16

John took the shortcut to Holbrook. No words were exchanged—he knew he had no other choice. His mother wouldn’t mind; she welcomed everyone into her home. For years, he had considered buying a house for himself and Alice, but like many things, he kept putting it off.

When he first returned to Holbrook after Sarah's death, he had renovated his mother’s house, installing central air and heating and repainting the entire place. Occasionally, he thought about decorating Alice’s room with a more feminine touch, but she always shut down the idea before he could even finish suggesting it.

He checked his watch—5:30 a.m. His mother usually woke up around five, though that depended on how late she had stayed up watching a movie. Turning left onto Mulberry Street, he pulled into the backyard, where he always parked his patrol car.

“Where are we?”

“My mother’s house.”

“Oh. You’re letting me stay with your mother?”

“I live here too.”

“Oh.” This time, there was less enthusiasm in her voice. Her expression darkened. “You live with your mother?”

“Yes. My daughter and I do.”

“You have a kid?”

“That’s not important,” he snapped. “This is the only option I have. For the next few hours, you’ll be on the honor system. You do know what that means, don’t you?”

She pushed tangled hair behind her ear. “I do, but I have a feeling your definition is different from mine.”

He was sure of it. “It means I trust you to follow instructions, be polite to my mother and daughter, and not try to escape or get anyone to help you. If you do, I’ll issue a warrant for your arrest. Are we clear?”

"Yes."

John unbuckled his gun belt, securing it around the holster.

“Do you always carry a gun?” she asked.

“When I’m dealing with escaped prisoners.” He placed the weapon in the glove compartment and locked it. Though she was disheveled and dirty, she still carried a certain femininity that made him uneasy. He quickly put distance between them. “Let’s go inside and see how my mom feels about this.”

As they reached the back steps, the kitchen light flicked on. He opened the door, allowing Charlotte Lily to enter first.

His mother, dressed in a floral robe with her gray hair tousled, turned away from the coffee pot. “Oh… we have company,” she noted.

“Mom, this is Charlotte Lily. Can she stay here for a few hours?”

Hae glanced at Charlotte, taking in her appearance. “What happened to you, hon?”

Before Charlotte could respond, John answered, “Tosin broke out of jail and took her with him. Her brother is coming this morning to bail her out, and I can’t keep her at the jail with Tosin.”

Hae waved a hand dismissively. “That’s fine, sweetheart.” Then, looking at Charlotte, she asked, “Do you like Elvis?”

John sighed. Couldn’t his mother take a break from Elvis for one day? She had a habit of responding to conversations using Elvis song titles, which often caused confusion—just as it did for Charlotte now.

Leaning over, he whispered, “Just say yes.”

"Yes," she replied.

“Good! I’m making coffee, and it’ll be ready faster than Elvis could shake his hips.” Hae winked. “Well, maybe not that fast—or that entertaining.”

“Okay,” Charlotte replied, eyeing John and his mother with uncertainty. “I’d really like a bath.”

Before John could respond, his mother stepped in. “John, show her where the bathroom is.”

“Mom, can you do that? I need to check in with Arthur and grab her belongings.”

“Come this way,” Hae said. “You can use anything—just don’t touch my Elvis soaps.”

“Okay,” Charlotte replied, still puzzled.

John stopped her before she left. “Ms. Lily.” She turned, her wide eyes meeting his. “Remember what we talked about.”

She nodded, looking exhausted. Her hair was matted with dirt, and her skin was caked with grime. Red mosquito bites covered her face and arms. Guilt gnawed at John—he hadn’t been able to protect her. There was nothing he could do about that now, except make sure she got back to her family safely.