Free Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) by Cynthia Justlin Page B

bathroom.
    “He said Mark had paid for the week. Not that they were still here.”
    “No.” She straightened, her eyes lit with desperate fire. “He has to be here.”
    She dashed to the bathroom where she flung open the flimsy door. Her jaw worked and she shook her head until her eyes homed in on the bunk. She ran to it and tore off the ugly mustard blanket covering the bottom bed. Next, the crisp white sheets hit the floor. She gripped the mattress and flipped it, revealing the springs underneath.
    She cried out and raced to the dresser where she yanked on the doors and sent them crashing to the scarred wooden floor, one by one.
    His heart twisted. What was she doing to herself? She knew Ryker couldn’t be in the there . Damn it, the woman was going to have a breakdown if she didn’t—
    “Stop.”
    Her head jerked toward him at the sound of his rough command. She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
    “Grace...” He held out his hands in a foolish, woefully inept attempt to console her. How could he do so effectively when he’d never been the recipient of such an act?
    She spun away from him and stumbled to the closet. Her fingers curled around the handle, she froze and drew a shuddering breath.
    Oh, hell, she wasn’t just looking for her son. She was looking for his body.
    “Grace, let me—”
    She shook her head and before he could reach her, yanked the door open. A cry strangled past her lips.
    He leapt the remaining distance and pushed her aside. Not the kid. God, not the kid.
    He dragged his gaze to the bottom of the closet.
    On the floor sat a bright red backpack, a whale key fob threaded through the zipper. Grace reached for it, her movements mechanical and stiff. She crushed the pack to her chest, her fingers digging into the coarse canvas. “Ryker’s.”
    He looked away, unable to bear the sheer heartbreak on her face. He’d told her not to get her hopes up. Told her despite the odds, they may not find Ryker today.
    But she’d been so certain, so damned determined. They’d wasted the day, coming up tired and empty-handed. Back at square one.
    And Grace...
    His eyes drifted to her, his stomach clenched, unwanted protectiveness welling inside him. He tried to force the tightness aside, but it grew and grew, forming a lump in his throat.
    She buried her face in the front of the backpack, sobs wracking her body.
    He touched her arm, running his thumb along it in an effort to soothe her shaking. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
    “I was so sure...” She lifted her head, green eyes drenched with bewilderment locking on him. “Where could he be?”
    Her knees buckled. He caught her around the shoulders and cushioned her drop to the floor.
    His chin brushed the top of her head. “We’ll find him.”
    The fervency in his voice surprised him. Even more so, the conviction that sprung in his heart.
    “We’ll get him back.” He gathered her in his arms. “Safe and sound.”
    She clutched the front of his shirt, burying her face at his shoulder. Hot tears leaked through the fabric. He stroked her back, feeling the bulk of the backpack crushed between them shift with his movements.
    He rocked her side to side, remembering as a kid the way he’d once seen his neighbors locked in such an embrace after a devastating loss. Soothing. Consoling.
    And yet, so foreign. Awkward.
    She looked up into his face, her eyes a mask of confusion and need. He needed too. Needed to touch her.
    His fingers skimmed her jaw, brushing away the wetness he found there. He traced her cheekbones, her smooth skin gliding beneath the roughness of his own.
    “Keith...”
    She’d never once complained. Not about the heat. Not about the steep trail. She’d even put up with his deliberate silent treatment. Never giving up, never losing faith, she was infuriating and tough. He respected that. Admired her determination and desired...
    What?
    Her.
    His head snapped back. Damn.
    The thought dislodged from his