“Oh, I feel sorry for her, too.” Because One-Mile was determined that, no matter how ugly the truth was, they were going to have it out tonight. “Bye.”
“Where you going?” Zy called after him.
He didn’t answer, just walked out the door.
Chapter Six
One-Mile drove around Brea’s neighborhood a few times. Nothing suspicious, so a couple of blocks from her house, he parked the SUV he’d borrowed from Caleb to make sure he evaded any possible tail of Montilla’s, then ran for her house.
Her white compact wasn’t outside.
It was one o’clock in the morning. Cutter was in California sucking face with a TV star, so where could she fucking be? Montilla couldn’t have zoned in on her already, right?
That possibility made him break out in a cold sweat.
The cottage she shared with her dad was dark. Around the back of the house, he found a window unlocked and took a chance the preacher had never bothered retrofitting this old, small-town place with an alarm system. Sure enough, when he raised the pane, no shrieking pealed to alert the whole street—or the cops—that he was breaking in.
He eased onto the hardwoods inside and closed the window behind him. On silent footfalls, he crept through the house. Without a floor plan, he wasn’t sure which direction he’d find Brea’s room.
His first trek took him to the master. Empty. That didn’t surprise One-Mile much. He thought he’d seen Brea’s father’s practical brown sedan parked at a house a few blocks over. Jennifer Collins’s place? That was his guess. At this time of night, that probably meant the preacher was banging the lonely widow…
So where was Brea?
Through the dark, he doubled back to the living room to investigate the other side of the house. Behind the last door, he found another tidy bedroom. It had to be hers. It, too, was empty. Since her room wasn’t visible from the street, he flipped on a small desk lamp and gave it a visual scan.
The walls were a pale lavender. A simple white quilt covered the bed, accented by gray sheets with little white flowers. She’d tossed a purple and gray throw at the bottom, over the simple white footboard. The furniture looked like a relic from her childhood. An area rug that matched her walls warmed the floor beside her bed. On the other side, gray curtains that matched her sheets gaped wide open, overlooking their small but meticulous backyard.
The room looked like Brea. Smelled like her.
But where the fuck was the woman herself?
Her absence prompted more questions. It incited panic. He wanted some goddamn answers.
He booted up the computer sitting on her desk. While he waited, he prowled through her drawers to see if she kept a calendar or list of appointments.
Maybe he should feel guilty about invading her privacy. He didn’t. This was about her safety, his sanity, and their future. Scruples weren’t going to fix any of that shit.
His search dredged up only notes from her beauty school days, a small stack of bills with due dates written neatly on the front, and a few pictures of years gone by, mostly of her and Boy Scout Bryant.
With a scowl, One-Mile replaced everything where he’d found it, then did a quick dive through her dresser across the room. He found prenatal vitamins under a stack of her very modest underwear—and had to tell his suddenly pounding heart to take a rest. Not every woman who took these horse pills was actually pregnant. She might have them merely because her body needed a major supplement.
He felt behind the dresser and found a gap in the cardboard backing, toward the bottom. Tucked inside was a large envelope with the name and address of an ob-gyn in Lafayette, along with a reminder card for an appointment a month from now. More circumstantial evidence, not proof. After all, women often saw a doctor for female-related things at least once a year.
The rest of the room netted nothing except to give him a sense of what her life within these four walls was like. She’d been coddled, adored, and sheltered. She’d grown up quiet and dutiful and kind.
As far as One-Mile could tell, falling into bed with him was the only time she’d ever done anything her father would disapprove of.
For her to defy what she’d been raised to believe, what would her feelings for you have to be?
Unless he missed his guess, she’d loved him. Since she wasn’t flighty, he’d bet some part of her still did. But she’d gotten spooked when he’d told her they needed to take a step back.
More and more, Brea being pregnant fit. He just needed to find her to confirm.
After righting the rest of her room, he sat at her desk. Her computer wasn’t password protected, so with the touch of a button, he was in. He did a quick prowl through her emails, but they netted nothing of interest. Ditto with her electronic calendar. But one other icon in the dock along the bottom stuck out.