Deadly Dreams - By Kylie Brant Page 0,33

pick him up, and you didn’t mention that you’d be back for him.” Her voice faltered. “Should I have called you first?”

His throat felt tight. It took effort to force an even tone. “No, that’s all right. Sounds like Kristin and I just got our wires crossed. How was his day?”

But he wasn’t really focused on the journal the woman showed him. She kept careful daily notes on all the children in her care. His mind was on her earlier words.

So Kristin was back. She hadn’t been home this morning. Hadn’t been answering her cell. No surprise there. He’d gotten Tucker up earlier than usual in order to get him to the babysitter on time. In turn, Debbie saw that he got to school each morning. He hadn’t seen this sort of behavior from his sister in over a year.

But he’d seen plenty of it before that.

He left after assuring Debbie once again that she’d done nothing wrong. And then drove home with a baseball-sized ball of lead sitting in his chest. He’d been to hell and back with Kristin, but those times were behind them.

He had the thought and tried the entire trip home to convince himself that it was true.

But the wave of relief that hit him when he pulled into his drive and saw Kristin’s slightly dilapidated red Mazda in the open garage called him a liar. She must have been dropped off at home, then taken it to pick up Tuck. The fact barely registered. His muscles tensed at the thought of another confrontation with his sister. Kristin’s journey on and off the wagon had been a long and arduous one. And trust was harder to rebuild each time it was broken.

They both had cause to know that.

He parked in the drive and, hearing Tucker in the backyard, headed in that direction. The gate in the six-foot fence he’d erected around the perimeter took a moment to open. He’d made sure the lock was Tucker proof. Sometimes it gave him a bit of trouble, too.

The picture that met his eyes when he walked through the gate had some of the tension easing from him. Utter normalcy. At least on the surface. Tuck was swinging, his face tipped skyward, a beatific smile on his face. Kristin had her arms folded across her chest as she watched him. It was chilly enough for a jacket. The child had a hoodie zipped up but Nate’s sister was wearing jeans and a tee. Her long hair, as dark as his own, hung loose to her shoulders.

Experience had taught him to play the scene low-key. “Hey.” He strolled up to his younger sibling.

“Hi.” Her glance slid by him.

“I just left Debbie’s. I didn’t know you were picking Tucker up.”

“I pick him up every afternoon.” The words were couched in defensiveness.

He could feel his muscles tighten again. “You do.” He gave a slow nod. “Thing is, you usually drop him off in the morning, too. You didn’t, so I didn’t know what to expect this afternoon.”

Her lips tightened. “Let it go, Nate. Just this once, let it go.”

He blew out a breath, wished for a beer. “Know what time I got home last night? Close to midnight.”

She looked at him then, her eyes wide and worried. “Midnight? I thought . . .” Biting her lip, her words trailed off.

“How long was he alone?” It took a great deal of care to make sure there was no censure in his tone.

“I figured you’d be home anytime. I never dreamed . . . Was he asleep?”

His gaze held hers. “What do you think?”

Kristin hugged herself tighter and returned to watching her son. “I would have asked if you’d been here.”

“He can’t be left alone, Kris. No five-year-old can, but Tucker especially. He needs constant supervision.”

“Do you think I don’t get that?” When the boy frowned and looked in their direction, Kristin smiled and waved at him. Then she lowered her voice. “I needed a break. Sometimes I just need time for myself. If that makes me weak, if that makes me unfit, then there you go.”

It was like feeling his way in a minefield. He was never certain which words would result in detonation. “Understood. He can be a handful at times. But there’s a list of trustworthy babysitters next to the phone. You could have called one . . .”

She laughed, an ugly, bitter sound that was so at odds with her youthful looks. “Not from Tucker. At least not only from him.

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