Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

sweet-voiced woman answered.

Leah explained that she was looking for newspaper mentions of a woman who’d been born in Oxford named Bonnie Byrne or Bonnie O’Reilly.

“I’d be glad to help,” the woman said. “But, just so you know, this isn’t something I can pull up quickly. I’ll have to work on it in my downtime. It might take me a bit.”

“No problem at all.” A thought occurred. “Would it be too much trouble to also keep an eye out for mentions of Ian O’Reilly?”

“That’s absolutely fine. I’ll add him to the list.”

Almost as soon as Leah ended the call, her phone dinged. She checked her texts, anticipating another follow-up from Joyce. It wasn’t from Joyce. It was from Claire.

My dad’s really, really angry. Can you come get my sisters and brother and me?

Panic flashed in Leah’s chest. She placed a call to Claire. No answer. Leah texted instead.

Claire, call the police. If you can get out of the house, do. If you can’t, try to lock yourself into a room.

No answer. No scrolling dots to indicate Claire had seen the message.

Tossing what was left of her pie in the trash, she rushed to her car. Once she’d shut herself inside, she dialed Misty River’s police headquarters.

A female voice answered.

Leah identified herself and rapidly relayed the text she’d received from Claire.

“Leah, this is Marilyn.” They knew each other slightly from church. “I’m so sorry to hear about your student.”

“I’m concerned.”

“I understand. Listen, the officers we have on duty are currently at the scene of a collision on Summit Road. I’ll ask if one of them can drive over to Claire’s residence as soon as possible.”

Leah supplied Claire’s address, thanked Marilyn, and disconnected.

Summit Road was on the outskirts of town. Depending on how severe the crash was, that emergency might take precedence over Claire’s emergency.

She dialed Sebastian. It was 4:40. He was likely on the road back to Misty River since he’d anticipated that he’d be home for dinner.

He didn’t pick up. She tried again.

No answer.

She called Ben. His line rang and rang. She left a brief message, but halfway through remembered his baseball team practiced on Thursday afternoons.

Anxiety scratched the inside of her lungs. She was burning time sitting here, time that might be precious to Claire. She should have done more for Claire before now. Why hadn’t she done more?

She called Connor. No answer.

Sebastian had suggested she reach out to Ben’s dad if she needed reinforcements for a visit to Claire’s house. But she’d only met Hersh on a handful of occasions. She didn’t have his number in her phone.

She started her car. Read Claire’s message again. Tried calling the girl. Sent another text.

Are you all right?

No scrolling dots.

She’d told Sebastian she would not go alone to Claire’s house. But what choice did she have?

Worry fused with the responsibility of this, sickening her. How was she supposed to justify doing nothing when she might be the only one Claire had contacted? The only one who knew Claire and her siblings were in trouble?

She drove toward Claire’s, arguing with herself, trying to formulate a strategy.

When she came to a stop in front of Claire’s house, the structure looked cold and still. It could be that fury was snarling off its leash indoors, scaring children, hurting children. But from her vantage point, there was no sign of that. The last time she’d come here, she’d glimpsed the interior of the house through the downstairs windows. This time, drawn curtains guarded the family’s secrets.

A potentially expired canister of pepper spray languished in the bottom of her purse. She dug it out, stuck it in her back pocket, and let herself from her car. Her outfit—skinny jeans, white top, emerald cardigan—had felt entirely right this morning but felt entirely wrong now. Too frivolous. The soles of her ballet flats slipped against slick concrete as she made her way to the front door.

Sebastian had spent most of the drive back to Misty River on the phone. First, he’d spoken to the intensivist on shift about Isabella’s care. Then Dr. Nelson, who’d oversee her progress. Then Megan and Timothy, who’d contacted him with questions.

It wasn’t until he stopped at a light several miles outside of town that he realized he’d missed two calls from Leah. He dialed her. No response, so he texted her.

She didn’t text back, even though the school day had ended a while ago.

He turned on the Siriously Sinatra station and listened to a few songs, but his brain refused to focus on the music.

He called Leah again. No answer. Obviously, she was busy. She’d call back when she was free. No reason to overreact.

Except terrible images started to filter into his head, images that explained why she couldn’t answer her phone. Car accident. Injury.

That’s ridiculous, Sebastian. She’s fine.

His instincts, though, were telling him otherwise.

It wouldn’t hurt to check with Dylan. He could do so without sounding like a nervous psycho.

He silenced the music and woke his phone using voice controls. “Call Dylan Montgomery.”

The call connected through Bluetooth, his car’s speakers amplifying the sound of the ringing phone.

“Hey, Dr. Grant,” Dylan said.

“Hey, I’m having a little trouble reaching your sister. Do you know what she’s up to this afternoon?”

“Nope.”

“Any guesses?”

“No, but I can check the app that shows me where she is, if you want.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

“’Kay, hang on.”

Sebastian dug the tip of his thumb into his steering wheel.

“It looks like she’s on the north side of town. Um. On . . . Serene Court. I don’t know what’s over there.”

Fear—cold and raw—pierced Sebastian. He knew exactly what was over there. He’d driven Leah to that street on Saturday to pick up Claire.

It felt as if his lungs were folding in on themselves as he ordered his phone to supply directions to Serene Court.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leah pressed Claire’s doorbell and listened to its chimes reverberate within. Anxiously, she waited next to the two metal lawn chairs standing guard on the front landing.

No one answered, so she tried the doorbell a