“Of course,” I’d murmured. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Adler had stayed with me, saying he’d sleep better if he knew I was okay, even if it meant sleeping in the chair.
I followed him through the security line and up to the waiting TSA agent. I handed him my boarding pass and ID.
“Sure is hot in Texas this time of year,” the man said, attempting polite conversation.
“Yes,” I responded when he handed back my documents, wishing people would stop trying to make small talk with me.
“You have a nice day, miss,” I heard him say as I stepped aside to wait for Adler. A nice day? It would be the worst day of my life—identifying the body of my sister, my last surviving family member—since I no longer considered my father as family.
When we exited security at the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, Adler excused himself to the men’s room. I was waiting a short distance down the concourse when I saw a man holding a sign with my name on it.
“I’m Mila Knight,” I said, approaching him.
The man lowered the sign, held out his hand, and I shook it. “Decker Ashford.”
I knew the name. Could it be the same Decker Ashford? It had to be. It wasn’t exactly a common name. Not to mention I’d never forget the kindness of his striking green eyes or the hint of a smile that he rarely showed, even all those years ago. The only thing that was different, besides his age, was that he no longer had hair that hung past his shoulders. Now, it looked like he kept his head shaved completely bald.
“Did Adler arrange for you to pick us up?”
His brow furrowed. “Adler?”
“What about me?” my friend asked, stepping up to my side.
“I thought you’d arranged for a ride.”
His eyebrows scrunched as he studied the man who had lowered the sign that bore my name. “I reserved a rental car.”
“Um, this is Adler Livingston.”
“Decker Ashford,” he repeated, not extending his hand to shake Adler’s. “I can take you to the medical examiner’s office.”
“Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” I murmured, wishing Adler didn’t look so irritated. What the hell was his problem? Did he really have to get mad about another person simply being kind?
“Did you check a bag?” Decker asked.
“I just have this carry-on.” He took the handle from me and wheeled my bag behind him.
I raised a brow, looked at Adler, and shrugged. Decker hadn’t bothered to ask if he had checked a bag.
“I’m here,” Decker said, pointing to an oversized pickup truck. After opening the door and holding out his hand to help me into the front seat, he put the suitcase in the backseat of the cab and left the door open for Adler to climb in behind it with his bag.
At six feet two, poor Ad looked scrunched in the small space. “I can sit back there,” I offered.
Before I could open the door to get out, Decker had started the engine and put the truck in gear.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said as he pulled out of the parking space.
“Thank you.” My eyes filled, and I looked away even though he hadn’t turned his head in my direction when he spoke.
“I’m the one who found your sister,” he added, leaning toward me as though he didn’t want Adler to hear him. “If you have any questions, you can ask.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I mumbled, brushing away a tear. Questions? I had countless, but I didn’t want the answers to any of them.
None of us spoke again until we reached the county building where the sheriff’s office and the morgue were located.