Page 108 of Bombshell

Maybe Sterling is right about friends and enemies. Maybe sometimes the truth exists in paradox.

23

Adair

Every light at Windfall greets us as we pull to the open gate.

“Where the fuck is the security guard?” I ask.

Sterling studies the gatehouse for a moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before he floors the gas and shoots forward down the drive. “All of this feels wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just keep your eyes open,” he says as we pull into the front circle, “especially on your brother and sister.”

He bounds up the stairs two at a time, reaching the front door before I’ve reached the stone steps. Windfall looms over me like a spectral ghost peeking its head from my childhood closet. When I reach the entry, I walk into a full-blown confrontation. Sterling has Malcolm by the shirt collar, lifted off the ground.

“Do not fuck with me!” he shouts.

“Why would I do something with her? She’s ours,” Malcolm splutters, his face reddening from Sterling’s grip. Felix hovers nearby, seemingly with no intention of intervening.

“Stop,” I demand. Instantly, Sterling lowers Malcolm to his feet, dropping his hold without warning and leaving my brother to stumble forward. Ginny darts toward me, her eyes skittering wildly in her head, as she tugs her silk dressing gown together.

“What did you do with her?” she asks, jabbing a finger in my chest.

“For the last fucking time,” Sterling roars, but I hold up a hand.

“We are here to help you find her. Sterling can do that if you answer his questions.”

“How?” Ginny turns a scathing look on him.

“I don’t have time to explain it to you, but let’s say I’m trained,” he bites out. He looks past her, his eyes meeting mine. “In fact, I don’t know why we’re wasting time arguing with them at all.” He stalks off towards the stairs. “Which way is her room?”

“East wing,” I call, maneuvering around Ginny to follow him up the main staircase.

“Where are you going?” Malcolm says. “You think we haven’t looked there? The police are on their way.”

“Believe me, you haven’t looked like I will,” Sterling mutters, clearly not concerned over whether or not my brother hears him.

Behind us, Ginny is whispering frantically to her husband, but he’s busy glaring up at us. I look away, choosing to mimic Sterling. My foot catches on the thick carpeting and I lurch forward, Sterling catches me and helps me upright. “I know it’s hard, Lucky, but you have to give your brain enough blood to think. Focus everything on your surroundings,” he coaxes me. “Stop paying attention to that pit in your stomach or how hard your heart is beating. That’s not important. We need to think. We need to see. Do you understand?”

I bob my head, doing my best to take his advice. I lead him to her bedroom, and it takes every ounce of me not to crumple to the floor when I see her shoes by the bed.

“Is there anything off?” he asks as he paces around the room, stopping to check the windows.

I scan the room, looking for the obvious: mud on the carpet or a ransom note or signs of a struggle, I guess. “Everything looks normal.”

“We’re not looking for abnormality, really. Just anything that doesn’t quite add up.”

I look again, trying to ignore the way each item in the room twangs the strings of my heart. Her dolls. Her jacket hanging on a hook in her closet. Drawings and crayons on the table under the picture window. Her covers turned down. An imprint on her pillow from her head. It’s all there, but it’s so quiet and abandoned that the only thing I know is missing is her. Then something catches my eye.

“Her Buddy Bear is gone,” I say, pointing to the bed.

“Her what?” Sterling asks.

“It’s a stuffed bear that I gave her as a baby. She sleeps with it. Every night. She can’t sleep without it.” I clap a hand over my mouth. The bear’s gone. She’s gone.

My baby is gone.