“Oh, yeah. Meth or maybe opioids,” Marshall said, then fell silent, the soft tap of his fingers on the keys setting a rhythm. I had a thousand questions, but I kept quiet so he could check in with Gabrielle and run some searches. His cop friend had passed along a list of her “known associates” with the arrest record, and he was working those leads. I just drove.

When we got back to my house, I pulled boldly up into the driveway. Lexie was a lurker, but she would not be here. Given her mother’s ultimatum, watching me was a risk they didn’t have to take. I would bring Trey tomorrow or I would never again see Robert. Either way they won.

We’d beaten Trey home, but probably not by much. I needed to go inside, and yet I stayed in my seat. Marshall stayed in his, too, perhaps sensing my hesitation.

I said, “I want to apologize. For what happened in Gadsden. I know I said I could keep in character, and you didn’t want to give the Wilkersons our real names—”

He interrupted me. “It was the right call. We got what we needed.”

“But now they know who we are.” Worse, we’d shown them a picture of Spencer Shaw only a day after he’d been poisoned. If the Wilkersons told their Alabama police detectives about the second missing kid, gave them my name, they would make connections. Right now, though, I couldn’t care. Not with Robert missing. But I hoped with everything in my heart I’d care tomorrow, when Robert was home with his sisters, all three needing their mother.

“I’m not sure how much Kelly will remember,” Marshall said, cocking a wry eyebrow. “As for Adam, he won’t say a damn thing. It killed him to tell us that name. You think he’s going to talk to the cops and remind his wife that their son’s death is connected to his—” He paused, searching for the right word, careful, because whatever word he chose applied to Trey as well. He finally settled on, “Past?”

I buried my face in my hands. “But they don’t know about his death.”

“They know,” Marshall said quietly. I peeked out, a question in my eyes. “Kelly does anyway. She kept using the past tense. All the photos were down. They pulled out half the furniture, too. Kid things, I’d guess, going by the imprints in the carpet. You don’t do that if you think your kid is coming back.” His mouth pressed into a thin line that looked angry, but I knew it wasn’t. This conversation, it hit him in his fatherhood. He’d checked in with Cara on the drive, too. I’d heard her yelling joyfully through his phone. Something about a Jet Ski. He added, “Even if Adam is less certain, he won’t say anything to the police. Not even behind his wife’s back.”

“Why?” I asked. He sounded so certain.

Marshall paused, but he wasn’t thinking. He had an answer. I could almost see it in his mouth. He didn’t look at me when he said it. “Shame.”

We sat for another minute, silence building between us. I agreed with him. Adam struck me as a small person. Pompous and self-protecting. My heart went out to him anyway. To both of the Wilkersons, trapped in their terrible loss.

I said, “Promise me, when this is over, no matter what, we’ll let them know about Geoff. I keep thinking about Kelly especially. And the police suspect her, on top of everything. We have to take that pressure off her and let her know what really happened. She deserves to know for certain. So she can . . .” I didn’t know what. Recover? She wouldn’t. Not in the way that word implied. You don’t lose a child and come back to the world the same. “Grieve. Grieve in peace.” That she could do. That she deserved.

“We’ll find a way. Let’s get Robert home. Then we’ll do right by them,” he promised. I could live with that. He said, “But first I have to track down Lexie Pine.”

He looked so tired, though. He’d barely slept last night, and here he was, charging off into another sleepless night to track her down.

“What will you do with her?” I asked.

He looked at me, an appraising, very Marshall look, as if trying to decide how much I wanted to know. “I’ll bring her back to your house. Until it’s time to meet her mother.” He made it sound so simple, so easy. As if he’d offer her an arm like a wedding usher and escort her here.

“Don’t baby me,” I said. “I’m in this with you. God, you’re only in it at all because of me.”

He tipped his head in an acknowledging nod. “Okay. I have a badge that will work if she doesn’t look close. I’ll play cop. Tell her I need to talk to her down at the station. If she declines to get quietly into my car, I’ll bring her anyway. I have handcuffs. My car has a trunk, and it’s old enough to not have that inside release. In other words, I’ll do what it takes, Bree. If I find her in time, I’ll bring her to you. Period.”

My mouth was dry. I swallowed anyway, looking at his arms, his shoulders. If this man wanted to put me in a trunk, he could, with little trouble, and I was tall and fit. Lexie looked to be a tiny thing. I forgot sometimes how strong men were, because on television, hundred-pound actresses fended off huge men with well-placed kicks, and because no man had ever laid harsh hands on me. Trey at fifty could still pick me up and swing me around, easily, while I laughed and kissed him. Sometimes, when I was feeling playful and romantic, I’d start wrestling him in bed. He’d let me pin him; he liked the way my hair tumbled in a tent around his face. I never once thought about how, if he wanted to, Trey could flip me and hold me down. He could hurt me. I’d be helpless. Those thoughts belonged to my mom. I never had to think of that. It was not a thing he’d ever do.

I couldn’t fully imagine Marshall grabbing me either, pushing and folding and quelling me. He wouldn’t. He was Marshall, so tied to Betsy in my mind that I sometimes forgot he had his own body. But he did, and it was tall and ropy with muscle. My soft-spoken friend rode around inside a beast that could twist my body into any shape, if he chose to, and my body could not stop his.

I understood this, but I was not afraid. His body was my beast tonight. He would unleash it and let it do things that were wrong and frightening and illegal. For me. To save my son.

“Thank you.” My voice trembled. My words were woefully inadequate.

He rolled past that with typical Marshall pragmatism, saying, “Get everything you can from Trey. Not just what happened. Any facts or locations or objects he associates with Lexie Pine.”