“I’m sorry,” I say.
He looks at me strangely.
“For what?”
“For everything that’s already happened. And in advance for anything that might.”
He leans to me and kisses me softly, then rests his forehead against mine.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for. All this is more than worth having you back in my life,” he says softly.
I can’t help but let out a mirthless laugh and shake my head.
“No, it’s not. But I really appreciate the sentiment,” I tell him.
We get out of the car as Dean pulls a thick satchel out of his car and comes toward us.
“There are lights on inside,” he says, nodding toward the house.
“Bellamy’s been keeping an eye on it,” I explain.
“I’d still feel better if you let me look around before you go in,” Sam says, reaching for his gun.
I take mine out of the harness at my hip.
“We’ll both look.”
The motion detectors flood the empty lawn and illuminate secure windows. Sam tests the back door and examines the ground around the foundation for footprints. When he’s satisfied, I unlock the door. It feels strange using the key Bellamy gave me rather than the one I carried around for so many years and is still hanging on my keychain.
“The lock looks new,” Dean says as if he’s reading my thoughts.
“It is,” I admit. “Bellamy had it changed after someone, probably my uncle, came in when no one was here.”
“When was the last time you changed the lock before that?” he asks.
I let out a breath and push the door open.
“It wasn’t changed since my father disappeared.” I hold up a hand as I walk into the living room. “I don’t need to hear it.” I turn around to face him. “I’m fully aware leaving the locks the same for that long isn’t safe. It’s not something I’d ever recommend anyone else do. But you don’t understand.”
“My mother went missing for four days when I was thirteen,” he replies without hesitation. “I left the back door unlocked because her keys were on the kitchen table next to a note from her. I wouldn’t have changed them, either.”
The words make my heart ache.
“Where was she?” I ask.
Dean shakes his head.
“I never found out. She wouldn’t tell me.”
“You were just alone for four days?” I ask.
“No. A man was there when I got home from school. He told me I was safe, and he would watch over me, but I told him I didn’t want him in the house. My mother’s note told me to be good and that she would be back. I trusted her.”
“So, you didn’t call the police?” Sam asks, sounding something between angry and horrified.
“My mother didn’t trust the police. One betrayed her once, and since then, she was afraid. She taught me to fear them.”
“What happened with the police officer?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I do know the man who came to check on me was wearing a dog tag.”
Our eyes meet, and I nod.
Chapter Six Ian
Seventeen years ago …
He couldn’t do it. He’d been standing at the edge of the bed looking at the suit spread out across the pale green comforter for those two hours. His eyes stung. They were so dry from barely blinking. The corners of his mouth were cracked with tears pooling there. When he’d first took the suit out of the garment bag that morning, he’d noticed the shirt was wrinkled. He took it off the hanger and examined it. Without even thinking, he called out to her.
Her name had fallen out of his mouth so naturally. He didn’t even have to think about it. It was as if the syllables were already waiting on his tongue and they just tumbled out when he parted his lips. It was habit, the closest thing to instinct. As soon as he saw the wrinkles, he called out for her, wanting her to take the shirt and iron it. Part of him even expected her to show up at the door with that smile, the one that said she knew a grown man should know how to iron his own shirt, but she would never want him to. The name echoed in his head long after his voice faded.
He could only hope Emma didn’t hear him call out for Mariya.
It was getting late by the time he finally managed to put on the suit. He walked out of the bedroom and found Emma standing in the living room. Her hair hung tangled down her back, and she was wearing her pajamas.
“Come on. You need to get ready,” Ian said, taking his daughter by the hand and guiding her into the bedroom where she slept the night before.
It would never be home. When this was over, he never wanted to see this place again.
“Where is she?” Emma asked, staring imploringly into his eyes. “Where’s Mama?”
His breath felt like knives sliding down his throat.
“She’s gone, darling. I told you.”
At least, he thought he did. The time since he saw the blood was a blur. He couldn’t actually remember the words he said to Emma to tell her life was never going to be the same. He must have. At some point when they were sitting on the floor dreading the sunrise or when she woke up in the house she didn’t fall asleep in, he must have told her what was happening.
“But where is she? What happened to her?” Emma asked.
The question hung crystallized in the air between them. He could have reached out and taken it into his palm. Held it like a talisman. Mariya would have wanted her to know, and yet he didn’t. The answer was so much more than what happened in the moments just before her mother took in her last breath. It was more than the bullets that violated their home and her body. He didn’t know the rest.
Emma turned to look at the dark purple dress, and he took advantage of this silence.
“Get dressed, Emma. We’re going
