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“Fine. I’ll call him.”

“Okay. I’m hanging up now, but if I find out you didn’t call him, I will be so pissed—you don’t even know.”

“I will call him. Night, Eve.” Vera ended the call before her sister could say more.

She would call Bent. But not tonight. She was too exhausted ... too out of sorts.

Instead, she went downstairs and started checking windows. The very first one next to the front door was unlocked and not quite pushed all the way down. Fury roared through her. She closed and locked it. It was one of the few that actually locked. Why the hell hadn’t he at least partially closed that back window too?

He had, she suddenly realized. She would have noticed when she made coffee this morning if he hadn’t. Which meant he’d been back again after she’d left for the day.

Son of a bitch.

She stormed back to the kitchen and poured another shot of Jack. Forget the coffee. She sipped it as she put her father’s shotgun away and walked through the downstairs again. More slowly this time. She hadn’t looked to see if anything was missing the first time. Not that the Boyett family had anything of any real value. Just a lot of stuff that prompted memories.

There was no one in the house, and there was nothing missing, as best she could tell.

It was possible the news had gotten around that she was helping with this Time Thief investigation. Some low-life reporter or, worse, someone involved with the kidnapper could have come in to see if she had anything relevant to the case in the house.

She shook off the endless possibilities. “Food.” She downed the rest of the shot. She needed food.

After a scan of the fridge, she went for a peanut butter sandwich—well, half of one. There was only one slice of bread. Since she needed something to wash it down, she poured another shot of Jack and snagged a bottle of water. She downed the shot and left the mug in the sink. The one-sided sandwich and the bottle of water she took to her room and placed on the dresser.

A shower would have to wait until morning. She was way, way too tired for that. She clawed at her sweatshirt and finally managed to get it over her head. Then she peeled off her jeans. The bra hit the floor, and then she grabbed her favorite sleep shirt: a Bon Jovi tee Bent had gone to great lengths to get for her more than twenty years ago.

“Means nothing,” she grumbled as she grabbed her sandwich and took a bite.

Her head swam from the booze. She took her sandwich, water, and phone to the window and settled there. As a teenager she’d ensconcedherself by this window, all the time dreaming of when she’d grow up and escape her small town. Later, after her mama had died, she would sit here and watch for Bent.

She stuffed another bite of sandwich into her mouth and closed her eyes. The memory of twenty-one-year-old Bent and that damned cowboy hat he always wore had her smiling. She’d loved taking it off his head, running her fingers through his long, thick hair.

Her cell vibrated in her lap. She jumped, almost dropped her half-eaten half sandwich.

She tore off another bite and stared at her phone.Bent.

“Damn it, Eve.”

She swallowed, took a drink of water, then accepted the call. “Hey.” She swiped at her mouth.

“You okay?”

She was going to get her sister back for this. “I’m good. Really. Everything here is fine. Really. Fine.”

The fact that she sounded inebriated was not lost on her.

“Good.”

She wanted to demand to know if Eve had called him, but on the off chance that she hadn’t and this call was about work, she didn’t.

“What’s up?” She downed a swallow of water, then ate the last of her sandwich. Licked her fingers.

“I was on my way home, and, well, I thought I’d check in on you. You look comfy.”

She stopped licking and stared out the window. Right there, beyond the trees, was his truck ... parked exactly where he’d parked all those nights when she’d sneak out to meet him.

The water bottle slid out of her hand. “Shit.” She jumped up, grabbed it before it completely emptied on the floor. “Sorry.” She grabbed her sweatshirt and tossed it onto the puddle. “I dropped ...” She stared out the window, her throat so dry she could hardly speak, much less swallow. “I dropped my bottle of water.”

“I like the T-shirt.”