giving them instructions and listing off names to track down as he screeches out of the parking garage. Nashville is sleeping, its neon signs calling to empty streets. We barely pass any other cars, but Sterling whips around all of them, reaching the highway with record speed. He doesn’t slow as he merges off the ramp, he just goes faster, still rattling off names to his friend.
“Who are those people?” I ask when he finally hangs up.
His hands grip the steering wheel, his gaze staying on the road ahead, but I catch the slight slide of his throat. “Potential enemies.”
“There are that many?” I ask flatly.
“I tend to leave an impression,” he says. “Some of them are friends.”
I shake free the cobwebs in my head. “They can’t be both.”
“I promise they can. Rivals are as often friends as enemies,” he says darkly, and I know he’s thinking about Cyrus.
Who else can’t we trust?
I don’t ask any more questions as we speed toward Windfall. Instead, I find myself praying to whoever might be listening as I count the green mile markers dotting the highway, each getting me closer to her. I have to believe that. I don’t think I’m capable of considering any other scenario. Dread consumes me when I spot the exit for Valmont, threatening to turn me inside out.
It’s the fastest drive of my life.
It’s the longest one, too.
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