Page 18 of Tango (Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue #4)

Tucker

A lice shouldn’t fit so well.

Yet I’m sitting here, watching her chat with Lani as though they’ve known each other since forever. She and Kennedy have a riding date for tomorrow, apparently, and my parents are already discussing the three of them joining us for church on Sunday.

Sunday? That’s, like, three days away.

We’ll surely have this all figured out by then, right?

My stomach twists, and I take another bite of dinner even though I was full a long time ago. I need the distraction though, because right now, it’s all I can do to keep from staring at Alice Sterling as she interacts with my family as though we’re all old friends.

“You doing okay?” Dylan asks me quietly. He’s sitting to my right, with Riley at my left. Alice is sandwiched between Lani and Kennedy, across from me and two chairs down.

“Fine. Why?”

“Call it twin-tuition. And you’re not your usual chatty self. You seemed fine earlier. Did something happen?”

“No.” I sigh. I should keep my mouth shut, especially given how he feels about Alice. But I’ve never been one to lie to Dylan. Not when asked a direct question. “I’m just catching feelings that I don’t want to have.”

“Catching feelings?” Dylan arches a brow. “That’s an interesting way to phrase it. How old are you again?”

I glare at him. “It’s something Lani said the other day. Shut it.”

Dylan grins, but I notice that it doesn’t reach his eyes. Honestly, it’s so rare that a smile does these days. Every now and then, I get a glimpse of my twin before his suffering, but most of the time, he’s this other version of himself.

Guarded and broken. Barely pieced together.

“How about you clear her of murder before you catch those feelings?” he advises.

“Working on it. She’s running a program on the video right now. It should be done by the time we get back.”

“And if that comes back the same as every other check you’ve done?”

My heart is heavy at the mere thought. I feel that she’s innocent. But—what if I’m wrong? Will I turn her in?

I know the answer. Despite how I’m starting to feel, I will turn her in because, if she did murder Ramiro, then it’s the right thing to do.

“I’ll do the right thing,” I reply. “But it won’t come back the same.”

“If it helps, I hope you find something too. And as for the catching feelings —ridiculous expression, by the way—you could catch worse ones.”

I snort. “Thanks, Dylan.”

“Who’s ready for dessert?” Mom announces as she stands. “I made banana pudding, minus one bite,” she adds, glaring at me with a knowing look. “Jemma baked the vanilla cookies that are inside from scratch.”

“Sign me up for a bowl!” Riley calls out.

Beside him, Jules laughs, and I can’t help but notice just how much my brother’s wife has changed over the last year and a half since they met. Her haunted gaze is lighter, her smile easier to come by.

Will that be Dylan someday?

Will unexpected love heal him too?

I look at Alice, and for the first time, my vow to not find love until Dylan learns to love again is nearly too heavy to carry. But I just can’t stomach the idea of being happy when he can’t be.

My throat constricts, a desire for fresh air suddenly so strong I cannot ignore it. So, pushing up from my chair, I say, “I’ll be right back,” then head out of the room and onto the front porch.

The night air is still hot, but it’s fresh as I draw it into my lungs and lean against the porch railing. For years now, I’ve been haunted by the knowledge of what Dylan suffered through.

I know that there will never be a day that goes by where I’m not reminded of everything those monsters stole from him. My hands clench into fists, and I drop my head.

Lord, please take these thoughts from me. Please cleanse them from me, Lord. Please take this pain. And please, God, place Your Mighty Hand upon my brother and heal him. I ask this in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Behind me, the door opens and closes softly.

“It’s a gorgeous night,” Jules says as she steps up beside me and rests her palms against the sturdy porch railing.

“It is.”

“I see the weight you’re carrying,” she says, cutting straight to the point of why she followed me out here.

I turn toward her, surprised. Jules and I have always gotten along—she’s great—but we’ve never really had any in-depth conversations. She’s far too guarded for that.

“Forgive me for overstepping; I just notice it because I recognize the same look in your eyes that my grandfather had in his for a long, long time.” She smiles softly.

After she was kidnapped and assaulted, she turned to alcohol to cope and ended up in and out of rehab. Her grandfather stood at her side through all of it though, even as he didn’t know the truth about what happened to her until right before he died.

“He’ll see it someday too,” she says. “If he doesn’t already.”

“I just wish I could get him to see that his life didn’t end in that jail cell.”

Jules reaches out and gently touches my shoulder. “He will. But you can’t do what my grandfather did, Tucker—don’t let Dylan’s pain keep you from being happy. You can take care of yourself even as you care for him too. Put your oxygen mask on first and all that.”

“Thanks, Jules.” The burning in my throat intensifies as I fight to keep the pain at bay.

It wasn’t me who suffered, but my heart and soul broke that day all the same.

And the truth is, oxygen mask included, I’d put Dylan before myself every single moment of every day.

Just as I know he’d do for me, which is why he can never know the vow I made to myself.

“You’re welcome. I’m going to go get some banana pudding. I just wanted to check on you.” She heads toward the door.

“Hey, Jules?”

“Yeah?” She turns toward me, one hand on the door handle.

“I’m thankful God brought you into our family. And that Riley wasn’t stubborn enough to mess it up.”

She laughs. “I thank Him every day for bringing me here too.”

“That was the best dinner I’ve had in ages .” Alice takes a seat behind her computer.

I step up beside her and watch as she unlocks her computer. “Yeah. It was good.”

She glances over her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

No. “Fine. Just ready to see if you managed to crack this video wide open.” I force a smile. What if she didn’t? What if I’m wrong? How long can I keep looking for the truth when the evidence is staring me right in the face?

“Same.” She opens the program, and all of my hopes go up in flames. “It’s not possible.” Alice scrolls through the results, but they’re right there—right in front of my face.

Valid.

The video is valid.

It was not tampered with.

Alice turns toward me. “Tucker, I promise, that is not me in that video.”

“We’ve run it through every program we have, Alice.” I cross my arms. “I think it’s time you start telling me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth! Put it up on your screen.”

“Alice—”

“Just do it, okay? If you still don’t believe me, I’ll call the sheriff myself.”

Cheeks red, she’s staring at me with such conviction in her eyes, I just don’t see how she could be lying.

So without arguing further, I cross over toward my computer and log in, then turn on the projector and send the image onto the large screen on my wall. I play it, watching the murder play out right in front of me.

“Pause it,” she says.

I do.

“First of all, I never wear my hair in a braid.”

“Alice, that is not enough?—”

She whirls on me. “I told you. I had a foster mom who would braid my hair every day, but she’d braid it so tight I’d get a headache.

Ever since then, I literally cannot braid my hair.

I just don’t do it.” She gestures to the shirt.

“And this—is not my shirt. I was wearing a black long-sleeve shirt and gray slacks that night. You know how I know? Because they were my favorite pair of pants, and I had to throw them away, thanks to the blood. I wasn’t wearing a pencil skirt and a white blouse.

I never wear skirts. Another fun side effect of a traumatic event,” she snaps.

I don’t dig, but the anger at what she’s insinuating infuriates me.

Even still, I bury it down because, right now, all that matters is proving she didn’t murder Ramiro, even though everything points to her doing so.

“All circumstantial.”

“Yes, but it’s the truth.” She groans. “I don’t know how they did it, but I’m telling you—this is not me.”

“I don’t see how they could have faked a video good enough to have both of us stumped.

” Even as I stare at the screen with the results right in front of my face, I know she’s innocent.

But how do you prove something you know to be true when the evidence is literally pointing toward it?

It might as well be a large, flashing neon sign that reads ‘murderer.’

“I don’t know either.” Alice crosses her arms and turns toward the computer.

“But I’m not lying.” She takes a deep breath then faces me.

“Look, if you want to take me in—fine. Do it. I won’t stop you.

We had a deal. You let me prove the video was a fake, or I let you have me arrested.

I couldn’t prove it.” She’s staring me down, daring me to make that move. “But I’m not guilty.”

I told Dylan I would.

I said that if it came back valid, I would turn her in because it was the right thing to do. So why does the thought of doing so—of following through on my word—feel wrong?

“It’s late,” I tell her. “Nothing can be done tonight.”

Alice stares at me. “How do you know I won’t run?”

“Because I’m your only hope, and you know it.”