the house, his boots sinking in the melting snow, his heart jackhammering as he called his son’s name again and again.
By the time he’d circled around to the front, Hannah was back on the porch. She carried the baby wrapped in a thick blanket. She bit her bottom lip. “He’s not inside. Noah, where is he?”
“I’ll check the neighboring houses.”
“I’ll call Liam on the radio,” Hannah said. “He and Ghost can help search. Ghost will find him.”
Resentment flashed through him at the thought of asking Liam Coleman for help, but he said nothing. Noah started toward the driveway, then hesitated. He glanced back at his wife. “Be careful.”
She nodded. She didn’t ask why.
The fear threatened to strangle him. Adrenaline and panic surged through his veins. If someone had hurt Milo. If someone had done anything to his son…
Milo wasn’t here. He felt it.
His son was gone.
53
Noah
Day Thirty-Six
Noah ran down the driveway. He shouted Milo’s name. The cold air stung his throat and nostrils. Crystalized clouds puffed from his lips with each ragged breath.
He knocked on every door. None of the neighbors had seen Milo. No one had heard or seen a thing.
His panic grew. Noah finished one cul-de-sac and moved to the next. Time slowed. Every minute felt like an hour.
He didn’t hesitate when he reached the superintendent’s house. Maybe he should have, but he didn’t. He couldn’t think about anything but Milo’s safety.
He jogged up the expansive stone steps and banged on the glass-plated front door. He glimpsed movement through the glass. Two figures sat at the huge island in the kitchen.
Noah seized the door handle, twisted, and pushed it open. The door opened easily. It was unlocked. He stepped inside.
He took in the familiar lavish furnishings, the Brazilian wood floors, ornate vaulted ceilings, and crystal chandeliers.
“Hello, Chief Sheridan,” Rosamond Sinclair said from across the great room.
Relief lurched through him. “Milo.”
Milo waved. “Hey, Dad. Look what we’re doing!”
Milo sat next to Rosamond in the kitchen, who stood behind the island. A mixing bowl sat on the marble surface, a large gleaming kitchen knife beside it.
The island was cluttered with glass jars of flour and sugar, measuring spoons, and a baking tray lined with small mounds of dough. Flour was scattered over the counter and smudged Milo’s flushed cheeks.
“What are you doing here?” Noah struggled to keep his voice even. His heart still thumped against the cage of his ribs like an animal frantic to escape. “You know you aren’t supposed to leave the yard.”
Milo lowered his eyes and nibbled his bottom lip, just like Hannah. “Sorry, Dad. I was looking for more ‘trees’ and walked too far. Nana Rosamond found me. She said she had a surprise.”
He raised a gooey ball of cookie dough and squished it between his fingers. “And look! Cookies with peanut butter chips!”
“That’s great, buddy. It’s time to go home now.”
“That would be such a shame,” Rosamond said brightly. “We’re just getting started.”
Her voice was artificially cheery. A red-lipped smile plastered across her face. It was disconcerting. Shouldn’t she be grieving? Shouldn’t she be a sobbing mess?
Noah had been, after Hannah.
“Yeah, Dad. We’ve gotta finish first. We just got the first batch in the oven.”
Noah’s mouth was dry. It was hard to swallow. “Your mother wants you home.”
Rosamond’s smile remained fixed. “I’m sure Hannah understands how much children need their nanas, right Milo?”
“Right,” Milo chirped.
“Children need their parents, too. Don’t they, Noah? It is so horrible when a child loses a parent. Truly, simply heartbreaking.”
“Yes,” Noah said.
Rosamond’s eyes never left his face. She plucked a spoonful of cookie dough onto the baking tray and molded it into a perfectly round ball. “But when a parent loses a child. Oh, that is a pain that cannot be measured. It is an unfathomable loss.”
“I loved Julian, too, Rosamond,” Noah said, his throat thick. “I—”
“I have never felt a pain like it,” Rosamond continued as i
f she hadn’t heard him. “To lose two children…your only progeny…your hope, your future.”
Milo glanced from Rosamond to Noah, a small frown creasing his face. The adults were talking about things he didn’t understand.
He didn’t know Julian was dead. Noah hadn’t been able to bring himself to say the words aloud. Milo didn’t know about Gavin Pike or any of the rest of it.
Rosamond steepled her fingers on the counter. “I don’t think a mother would ever get over that, do you? Or a father?”
“I—I’m sure they wouldn’t.”
“I’m glad we agree. I don’t think so, either.”
Noah swallowed. He’d expected tears. He’d even expected rage. But this—this rigidity, this dangerous calm—it discomfited him more than anything else.
“I’m sorry, Rosamond. If there’s anything we can do for you—”
“I’m sure Hannah wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t, either. I hope you never see that day, Noah. I truly don’t.”
For a moment, Noah couldn’t speak. His legs felt weak. He looked at Rosamond and tried desperately not to see Gavin Pike. He tried not to hear Bishop’s accusations ringing in his ears.
He couldn’t explain the fear sinking claws into his mind. He couldn’t shake the dread infiltrating every fiber of his being.
“Accidents happen, Rosamond,” he said. “Unfortunate events. It’s no one’s fault—”
“There’s no such thing as an accident,” Rosamond said. Her voice was ice. It sent shivers running up and down Noah’s spine. “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That’s physics, isn’t it, Milo?”
Milo completed a row of doughballs. He swiped his finger over the spoon and stuck it in his mouth. “Newton’s law.”
“His third law, to be exact.”
Normally, Noah didn’t allow Milo to eat raw cookie dough. Right now, salmonella was the least of his worries. It was suddenly too hot in the house. He was sweating bullets beneath his coat. “Milo, it’s time to go.”
“Oh, not quite yet.” Rosamond put her arm around Milo’s shoulder and squeezed him to her side. Her other hand rested next to the butcher knife. Her red manicured fingernails glistened. “Your dad and I aren’t quite finished yet.”
“Dad?” Milo glanced at Noah, confused.
The vise around Noah’s chest tightened. “It’s okay, buddy. Have another bite of cookie dough if you want.”
“When certain things happen, leaders are forced to act,” Rosamond said, each word slow and precise. “Mothers are forced to act. It is not something we would wish or even want. But there are consequences.”
Was she referring to Liam Coleman killing Gavin? Or Julian’s death? Could she possibly suspect Hannah? Or was it something worse, something he couldn’t begin to contemplate?
Milo tried to pull away, but her hand tightened around his shoulder. “It is the natural order of things. There must be control. There must be order. Otherwise, the world is chaos.”
Noah cared for this woman. Loved her, even. He’d been loyal to her since the beginning.
He’d never once been afraid of her. Until now.
“I would have done anything for my children.” Her voice remained serene but with an edge, the soft sound of distant thunder before the storm, a portend of terrible things to come. “Anything. The question is, will you?”
“Yes,” he croaked. “Yes.”
Finally, she released Milo.
Relief flared through him. Noah sank to his knees. Milo slid off the stool and scurried to Noah.
He wrapped his arms around his son, felt his little heart beating against his chest, the warmth of him, the soft tickle of his hair beneath his chin.
Noah took in his first full breath since he’d entered Rosamond’s house. He felt like he’d just received a reprieve that he didn’t completely understand. He already knew that he would not tell Hannah about this. He wouldn’t tell anyone.
“What would you do for your child, Noah?” Rosamond asked.
He knew the answer to that question. So did she. He didn’t need to speak the words aloud. “Tell me what you need me to do.”
Rosamond stood facing him. Her blonde hair glossy beneath the bright kitchen lights. Her cashmere sweater and tan slacks impeccable. Not a speck of flour anywhere on her person.
“It’s very simple, Noah,” she said. “It couldn’t be more simple. All you have to do is nothing.”
54
Hannah
Day Thirty-Eight
A scream woke Hannah in the middle of the night.
Hannah jolted awake. She jerked to a sitting position, the blankets snarled across her legs, her good hand already reaching beneath her pillow for her loaded .45. She flicked the safety to off.
It was dark. Moonlight streamed through the guest bedroom windows.
Another scream. The distant sound of something breaking. It was coming from outside.
From the living room, Ghost started up his great booming bark.
Her heart pumping, she slipped her feet into her boots sitting beside the bed but didn’t bother to lace them. She was already dressed since she slept in her clothes.
She hadn’t been able to shake the need to always be ready, no matter what.
Quickly, she checked on Charlotte, who was tucked into a rectangle of pillows in the center of the bed beside her. She still slept soundly, one little arm flung across her face, her tiny rosebud mouth open.
Her next thought was for Milo. She needed to make sure he was safe.
Hannah stood, pistol in both hands, the butt nestled against her bad hand, and moved toward the bedroom door.
The door burst open before she reached it.
Adrenaline spiked through her veins. Instinctively, she raised the muzzle to chest height, finger twitching just shy of the trigger guard.
In the opened doorway, Noah skidded to a halt. With a startled curse, he threw his hands up. “Hannah! Put the gun down! It’s me!”
She lowered the gun, didn’t apologize. He was the one who’d barged in without announcing himself.
She was starting to think like Liam, she realized grimly. It wasn’t a bad thing.
“Where’s Milo?” she asked over Ghost’s barking.
Noah was dressed in gray sweatpants and a Detroit Tigers sweatshirt. He was still in his socks. His hair was rumpled. He held his service weapon in his right hand. “He’s fine. I told him to stay in his bed, that we’d check things out, and I’d come back and tuck him in as soon as it was safe.”
She nodded tersely and headed for the doorway. Noah moved out of the way and followed her down the hall.
“You should stay inside,” Noah said. “I’ll check it out.”
“I’m fine. I can handle myself.”
“I’m sure you can, but—”
Hannah moved across the shadowed living room. No lights were on, but the moonlight was bright, casting everything in a pale white glow.
Ghost paced before the front door, his hackles raised, barking a thunderous warning to anyone who would dare to infiltrate his domain. He went to her, paused his barking just long enough to press his muzzle against her thigh in greeting, then returned to his guard duty.
She pushed the curtain aside and peered out the front window. Across the street, it was clear. She turned her head to look to the east.
A dozen snowmobiles, Jeeps, and trucks blockaded the road. At least three dozen men in black boots and gray camo milled about the street and the yards of several houses. They held wicked-looking rifles, mostly pointed down but not all of them.
Fear closed her throat. “Noah. What’s happening? Are we being attacked?”
Noah looked out the window. He stiffened. “No. It’s not that. Those are the militia. Our guys. We need to stay inside. That’s all. We’ll be safe in here.”
She shot him a confused look. She let the curtain drop and went for the front door.
“Hannah—”
“The militia are the good guys.
That’s what you keep saying. So what’s the problem? Are you telling me that I should be afraid of them?”
Noah swallowed. “No. Not you. You’re safe.”
She hated that she didn’t trust him completely. She hated that she wished Liam were here instead. It made her feel guilty. It was still the truth.
The house felt emptier without Liam here.
She felt his absence like a hole in her heart. How quickly he had become a critical part of her life, as precious to her as family.
She pushed those thoughts away and opened the front door. The cold blasted her. She wasn’t wearing her coat. She stepped outside onto the front porch, where she could get a better vantage point. She held the .45 low at her side.
Ghost surged onto the porch with a fierce growl.
“Ghost, stay here,” she said.
His body strained, every muscle quivering, but he didn’t leave her side. His job was to guard his flock—Hannah, Milo, Charlotte—and his flock was here in the house.
She wanted to bury her hand in his fur for comfort, to steady herself, but she needed both hands on her gun. He leaned against her side. She leaned back.
“Can you stop barking, boy? We don’t want to draw undue attention.”
Ghost woofed his adamant disagreement, but he obeyed. His booming barks lowered to growls that vibrated through his whole body.
A hundred yards to her right, shadows moved in the moonlight. Hannah watched in growing dread as two militia dragged a man and a woman out of the house. Two children huddled on the lawn, crying.
People were sitting in the beds of the trucks. Hunched and huddled against each other. Bundles of suitcases, duffle bags, and laundry baskets were stacked next to them. Several militia members loosely ringed the trucks, weapons in hand, ensuring the people remained inside.
Further down the street on the other side, another family was dragged from their beds and hauled outside. Three men pointed rifles at them.
