Page 80 of Nowhere Good

Claire considered it, but ultimately shook her head. “I won’t leave my place when we get back. I don’t want my family thinking I talked to you or the cops at all. Like I said before, worst thing I can do is start acting different. As long as they don’t find out I met with you today, they won’t get mad at me.”

“And if they do get ‘mad at you’? What are you afraid will happen?”

She bit her lip. “It’s just not something I wanna deal with.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have to be afraid of your own family. Or anyone, for that matter. You’re allowed to leave town for a few days.”

Her gaze lowered. “I know.”

But she added nothing else. What more could he do? He couldn’t force some sort of preemptive witness protection on her. Even if a huge part of him really wished he could.

After packing up his things, Seth stood up, and Claire did too. They both lingered next to the table. At the smell of something savory frying in the kitchen, Seth’s stomach growled against his will. He hadn’t eaten all morning, which was a rookie mistake. He was no good to anyone if his head wasn’t working right, but it was always easy to lose time on a case like this.

“I’m gonna use the washroom real quick,” Claire said. She still wore that anxious look, but the conversation seemed to loosen some of the tension in her shoulders.

“Hold on,” Seth said, “I’m gonna get us some food for the road. What can I get you?”

Claire hesitated. “Um… think they make pancakes to-go?”

“I bet they do,” he said as he fished his wallet out.

“Thank you,” Claire peeped. “I’ll be right back.”

Without thinking, he gently touched the small of her back. “Yeah, I’ll meet you outside.”

She scurried off, and he tried not to think about why the hell he did that—and why it felt so natural. But he owed her a lot more than pancakes.

Claire was taking a while. Alone outside, Seth leaned against the warm hood of the car and took a bite of his egg sandwich as he scrolled through his phone. Claire’s pancakes-to-go were in a Styrofoam container on his car beside him, and he hoped she was okay in there.

He angled his screen to see through the glaring sunlight. The name Trevor Sloane had yielded too many results on Google, so he’d narrowed down the search to Trevor Sloane, Missouri, then Trevor Sloane, northeast Missouri.

That got him a hit.

There was a privatized mental health facility near the border of Illinois, about an hour east of here. Belleville.

Under the staff page, he found the hit.

Trevor Sloane – Gardener

A long-time Belleville resident himself, Trevor tends to the gardens around the facility, creating beautiful displays that relax both patients and visitors alike.

Below was a photo of a skinny man in a light blue jumpsuit standing next to a rose bush. He had a clean-shaven face and grinned tightly at the camera. The brows, the eyes. They did look like the sketch.

Finally, Claire came out of the restaurant and trotted over to him. Her nose was cherry-red, and he recognized the pink hue rimming her eyes. It was the same way she’d looked last night.

“Sorry,” she said. “Had a bit of a panic attack, then the lady inside was chatting with me… said I looked like someone who used to work there.”

He stood up straight. “You all right?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He didn’t believe that. God, he wished she’d just let him park her in a hotel away from Fairview. Instead, he gestured to the to-go box with his elbow. “They gave you a knife and fork and syrup on the side.”

“Thank you, that’s sweet…” Claire tentatively dug into the box. The sugary smell lifted into the air. Before she started eating, she added, “I never got to say I’m sorry about last night, by the way. For the way I acted…”

“Don’t worry about that.” Seth showed her his phone. “Is this him?”

She frowned at the screen. “Yeah, that’s Trevor. Wow, he looks almost the same. This is where he’s been all these years? Belleville? I’ve never heard of it.”