Page 93 of Sterling Clay

Stone is still standing where he took the call from Perry. “You aren’t going anywhere. I know it’s hard to sit still, and you feel cooped up, but Mavis needs you here.” Stone points to the floor. “If that guy comes back—”

“What guy?” Vale asks, her head lifting and swinging in my direction.

“Or if she calls your phone,” Stone continues, ignoring Vale. “I can coach you through how to help her give us information.”

The implication is clear. If Mavis is in trouble, Stone knows we need to work fast to get any info we can from her, to help her.

“What guy?” Vale asks again and I realize my family isn’t up to speed on everything. Although many of them know about the house fire and Wesley being on the run, they don’t know about last night’s situation or my suspicions that Mavis’s past might be catching up to her in a different manner.

Stone knows the details about Mavis not being Dutton’s biological mother. The detail felt too important not to share, despite betraying Mavis’s trust. He also knows Mavis’s history. Her motorcycle club upbringing in Florida. She hasn’t told me much. Not a name. Not a location. But her dad was still labeled as a favorite in her phone, and I told Stone about the call I made.

Mr. Grant was just as concerned as I was about his missing daughter and grandson.

Stone told me the less I knew about her past lifestyle, the better, although I suspect he knows a few additional details as he was in contact with Mavis after the house fire and with Wesley’s disappearance.

However, my only concern is getting Mavis and Dutton back.

Come on, butterfly. Send me a sign.

Chapter 33

[Clay]

Nearing the twenty-four hour mark since the discovery of missing persons, I’m lying awake on my bed, staring at the dark ceiling. Nearly one full day since I’ve seen Mavis and Dutton, and I’m coming out of my skin.

I’d wallow in sadness if I wasn’t so angry. Angry that they are gone. Angry that I’m certain someone took them. Angry that it isn’t Wesley which means I have no idea who it is, other than the possibility of some mysterious man peeping through my window two nights ago.

I’ve failed Mavis. Accepting that failure, though, means I’ve given up and I’m not giving up.

She’s out there somewhere with Dutton, and until they are safely returned to me, I won’t rest.

I’ve never wished daylight to appear so quickly as I have lying on my bed, waiting for the seconds to tick by.

Unfortunately, the new day is just as gloomy as yesterday. Snow is lightly falling again this morning. The weather is cold, although I don’t think I feel the temperature. At the moment, I’m numb. Frozen with fear.

At first light, a crew has been assembled to start searching the woods closest to where the car skidded off the road. If a second set of tracks had been apparent in the gravel shoulder, it was covered by Perry’s tow truck, through no fault of his, when his truck pulled up and then backed into the ditch to pull Mavis’s car out.

Mavis and Dutton won’t have set off on foot without being coerced. Still, Stone thinks a group should scope out the closest woods. He doesn’t let me go.

And Mavis and Dutton could be anywhere, and nowhere near Sterling Falls by now, if someone picked them up. Someone I don’t have a clue to recognize.

I’m kicking myself once more that I don’t have a better description of the man who stood at the window. In my head, he keeps merging with the dick in the Walmart aisle but that doesn’t seem right or fair. Not that a stranger insulting Dutton deserves fairness, but I don’t want an innocent man apprehended for a crime he didn’t commit.

Still . . . I can’t quell the niggling sensation that the two men might be the same person.

Roughly an hour later, the rest of my family convenes at my house again. While Sebastian and Ford wanted to be part of the search crew, Stone asked them to come here instead. Which I’m assuming is for moral support, but I’m starting to feel suffocated by the concern of my family.

Knox is with the fire department, volunteering his time, while Stone is manning the situation from my kitchen table instead of his office.

And while all this is happening, I’m hiding in the long hallway, in the place opposite where a stranger stood the other night, staring outside. Eventually, I press my forehead to the glass and close my eyes a second. I breathe in the emptiness. The silence without Mavis and Dutton filling my home. The loss of Mavis and Dutton will crush me. There is no simple way to describe the pain.

Like a shattered piece of pottery, the pieces of me will be unrepairable.

The sensation is something I’ve always feared. Watching my father lose the love of his life, then drown himself in bottle after bottle, I never wanted to know love like he felt because I didn’t want to know such heartbreaking loss. It didn’t stop me from wanting to help people. To save them. I just never wanted to feel saved myself, for fear the rescue would end.

As I open my eyes, a figure is walking up my drive. A woman wearing a coat I don’t recognize, carrying a child. A child with a blanket wrapped over him.

“Butterfly,” I whisper, pulling my head back from the window for a clearer view.