He’d gone on and on about how he wanted her to take some time off, and the look on Brad’s face told her that was going to be a requirement. She stood, hands rubbing down the sides of his fleece robe. Though she’d spent several minutes in the bedroom regrouping, she hadn’t wanted to get dressed yet. Just wearing Brad’s robe gave her a sense of comfort. “What’s wrong? Why were you outside?” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, thought about running down the list of presidents just to maintain focus. Brad tossed his cell onto the coffee table and jerked his head toward the couch. “You’d better sit down.” “Those words never start a positive conversation. Just tell me what’s happened. Did the police find David Downing? Did he escape?” She laced her fingers together to keep her hands from shaking. Neither one of her questions caused even a flicker of response in Brad’s eyes. That alone told her the news was much worse. She dropped to the sofa cushion, her legs too unstable to hold her.
