Page 3 of Property of Mako
“This is Deputy Fallon. You’re the legal guardian of Lily Callahan?” he asked.
“…Yes. Is something wrong?” My heart skipped a beat before it began to pound.
“We found her phone in a ditch off the highway this morning not far from the Browns’ place. We stopped by there cuz Deputy Jasper knew she hangs out with their middle daughter. They said she got a ride home from a friend,” he drawled.
“Yes, she was there, and she did get a ride home from a classmate.” At least that’s what she’d told me. “She was home by ten.”
“Ma’am… I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was seen with a young man at the Chevron on Bloom Street. She willingly got in his car. We think she ran away.”
Ran away?
No. Not Lily. Not the girl who carried pepper spray in her bra and triple-locked the door on the rare occasion when I wasn’t home. That was impossible.
“Why would you possibly think that? I believe you’re mistaken. Maybe she accidentally lost her phone, but she’s here. Are you sure you’re talking about my Lily?” I was getting pissed off at his attitude. “What did you say your name was?”
“Deputy Fallon,” he slowly repeated as if I was stupid.
“I’ve never heard of you. Are you sure this isn’t some kind of joke?”
“This is no joke.”
While I still had him on the phone, I put the stallion in his stall and marched to the house. I slammed the wooden screen door open, and it banged off the peeling, wooden siding.
“Lily!” I called out. “Lily!” I shouted louder as I stormed toward her room. When I got in there to find her with her earbuds in, I was going to rip this asshole a new one.
Three quick raps on the door and I swung it wide.
“Lily?” But she wasn’t there.
Her backpack sat open by her scarred-up desk that we’d found on the side of the road last year. Her jacket hung crooked on the back of the chair. My eyes went to the single-pane window.
Locked. No signs of a struggle—but the house felt wrong.
Still. Empty.
As if something had reached in through the shadows and taken something vital without leaving a single mark.
I sat in the beat-up pickup truck, knuckles white on the wheel, heart a furnace of disbelief and dread. A car honked and I jumped. A glance up showed the light was green. I hit the gas.
They had already filed the report under “voluntary absence.” I wasn’t stupid. I knew what that meant: teen girl, troubled home, probably ran off with a boy or a bag of pills.
Except Lily wasn’t like that. Not anymore.
Not after what happened.
I’d demanded to speak with this Deputy Fallon. I’d been told he was off duty. The deputy I spoke with was familiar to me, but he acted like he barely knew me. He blankly handed me Lily’s phone and said, “I’m sorry your sister ran off.”
When I tried to question him, he gave me a small smile. “I have a call I need to make,” he cut in and then turned and walked away.
With no other recourse, I’d picked up the plastic bag her phone had been placed in and left.
I slammed the brakes harder than necessary as I turned off the gravel road, dust choking out the view behind me. I didn’t cry. Not yet. Crying was for when things broke—really broke. Right now, I had a job to do.
Find my sister.
After parking the old truck that had belonged to our father, I took a deep breath and went inside our small home. It had been the old caretaker’s cabin, which meant it was historical but drafty and constantly needing repairs.
I started my search at Lily’s bedroom. As I stood in the doorway, I stared at the mussed bedding. I was forever after Lily to make the dang bed. Tears threatened.
