When it was over, she told Detective Rosen about Sara’s hidden notebook, and he promised to pick it up personally, after he’d finished with the current crime scene.
At home, she showered until her skin pruned up, attempting and failing to wash the feel of the man’s hands off her. Then, with Henry dozing in his crib, she cried herself to sleep in the middle of the afternoon.
She woke to an empty crib at her bedside and the tangy scent of barbecue in the air.
She was on her feet instantly in search of her son. The scents of her grill suggested all was well, that Sawyer was grilling, but she wasn’t sure she liked him nabbing Henry without letting her know. She crept down the hallway toward the kitchen warring with herself. Henry was his son, but surely common courtesy dictated that he at least let her know before taking him like that. No one else in her world would have dared. Maybe Sara. The thought clogged her throat.
Emma found Sawyer on the back porch, manning the grill as suspected.
He turned before she spoke, as if he’d somehow sensed her arrival. “Hey,” he said, his gaze lingering on her cheek. “Did we wake you?”
“No,” Emma said flatly, “but I wish you would have. Instead, I woke to find an empty crib. I didn’t like it.” Across from the grill, aligned with the porch swing she loved, Henry swung cheerfully from a red-and-yellow baby swing fastened to the rafters of the porch roof. “You put up the swing,” she said, unsure if she was doubly frustrated that Sawyer had helped himself to that too, or warmed by the gesture.
Sawyer opened the lid to her steaming grill and flipped a line of burgers with practiced skill. “I found it in the garage while I was double-checking the perimeter. I think I woke the little guy with your power drill, but he let me off the hook when I suggested he give the swing a try.” Pride tugged Sawyer’s lips, and Emma wondered if it was his handiwork or Henry that caused it. “If you don’t want the swing there, I can move it,” he said, brows dipping into a V. “Whatever you want.”
“It’s fine,” Emma said, drifting toward her son. “He clearly loves it.” She stroked Henry’s soft brown hair and kissed his head, inhaling the soft scents of sunshine and baby shampoo. She’d come so close to seeing him hurt today. Her fingers found the aching skin of her cheek on instinct, recalling the moment of impact with perfect, bone-rattling clarity. Then she’d been rescued by the man of her dreams. A man she’d long ago assumed had walked out of her life permanently, only to turn up and move in with her on the night of their strange reunion.
Last night.
Her stomach churned with the weight of all that had happened these last twenty-four hours. Nearly forty-eight, if she started counting from the moment her sister had been torn from their home. Her heart raced, and her mouth dried. It was just too much.
Sawyer closed the grill lid and watched her for a long beat before speaking. “Do you want to sit down?” He poured her a glass of ice water from the pitcher sitting on the little table she normally shared with Sara. “I planned to check in on you when the burgers were done. It’s been a long day. I thought you might want to eat.”
Emma curled one arm around her middle, attempting feebly to hold herself together. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said.
Sawyer gave his spatula a little spin. “It’s just burgers,” he said smoothly, as if that was true.
But it wasn’t just burgers. It was the attentiveness and compassion. The protection and security. It was all the things she’d missed so deeply when Sawyer had left, and it was like peeling the scab off a wound she’d worked very hard to heal.
Emma straightened her spine. “I meant you don’t have to watch Henry so I can sleep or hang swings or cook for me.” The gestures were clearly meant to be helpful and not intrusive, she decided, and she couldn’t be mad that he’d taken Henry from the crib when he woke. It was a fatherly thing to do. The swing. The burgers. All acts of kindness. But Emma’s gut still churned with anger. She didn’t need Sawyer’s help with those things. She’d been fine on her own all these months. Why should he get to walk back in and pretend he’d been here all along?
Sawyer narrowed his eyes. “It’s the least I can do, don’t you think?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I called Fortress Security because I needed help keeping Henry safe and finding Sara. You saved us from that lunatic today. That’s what I need from you. That and help finding my sister.”
Sawyer’s eyes went cold at the mention of the man in the alley. It was a new look on him. One she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“My face hurts,” she said. “I’m mad in general. I’m also thankful Henry wasn’t hurt.”
Sawyer took a step in her direction, hand raised as if he might touch her swollen cheek. He stopped short, clearly thinking better of it, and lowered his arm. He raised his attention from the bruise to her eyes. “I’m going to find the man who did this.”
“Good, because I think he was the same man who took Sara,” she said through a tightening throat, “and that man is a monster.”
“What?” Sawyer’s already aggravated expression darkened. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “I recognized his voice. So, I can tell you from experience that Henry and I were lucky. I stood by and listened as he strangled Sara with his bare hands, held her down, made her bleed, then dragged her away.” The memory of mopping her sister’s blood off the living room floor rushed back to mind, and she stood, ready to run. She didn’t want to have an emotional breakdown in front of Henry. Or Sawyer. The day had been too difficult already. “Excuse me.”
Sawyer was on his feet instantly. “Hey.” He caught her in his arms and pulled her against his chest. The strong, familiar embrace felt so much like home, so much like everything she’d been missing for far too long. “I know I wasn’t here for you before,” he said, “but I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone, Emma.” He stroked her hair, and her heart gave a heavy thump.
She tried not to read into his promise. He wasn’t going anywhere for now, but he’d be gone again when Sara came home. He would stay in Henry’s life after that, but not in hers. Not really. Not the way her twisting heart wanted. Tears pricked her eyes, and her chest grew heavy with the need to cry.
“Excuse me,” she blurted, bobbing free of him and running back inside.
Tears streamed over her cheeks with every footstep down the long hall to her room.
SAWYER KNOCKED ON Emma’s door a few minutes later, then swung it open. The en suite bathroom door was ajar. “Emma?” he called. “Everything okay?”
She stepped out of the bathroom with red-rimmed eyes and blotchy skin. “Sorry. I needed a minute.”
Sawyer set Henry in the crib beside her bed, a fresh cocktail of anger and regret mixing in his gut. “Feeling better?”
“No.” She blew out a shaky breath, checking the corners of her mouth with her fingertips. “Not much. How’s Henry?”
Sawyer gave his son a quick look. “He conked out in the swing. I wasn’t sure it was good for him to sleep with his head tipped the way it was.”
“Thanks.” She moved toward the crib, toward Henry, and the urge to pull her against him was nearly too much.
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You know that what happened to Sara isn’t your fault,” he said. “You couldn’t have fought that guy and protected Henry at the same time. You did the only thing you could do. You were smart, quick thinking