Page 83 of Adam's Rising

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Adam hopedPeter was just acting out. He’d been extra good since Claire’s kidnapping. But now… he hadn’t come home.

He checked twice, his flashlight slicing through the trees near the old fence line and then up toward the abandoned barn behind Clara Mae’s property.

Nothing. No sign of his brother. Just the eerie sound of wind dragging loose metal across the roof.

He tried not to panic. Peter had always been impulsive. But something felt different.

Claire waited in the kitchen when he returned, wrapped in one of Clara Mae’s oversized cardigans, a cup of tea going cold on the table.

She used the table to push herself up when he walked in. “Still no sign?”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Claire crossed her arms. “Do you think… whoever was watching… do you think they got to him?”

Adam leaned against the sink and stared out the window. “If they did, I’ll burn the whole world down to get him back.”

She stepped close. “We’ll find him. Just like you found me.”

He looked down at her, worry grinding behind his eyes. “He’s slipping, Claire. I can see it in his eyes. I hear it in the way he talks. He’s been good, but there’s something blank there.”

It reminded him of a battered horse. Luckily, Bolt had been rescued in time. Some horses could never heal from scars inflicted.

He hoped Peter wouldn’t hold onto his inflictions. You had to want to heal.

“He’s a kid,” Claire defended him.

Adam snorted. “He hasn’t been a kid since the night our parents died.”

A beat passed. Claire reached for his hand. “Neither have you.”

The screen door slammed without warning.

Both of them jumped. Clara Mae burst in, coat half-on, face flushed. “Just got a call from a bartender at Grizz’s. Someone was asking about Thomas Belgarde.”

Rusty walked in right after her.

“Grizz’s?” Adam asked, looking to both of them.

“It’s a roughneck bar in Falcon Run,” Rusty said. “I called around, asking owners and bartenders to let me know if anyone comes looking for the Belgardes or… seekingmuscle.” He motioned to Clara Mae. “Mom here put up an award. If the men who took Claire and now Peter are from out of town, they’ll go to a dive bar for… let’s say…contractedhelp. The kind of help that don’t clock out at five.”

Adam was already moving. “I’ll go.”

“I’m coming with you,” Claire said, grabbing her coat.

“No. You’re not.” His voice was firm but gentle. “You’ve been through enough.”

Claire’s jaw clenched. “And so have you. Don’t shut me out.”

He hesitated. “Okay. But you stay in the truck. Knowing you’re there will keep me from beating someone to a pulp.”

She didn’t argue. She’d won the more important battle.

They drove the long stretch of highway north, the birch trees thick with shimmering early summer leaves. The sky darkened with more than just night closing in. Storm clouds gathered behind the mountains, thick and gray, as if Alaska herself knew danger was circling.

Adam remembered the bar now. Thomas had pointed it out once, said it was the roughest bar in Falcon Run. Far as Adam knew, it was the only bar in his hometown.