off his shoes before going to check. Tucker was a light sleeper. And Nate wasn’t up to a battle with him tonight.
His gut tightened when he stepped into the kitchen. Found it empty. Moving swiftly through the house, he discovered no one watching TV. Or stretched out on the couch asleep.
His eyes squeezed shut for a moment and his fists clenched. As hard as it was to believe Kristin would leave Tucker home alone at night—again—he was going to have to face that she had.
And then he was going to have to call the lawyer tomorrow and put plans in motion that he’d hoped for far too long that he could avoid.
Nate went to Tucker’s room, listened outside it before easing open the door. What he saw had ice chasing over his skin. Panic sprinting up his spine.
Tucker’s bed was neatly made. And empty.
In disbelief, he strode in, yanked open the closet door. Back when Tucker had been fascinated by Batman, he’d snuck out of bed to sleep in his closet a couple times. Had insisted stubbornly that it was his bat cave.
But the closet was empty, too.
A curse on his lips, he strode out of the room and down the hall. Soundlessly entered his sister’s bedroom and flipped on the light.
Dresser drawers had been hastily opened and not quite closed. A quick look in her closet showed an empty space where her duffel bag should be.
Nate was compelled to recheck Tucker’s room, like the boy might have materialized in the last minute.
He realized then that the bed had never been slept in. Which meant the two of them had left before Tucker’s bedtime.
Ah shit. A wave of bleak disappointment swamped him then. He sagged against the doorjamb. Scrubbed his face with his hands. At eight o’clock, he and Risa had still been at the station. Something Kristin would have counted on, since he hadn’t been home much the last several days.
He wheeled around and headed to the kitchen in the forlorn hope that she’d left a note. Was unsurprised to discover none. If Kristin had wanted to tell him where she was going, she could have called him at any time.
She hadn’t. Because she didn’t want him to know. Just the opposite.
A surge of anger had him slamming his fist against the counter. Nate forced himself to think logically. Many of their things had been left in their rooms but that meant nothing. Kristin tended to think in terms of packing light and moving swiftly. It didn’t necessarily mean she planned on coming back.
And at the moment, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
He pulled the phone out of his pocket and without much hope punched in her number. It went immediately to voice mail.
He considered his options. Found them depressingly limited. They weren’t considered missing persons. Kristin had a legal right to take her son wherever she wanted. She just had damn little money and seemingly less sense, not to mention a smoldering resentment of her brother that had its roots in their childhood. She still had full custody over Tucker, because Nate had wanted to believe that her months-long sobriety meant that she’d finally changed. He’d thought having them live with him would give him a chance to make sure while keeping Tuck safe. Hell, maybe he’d just wanted to believe it.
And if he’d dragged her through a custody hearing months ago, that wouldn’t have changed a damn thing. She’d still be gone right now. And so would Tucker.
So he did the only thing he could do. Crossing to the desk in the kitchen, he rooted around in a drawer until he found the list of contacts he kept. Kristin’s contacts. Her friends. Their numbers and addresses. He’d shamelessly culled them from her phone the first week she’d moved in with him and Tucker. Because despite their relationship—or because of it—he was a cop first. And maybe he’d known he was going to need every tool he could get his hands on.
Pulling out a chair from the kitchen table, he sank into it and dialed the first number on the list. He didn’t care whom he woke up. One of them would know something about where she had headed with his nephew. And they’d damn well share that information with him.
It was hardly surprising that Risa would dream that night. But the subconscious images were a jumble of faces and events from the last several days and made little sense. A burning man standing