Page 13 of Surrender

The pained look on her face makes me regret not waiting downstairs. She doesn’t need another witness to her embarrassment. But for some reason, I can’t make myself move. My feet feel rooted to the floor beneath my shoes.

“Come in.” Resignation weighs down the slope of her shoulders. She opens the door wider and steps out of the way.

I stay in the hall, but before she can follow the officers, I instinctively grab for her wrist, stopping just before I make contact. I don’t know this woman any more than I do the Kramers, but my protective side that wants to take care of those who need it kicks in effortlessly.

“It’ll be okay,” I say, my voice low not to draw attention to my possible interference.

She keeps her shoulder to me and her face pointed at the blue carpet. The only indication she heard me is the sudden clench of her jaw and her throat moving on a thick swallow.

“These the only two kids you have?” Sutton asks, his tone sharp and accusatory.

“Yes,” Whitney answers.

“Hey there, little guy.” Silas leans over the alert baby playing on a mat on the floor.

The infant bats the toys dangling over his face with a delighted gurgle. His little legs kick happily.

Silas lifts the kid into his arms and pats him gently on the back. “You’re a happy dude, aren’t you?”

The baby just drools in response.

“Does he cry a lot?” Silas asks while Sutton surveys the room with a furrowed brow. Their tactic here is obvious. Sutton plays the stern cop while Silas is all smiles and kindness.

I grit my teeth tight, jaw locked as the scene unfolds.

Whitney releases a heavy breath. “He’s been colicky lately. Usually he’s just like this but for some reason at night, he’s having a hard time settling.”

“You’re Whitney Brewer, aren’t you?” Silas suddenly says.

Like two puzzle pieces snapping together, memories click into place. Thompson is her married name. Whitney was best friends with Bree back when Bree and Corjan dated in high school.

Whitney simply nods.

“What about this one?” Sutton jerks his head at the little girl coloring at the desk in the corner.

She looks at the adults in the room with a curious expression, a pink crayon clutched in her fist, but her focus returns to the book in front of her.

“She wasn’t crying last night.”

Sutton walks over to the little girl and drops into a crouch beside her. “What are you coloring?” He rakes his eyes over her exposed arms and legs, searching for marks on her body with a lack of subtlety meant to intimidate.

Tension rushes through my limbs, pulling my spine straight and my head high. My fist curls and releases at my side.

“Horsies,” the little girl responds shyly with a slight lisp.

Sutton cracks his first smile since arriving. “Pretty. Does your mom color with you?”

The girl nods. “Uh-huh. She likes blue, and I like pink.”

“What about your dad?” Sutton asks.

Whitney sucks in a sharp breath.

“Um, he dieded.”

All the oxygen is swept from the room by her answer. Two innocent words from this little girl strike three big men speechless. The silence stretches. The Stone brothers appear to grapple with the right words to say to the toddler.

“Are we finished here?” Whitney bites through clenched teeth.

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