Facing It by Linda Winfree Page A

“Hello?”
    She stopped short, listening, and he turned, his impatience slithering into something darker at the look on her face. “Did you hear from her today? When?”
    He tossed out his hands and mouthed “What?” at her. She shook her head and held up a palm. Over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Beecham and Settles climbing into their car. He jerked a hand through his hair. “Cait, damn it—”
    “No, Tick and I are going out there now. We’ll call you. Yes, I’m sure. Let us go, okay?”
    “What is going on?” he demanded as she ended the call. She stepped toward him and touched his arm. Apprehension settled harder in his gut.
    “That was Deanne. She still has Lee.” The graceful line of Caitlin’s throat moved in a swallow. “Your mom never came and picked him up, and Deanne hasn’t heard from her since this morning. She’s called around and no one else has either.”
    “Shit.” He spun and headed for his truck at a near run. Dire possibilities pulsed in his head in a sickening slide show. “Goddammit.”
    “I’m driving.” Caitlin made a grab for his keys at the driver’s door. “I don’t think you need to.”
    He didn’t argue, but clenched the keys and jerked the door open with his other hand. “Get in.”
    She gave him one searching look and did so without further comment, sliding over to buckle her seat belt as he fired the engine. The normally twelve-minute drive took him eight, but they had to be some of the longest minutes of his life. He handled the truck like a patrol car, driving with both hands, taking the curves of the rural highway as tightly as he could at high speeds. Caitlin laid her hand on his thigh, the familiar touch a welcome, comforting weight.
    Beecham and Settles pulled into the long driveway mere moments after his truck slid to a stop behind his mother’s car. Twilight had fallen for sure now, but the security lights around the house illuminated the yard in the dimness.
    The house itself was dark and the side door stood partially open. Any hope he’d held flickered out. He stepped from the pickup, his stomach in knots, his lungs refusing to cooperate. Nausea trembled in his throat. Caitlin met him at the hood, catching his arm again.
    Beecham’s brakes whined as he parked next to Tick’s truck. Caitlin’s easy hold on his arm turned restraining. He started to shake her off, but she grasped tighter, forcing him to turn his attention to her. Loving concern glinted in her eyes. “Settles and I will check the house. Stay here with Beecham.”
    He glanced toward the house and tried to shake off her grip. “That’s my mother—”
    “Exactly. Which is why you’re staying here.” Her fingers dug into him, but her voice softened. “Let me do this for you.”
    He nodded and she looked beyond his shoulder. “Beech, keep him here until we come out.”
    She rummaged behind the seat of his truck for his flashlight then signaled to Settles and both women pulled gleaming Sig semi-automatics as they approached the house. They swept the outside first before meeting back up at the side door and slipping inside. Tick stared at his childhood home, a weird buzzing at his ears to match the way his pulse tingled under his skin. The beam of light bounced from window to window, upstairs and down, the interminable minutes stretching into an agonizing eternity. Beecham didn’t speak, something for which Tick was entirely grateful. All his concentration was focused on that house, on what Caitlin might find.
    Why the holy hell had he let her talk him into staying outside? He needed to be in there, needed to know for himself what—
    Caitlin appeared through the door, phone at her ear, Settles on her heels with the heavy MagLite in hand. His wife’s grim expression didn’t induce relaxation; instead he tensed further. A physical throb ran through his shoulders, neck and head as she approached.
    “Just hurry, Cookie.” Caitlin closed the phone and stopped before him, laying