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voice cracked with emotion, and Nan never cracked. She was strong, together, everything Macy wanted but often failed to be. As she’d failed Billy.
    Images of him sitting across from her at the prison flashed in Macy’s mind. He’d been so afraid. Why hadn’t she done something? This was her fault. He’d asked for help and she hadn’t done a damn thing. Gripping two handfuls of the faded green shag carpet, she rocked back and forth. “No.”
    “Listen.” Nan brushed a hand over Macy’s back. “Billy’s not totally brainless. He’ll turn himself in.”
    Macy hiccupped and stared at her grandma. “He’s alive?”
    “As far as we know,” someone answered. “I’m assuming you’re his sister?”
    Macy looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a suit. “Yes.”
    “Oh goodness, you thought—” Nan didn’t finish her sentence before starting another. “He’s fine. Of course, we’re going to kick his ass when this is over.”
    The realization of it all hit Macy with sweet relief, but it left a bitter aftertaste. Billy wasn’t dead, but he’d broken out of prison? Why hadn’t she realized how desperate he sounded, how afraid? Now the police would chase him down, shoot him dead if he did something stupid. And Billy was notorious for doing stupid things. Nan was right. As soon as they got him safely back behind bars, Macy was going to kick that boy’s ass.
    She glanced at her mother, wrapped in her faded pink terry-cloth robe, then at Nan, who appeared strong in her purple Cinderella pajamas. God, she loved them both. And Billy. She loved her brother—who was alive. Alive!
    Another sob escaped Macy’s lips, and she hugged her mom.
    Nan moved in, and it became a group hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Macy said. “I thought you wanted to ask about the visit.”
    A deep clearing of a male throat made Macy glance up.
    “I’m Peter James, FBI,” said the middle-aged, suited guy who’d spoken earlier. His expression implied that his training hadn’t handled whimpering females who sat huddled on the floor. And yeah, right now Macy fit that profile. Not that she cared what he thought.
    Macy stood, then offered a hand up to her mom and Nan. Drawing in a shaky breath, she hugged her mom again. “I love you,” she whispered. Turning, she gave her grandma a watery smile.
    “Mace?” Nan’s eyes widened.
    “I’m okay,” she replied. Then, willing herself to be strong, Macy walked over to the coffee table and snatched a tissue. Feeling more composed, she gathered her wits and blew. Nose clean, dignity intact, she faced the two lawmen. “I want to know everything. For starters, why is the FBI involved?”
    It wasn’t until both men’s gazes lowered that Macy remembered the state of her attire. She jerked her shirt closed over her blue bra, realizing that maybe it would take a few more minutes to gather her dignity. But that didn’t matter—Billy was alive. Now all she had to do was figure out how to keep him that way.
    It was pitch dark out as Billy paced the trailer’s living room, uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes and with the gun tucked inside the waist of his pants. He watched out the window for Ellie’s car. The sixteen-year-old boy who had picked him up, Andy Canton, now sat with a bag of potato chips in his lap. The kid’s black Lab lay beside him on the lopsided sofa, which was missing a front leg.
    When the boy had first pulled over and asked Billy if he needed a ride, Billy worried the kid was either high on something or one of those “special” kids. But he didn’t seem to be either. Not that it mattered. Billy got in the car.
    When Andy had asked him where he was going, Billy asked if the kid could spare him a change of clothes. At first, he thought Andy was going to say no, but he’d nodded and told him he’d take him to his place—that no one but him lived there.
    “You think your girlfriend is gonna come?” Andy shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. The dog sniffed