The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

“Where’s Rachel?” I ask without preamble. After this many hours looking for her, I’m past the point of pleasantries and small talk. I’m edging on desperation.

“Oh hey, Ty,” she says, quickly setting the now-empty tray on a shelf behind her and rubbing her hands down the front of her white apron. She never answers my question, and I have a pretty strong feeling the avoidance is on purpose.

“Lydia, please,” I implore, hoping the earnestness in my voice will compel her to dispense with all the older-sister protectiveness. “Do you know where Rachel is?”

The back door swings open and startles Lydia, and now Lou, her wife, is at the front, glancing between the two of us curiously. “What’s going on?” she asks perceptively. Evidently, neither Lydia nor I is doing a good job of hiding our emotions.

“I’m looking for Rachel,” I tell her openly. “And Lydia was just about to tell me where she is.”

Lou looks at me and then back at her wife. “Lyd, what’s going on? Where’s Rae?”

Lydia glances between Lou and me and then finally admits, “She left.” Her answer is sullen and resigned, and I don’t like the feeling it gives me at all. It seems too permanent—irreversible.

“Left where?” Lou questions, upset now too. I’m not surprised. That’s the effect Rachel has on your life when she’s in it—you want her to stay there.

Lydia shakes her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know where. At least, not yet. She just said she was going somewhere and she’d call me when she got there.” She looks me in the eye and lifts a gentle hand up over the counter to squeeze my shoulder. “No offense, but I had a feeling the reason had to do with you.”

I close my eyes and will myself to stay calm. To keep trying, to keep searching, no matter how long it takes. I will find her eventually, and when I do, I’m going to make things right.

“What happened?” Lydia asks, her scrutinizing eyes examining mine. “Why did she hit the eject button?”

“Your father called us into a meeting this morning,” I explain. “He found out about us.”

Lydia takes a deep breath and nods, sagely aware that this day was coming. Obviously, she knows her sister well enough and cares about her enough, though, to let it run its course. She and Lou exchange a look, and Lydia reaches into the case and pulls out one of my favorite cookies while Lou fills a couple of coffees at the back of the counter.

“I knew it would eventually come to this. I wish she would have come to me.” She shakes her head to clear it and then puts the cookie on a plate, handing it over to me. “Come on. Let’s have a seat and talk.”

I shake my head quickly. “Thank you, but no. I need to find Rachel. I don’t have time to sit and chat.”

“Sit, Ty,” Lou commands then, handing me the cup of coffee. “If you want to find Rachel, you’ll listen to what we have to say.” Lou’s eyes turn sad. “Rachel is known for running when her father is involved. There’s a long and sordid history there, and it’ll do you good to let us fill you in on the gaps.”

Known for running, known for running, known for running. Lou’s words play over and over in my mind, and a deep pit forms in my stomach. I feel sick over the possibility that’s forming in my mind.

“There’s no way she went back to…” I can’t even finish the sentence.

“Back to LA?” Lydia’s face is gentle—sympathetic. And I hate it. “Ty…”

“Fuck.” The one word is a tortured whisper, dredged from the bottom of my gut. “I have to do something. I have to stop her.”

They share another look that makes my stomach churn. One that says stopping Rachel in the throes of this decision is about as likely as finding a time machine to go back and fix it.

“I love her, Lyd. I’m in love with her. I won’t stop until I find her.”

Lydia nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “Good. Don’t give up on her. She’s worth it, I promise.”

“I know that.”

“I figured you did,” she agrees then, a maternal tone to her love for her sister. I suppose after their mother died, it was a natural transition to the role of caregiver and protector. “Now…what can we do to help?”

I take the cookie and coffee and head to the table behind me, determined to use the resources before me to find a place to start.

Rachel

“Hi,” I say quietly to a gentleman in a suit and tie who is currently staring down at his phone. I nod toward the empty seat—my window seat—beside him. “Mind if I squeeze in there?”

“Certainly,” he says and quickly stands up to allow me to ease past him.