she locked and bolted the door before settling back in her sleeping bag. Tomorrow, she’d see one of her siblings face-to-face for the first time in a decade. She’d offer whatever help she could to Heather since her big sister had proved braver than her to testify against a local menace. If Covington went to jail, maybe her nightmares would end. But as she laid her head on the pillow, Amy didn’t think about vindication or revenge, or even her family. Instead, the image that settled into her tired brain was the moment in the woods when Sam Reyes had stood between her and everything scary. The moment when he’d touched her with shocking intimacy that had stirred long-forgotten pleasure.
After the fear and dread of the nightmare, she didn’t bother to fight thoughts of Sam. Reality would set in soon enough that he was off-limits to her now.
But not in her dreams.
“DOESN’T IT MAKE you even a little bit nervous to watch the baby in a house full of foster kids?” Bailey chewed a fingernail as she stared up at the white clapboard Colonial where she and Megan had been hired to watch Aiden Reyes for a few hours after school.
A bank of wire cages sat in the shade of a side porch that had been added on to the original house. A colorful patchwork quilt shaded the cages, preventing her from seeing what was inside. A heap of bicycles in a rainbow of colors lay under a hickory tree in the front yard.
The sheriff had told them to wait for him out front and he would introduce them to his foster mother, Lorelei Hasting.
“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Megan snapped across the roof of the Volvo. She bent down and pulled a stack of textbooks from the car so they could study in their downtime. “You remember I’m adopted, right? You say ‘foster kids’ like it’s a synonym for delinquents.”
The knot in Bailey’s stomach tightened. The last thing she wanted was to alienate her last friend in the world. A girl she really admired.
“I’m sorry.” And she was. “I just remember that some troubled kids lived here at different times, right? That Damon dude, who robbed the pizza shop?”
The story had been in the news. The boy had been kicked out of their high school afterward, and Bailey hadn’t seen him since.
Megan slammed the car door and came around the vehicle to stare up at the house with her.
“In all fairness, my dad brought him up this morning over breakfast, too.” Meg shook her head, a strand of newly purple hair brushing her cheek. “And I’m going to tell you what I told him. That was an isolated incident. And perfectly traditional homes raise kids who are just as likely to be bad apples. Witness J. D. Covington.”
“Right. Agreed.” She understood to a far better degree how much of a bad seed J.D. was since he’d been the one to leave bruises on her throughout their relationship. But Megan knew only that J.D. had helped his father try to kidnap Meg and her music teacher, Heather Finley, a few weeks ago. Which was plenty bad enough. With any luck, J.D.’s role in the kidnapping attempt would send him to jail, where she wouldn’t have to worry about him.
“Speaking of J.D., did you hear his lawyer asked for another bail hearing?” Megan passed half the stack of textbooks to her while they waited for Sheriff Reyes.
“He won’t get it, will he?” Bailey feared for Megan as much as for herself.
“I don’t know. The cops have been trying to dig up more evidence against both J.D. and his dad, but my father said they’re having a hard time. That’s why Sheriff Reyes came to the school last week, remember?” Meg pointed to the car slowing down a few hundred yards away. “I think he’s here now. We can ask him.”
She followed her friend’s gaze to the black pickup pulling into the driveway.
“How can he find more evidence when there haven’t been any other kidnappings?” Bailey muttered, her nerves eating her from the inside out. She hadn’t eaten lunch today because she didn’t want her stomach to launch a full-out panicked protest when she talked with the sheriff. Even so, the stress of seeing him mixed with her guilt over not coming forward about J.D. combined to send a shooting pain through her gut.
“J.D. helped his father find girls online, hacking into their accounts. The police call it... I forget the charge. Something like accessory to cyberstalking?” Megan shrugged and pulled Bailey forward toward the sheriff. “We should ask around to see if anyone else has been harassed online.”
“I can do that.” Latching on to the idea, Bailey promised herself then and there that if anyone in their school had been hassled online, she would find out about it. “We’ll ask everyone we know. And we’ll keep J.D. in jail.”
“He’s not in a real jail, though,” Megan answered under her breath as they neared the sheriff. “He’s underage, so he went to juvie.”
“Don’t ask him about J.D.,” Bailey asked softly, hoping Meg heard her. She didn’t want to draw attention to her interest in the case and what happened to her ex-boyfriend. “Not our first day on the job, okay?”
“Hello, Sheriff,” Megan said brightly as their new employer stepped down from his truck.
Bailey had seen her give a quick nod, though, so she knew Meg had heard her. Agreed not to say anything.
Thank you, God.
Her stomach stopped roiling a little, especially as she looked into the truck where a bright blue blanket squirmed. She was only too glad to focus on an adorable baby for a few hours and not worry about secrets and abuse.
Nearby, a screen door slammed. Bailey glanced up to see an older woman in worn jeans and a bright sweater wave to them from the porch. She’d met Mrs. Hasting at the pizza shop she owned with her husband, a guy who sat on the town council with Meg’s father and—before she was jailed—Bailey’s mom.
Her mother had called Mrs. Hasting “unkempt,” a snide assessment delivered with her mother’s trademark Botox frown—a stiff glare that only made her look ridiculous. But the sheriff’s foster mom was kind of like that rainbow pile of bikes—untidy in the way that made you want to smile. Even now, the woman was grinning, her face full of lively wrinkles that suggested she was no stranger to happiness.
“Hello!” She hurried up the path toward the driveway, dark curls bouncing out of a headband. “Samuel Reyes, you’re taking far too long unloading my grandson.” She edged the sheriff aside and clambered into his truck to work the belts and buckles of the baby’s car seat. “I hope you warned these nice girls they might have to fight me to hold him.” Pausing from her work, she leaned back out of the truck cab to wink at Meg and Bailey. “Not really, girls. I will share.”
“Mom, this is Bailey McCord and Megan Bryer. Girls, my mother, Mrs. Hasting.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Bailey tried not to cringe at the introduction. Lately, people in town tended to do a double take when they heard the McCord name.
“Of course.” Mrs. Hasting carefully handed Aiden out to the sheriff while she climbed back out of the truck. “The McCords are two double cheeses and the Bryers are a single pepperoni family. Running the pizza shop, I can tell you almost everyone’s usual order. Come on in, girls, and I’ll get you settled.”
Doing as they were told, Bailey noticed the imposing sheriff fell in line, too, making him seem a little less scary. He tucked his aviator shades in his shirt pocket as he followed them toward the door.
“She’ll slow down for a breath soon—don’t worry,” he told them quietly, brushing a knuckle over his son’s cheek with a tenderness that melted her heart.
Seeing that made her regret her words about foster kids all the more. The sheriff had grown up here, and he’d obviously turned out to be a good guy.
They bypassed the front door to walk up the steps