How did she explain what had just happened without admitting her newly realized feelings? A burst of nervous laughter escaped.
Colter shoved himself forward, sliding down the recliner. At the motion, his jaw clamped so tightly that his lips turned inward and moisture filled the corners of his eyes. “What’s going on? You need a doctor to check you out.”
Jumping to her feet, Kensie held up a hand. “Stop! Don’t move. I’m fine. I promise. I was just thinking about something and it surprised me. I feel normal, no headache, nothing. I don’t have a concussion.” She stood on one foot and pivoted in a circle. “See? My balance is fine.”
He froze halfway down the recliner, eyes narrowed. “What were you thinking about?”
What could she tell him that was believable but wouldn’t scare him into suggesting she find someone else to help her? Someone she wouldn’t fall for after just a few days?
“Um...”
“Kensie.” This time her name was filled with warning, like he already didn’t believe her.
“I think I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to make up for letting Alanna get kidnapped.” The words that burst from her mouth surprised her. Not the fact that she thought it; she’d realized it while she’d been wandering around town, searching for information on Henry. But it surprised her that she’d shared it.
Colter looked equally surprised. He stayed suspended halfway down the chair, his mouth open in a silent O.
Not wanting him to feel sorry for her—or think she didn’t have a life—she backtracked. “I know it’s not my fault. It’s just survivor’s guilt rearing up.”
Great. Now she sounded like one of the psychiatrists her parents had insisted she see as a teenager.
“Of course it’s not your fault.”
Colter sounded almost offended by the idea, but he must have believed her, because his biceps bulged out again and then he hauled himself back up the chair. Leaning against the headrest, he closed his eyes, exhaustion in the slump of his shoulders and the way his chest heaved from the effort.
She hoped he’d drop the topic, but when his eyes opened again, they were soft, understanding.
“Why isn’t your family here with you, Kensie? Helping you search for Alanna?”
It wasn’t the question she’d expected him to ask and she felt herself flush for a new reason now. She didn’t want him to think her family was mean or uncaring. “Because of what the FBI told us,” she explained. “We’ve all been through this so many times over the years. There’s been a lot of false leads. Once, two years after she was taken, we even drove down to Indiana to see a girl who’d been rescued. She wasn’t talking and police thought it could be Alanna. It wasn’t, but—”
That experience had scarred her. The girl had been a broken shell. Gaunt and terrified, and the same age as Alanna would have been then. Police had eventually found her family, but Kensie had kept track of her over the years. At thirteen she’d committed suicide.
“Anyway,” Kensie rushed on, realizing she’d stopped talking long enough for concern to put lines across Colter’s forehead. “My parents handled that one better than Flynn and I did.”
“Of course they did. How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
Colter swore, and Kensie continued. “My parents did try hard to keep me and Flynn away from the search. But we wanted to know. We missed Alanna, too. We still do. And the longer Alanna was gone, the harder it was to get interest from the press, help from the public for tips. But they were a lot more interested if they could talk to me or Flynn.”
“Oh, Kensie—”
“Flynn was younger than me, so I tried to do most of the press interviews. I thought I was protecting him, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. My parents did their best for us, but they were trying to do their best for Alanna, too. And over the years, Flynn just got more and more out of control. Hanging out with a bad crowd, doing dangerous things just to cheat death or get some kind of rush—he’s explained it to me, but I still don’t totally understand.”
Rebel let out a low whine and scooted closer, resting her head against Kensie’s leg.
Kensie smiled at the dog, who seemed to have a finely tuned sense for when someone was hurting. Running her hand over Rebel’s soft fur released a bit of the tension knotting Kensie’s shoulders.
“When he was sixteen, he drove his car off a bridge. Not intentionally,” she added, thinking of the girl in Indiana. “He was drunk. Thank goodness no one else was hurt. Flynn spent a month in the hospital. And that changed everything.”
“What do you mean?” Colter asked softly.
“We have close family friends who say it woke my parents up to the fact that they had two other kids who needed them.” When Colter frowned, she told him, “I don’t think they ever forgot. But it was hard growing up with Alanna’s disappearance always overshadowing everything. My parents missed birthdays chasing possible sightings. Flynn and I probably spent too much of our childhood talking to police and being interviewed by reporters and talk-show hosts. I wanted to do it, but Flynn...” She shook her head.
“So, if Flynn was sixteen when this happened, how old were you?”
“Twenty.”
“So there was no do-over on your childhood at that point.”
Kensie shrugged, uncomfortable with the implication. “I love my parents. They love me. They tried to do what was best for all three of their kids. I understand that. Heck, I pushed them hard not to stop. And when they did—”
“You took over,” Colter said, his intense gaze never leaving her face.
She shrugged. “Yeah. My parents needed to focus on Flynn. But we couldn’t just give up on Alanna. She’s my baby sister.”
“So, now you chase after these leads all by yourself,
