Page 10 of The Guilty One

Without another thought, I swipe my finger across the screen to answer it. Could this be the call? The ransom demand? The explanation? The apology?

What am I supposed to say? Police always prepare you for these in the movies, but no one has prepared me at all. I’m going to mess this up somehow.

“Hello?” My voice shakes as I answer, and if the person doesn’t know what’s going on, if they aren’t calling about Tate, they might assume I’ve been sleeping.

I listen as the other end of the line lingers in silence. Ordinarily, I’d have hung up already, but now I can’t afford to. I have no way to know if this is related to Tate, but if it is, I need to keep the line open. I need the person to know I’m listening.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

Still, nothing. Radio silence.

“Tate?” I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of that syllable. A sound, an utterance, that feels as old hat to me as brushing my teeth or blinking. “Are you there?”

Then I hear it. A single exhalation. A breath caught in the air. Someone has released a breath. There is an actual living, breathing person on the line, but they don’t want me to know it.

Or maybe they can’t make a sound.

“Tate, honey? Is that you? If…if it is…breathe out again.” Maybe his captor is close by. Maybe I’m putting him at risk to ask him to make a single noise.

If so, he’s safe. Because there are no other noises, and soon enough, the line goes dead.

CHAPTER FIVE

TATE

Eight Days Before Disappearance

Celine is already home by the time I get there. Inside, the house is quiet and smells of dinner. I make my way through the house, half expecting them to be hiding or pretending to be asleep so they can jump up and scare me as they so often do whenever I enter the house at the end of the day.

Instead, I find my plate of chicken and rice casserole waiting on the counter and no sign of my family. The food smells delicious, and my stomach growls on sight. I skipped lunch today, and I’m feeling the results of that. Celine likes to sneak broccoli into this particular casserole and coat it with enough cheese the kids don’t notice. Leaning down over the plate, I take a small bite and notice it’s cool, but not yet cold. She recently set it out.

The casserole dish is still waiting on the stovetop, and I can feel the heat from it before my hand touches the surface. The time on the stove tells me it’s just after seven, so not quite bedtime.

“Guys?” I call, spinning around. Are they planning to try and scare me?

I make my way down the hallway toward the bedrooms when I spot the light on in the bathroom. As I get closer, I can hear the water running, and my chest floods with a warm relief.

I push the door open cautiously. “Anyone home?”

“Dad!” Finley calls, leaning his little blond head out of the bathtub and waving at me, his arm coated and dripping with bubbles. Ryker is in front of the bathtub with a towel wrapped around his waist the way I showed him, running a comb methodically through his hair. There’s a new girl at school he’s been talking about a lot lately—Asha. Since he started talking about her, I’ve noticed he’s been spending a lot more time getting ready.

My chest goes warm at the thought. I can’t believe we’re already here. I know everyone says it goes by fast, but until you live it, those words don’t do the experience justice.

Celine is sitting on the toilet lid across from the bathtub, grinning broadly at me. Her long, dark curls are everywhere, sticking to her neck from the humidity of the room, the front pieces brushed back out of her face without care. She’s as beautiful and unconcerned with that beauty as ever.

“Hey, baby,” she says, grinning as she tilts her mouth up for me to press a kiss to her lips when I approach her.

“Hey there.”

“Finley has something to tell you.” She nods her head toward our son, who is waiting anxiously for me to make my way across the bathroom toward him. He grins up as I approach, and I see the news he has before he says the words.

“I lost another tooth!” Proudly, he pushes his tongue through the hole next to his newly grown-in front teeth.

“I see that.” With a chuckle, I pat his head and squat down next to the bathtub for a better look. I squint, leaning in, then pull back and pin him with a look of concern. “Who said you were allowed to do that?”

“No one,” he says, clearly confused. “It just happened.”

“You’re supposed to stop growing so fast, remember?”

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