Page 152 of The Wrong Brother

A knowing smile tugs at Shannon’s lips.

“I see.”

I ignore that. “Kate knows exactly who her mother is.” I meet Shannon’s eyes, watching as fresh tears skip down her cheeks.

“Thank you for finding her. And for keeping her safe.”

She reaches across the space between us and squeezes my hand. Emotion lodges unexpectedly in my throat.

I don’t know what to say to that.

After a long silence, Shannon straightens up.

“When do we leave?”

“You’re coming?”

She nods slowly. “I’m done hiding.” Her gaze hardens with a strength I haven’t seen before. “If Kate knows the truth...”

She looks toward the motel window, where the evening sky has begun to darken.

“...then it’s time the rest of the world hears it too.”

She leans down, picks up the envelope, and tosses it back to me.

“I won’t need that.”

A determined smile settles onto her face.

“I’m doing this for my daughter.”

* * *

By the time we reach the private airfield, the clock on the terminal wall reads 10:47 p.m. The runway is washed in pools of white light, the little twin-engine aircraft waiting with its propellers already turning. The air carries the sharp bite of sage long dried out, and Shannon pulls her borrowed jacket tighter as we cross the tarmac.

Neither of us says much.

The cabin is cramped, with only two passenger seats behind the pilot. Shannon buckles herself in immediately, gripping the armrests so tightly her knuckles turn white. As the engine’s roar louder and the plane begins to taxi, she bows her head, whispering prayers under her breath.

“I’ve never liked flying,” she admits over the roar of the engine, managing a strained smile. “I always think, if I can still touch the ground, I should.”

“We’ll be in Colorado before you know it.”

“I’d rather be anywhere without wings.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. The truth is, I’m not a fan of these twin prop planes either. They make my stomach drop like a stone; my insides go cold.

The plane lifts smoothly into the darkness, city lights shrinking beneath us until they’re little more than scattered constellations across the desert. Shannon squeezes her eyes shut, refusing to look out the window.

I do the opposite, because every mile east feels like one mile closer to Emma.

Closer to the tiny life growing inside her.

Closer to the family I never expected to want, yet now can’t imagine losing.

For the first time since leaving the cabin, Andrei isn’t the thought consuming me.

Emma is.