“No. I’m fine. Even if they find it in the coffee grounds, I haven’t had much coffee at home lately. What about you? You drank some this morning.”
He shook his head. “Either it’s not there or just not in what you served up today.”
“That’s something to celebrate, then,” she said fervently.
“You’re right.” He grinned then, and it made her heart clutch a little. “Here . . . let me heat this up,” he said, reaching for the leftovers.
“Mind if I check on Eli?”
“No. Please. Go.”
Though Trace had looked in on his son the second they’d arrived at the house, it had been half an hour or so ago. Bonzi, who had explored every corner of the downstairs and had checked out Sarge, seemed to want to follow her, but the command “Stay” from her and the smell of chicken kept him in the kitchen with Trace. Sarge, too, had taken up a spot under the table and was watching anxiously, hoping Trace would drop a savory morsel. Kacey hated to think what kind of growling, snarling dogfight might ensue if any chicken hit the floor. “Be good,” she told her dog.
Kicking her shoes off at the base of the stairs, she hurried up the five steps to the landing, then turned and climbed the rest of the flight to the second story, where an old railing with heavy newel posts prevented anyone from falling down the staircase.
Eli’s room was tucked under the eaves on one side of the hall, along with a spare room, used, it seemed, for storage. The door to the third bedroom hung ajar, and she pushed it open a little farther, the light from the hallway spilling onto unused furniture, plastic tubs, and stacked boxes.
The bath was located at the end of the hall; the largest bedroom next to it. She looked inside, saw a neatly made massive bed and a small dresser with a flat screen mounted over it. Trace’s room, obviously.
Across the hall, wedged between the bathroom and the room used for storage, a door was open slightly, and she deduced from the trail of toys leading through it that this was Eli’s area of the house. Pushing the door open farther, allowing more light inside, she spied Trace’s son tangled in the rumpled covers, facedown in his pillow. He was breathing loudly, his arm with its cast flung to one side. She stepped closer, careful not to crush toys on the floor, but a floorboard creaked. Eli moaned softly, then rolled onto his back. Blinking, he looked up and his little face twisted in confusion.
“Mommy?” he asked in a sleep-shrouded voice.
Kacey’s throat constricted. “No.” She sat on the edge of his bed and touched the fingers sticking out of his cast. “No, honey, it’s Kacey. Dr. Lambert. You remember me.”
He was still eyeing her, and even in the semidarkness she saw the hope on his face fade.
As the storm raged outside, her heart cracked for the boy, but she forced a smile and pushed the hair off his forehead.
He glanced at the closet, which was dark, its door closed tight, then to the window, as if he were trying to get his bearings. “But—”
“It’s okay,” she said when she recognized his disappointment. He swallowed hard and bit his lower lip to keep from shedding tears.
Her own eyes burned. “So . . . how’re you feeling?”
“Okay.”
“You want anything?” Other than your mother.
“Nah.” He shook his head and flopped back onto the pillow.
“Okay. Then go back to sleep and I’ll check on you later. Okay?”
He was too tired to argue, it seemed. Closing his eyes, he burrowed deeper under the covers, and though his forehead was creased with confusion for a second or two, soon he was breathing deeply again, probably dreaming about having a mom nearby. As she observed Eli for a few seconds, Kacey mentally swore that if she were ever to run into Leanna, she’d wring her neck.
Stop it! She could be dead, for all you know.
That could explain why Trace hasn’t heard from her, why she seems to have completely deserted her son.
Give the woman a break. Leanna could be the victim of an accident, like the others. There is a chance her body just hasn’t been discovered.
A cold chill slithered through her body, but even so, she was angry with a woman who could abandon her child.
Satisfied that Eli was sleeping soundly, Kacey walked back to the hallway and down the stairs, where the scents of Tilly’s killer chicken were wafting from the lower level.
Her stomach had the bad manners to growl loudly as she entered the kitchen.
Trace, gingerly lifting a bowl from the microwave, looked over his shoulder. “How was he?”