Oaks grins. “I might.”
Twila ignores him and looks at Amelia. Her gaze softens by a fraction, then hardens again when it moves to Derby standing beside her.
“I got a call from Paducah,” Twila says. “Unofficial. Jeremy Vale is asking questions about emergency custody procedure.”
Amelia’s face drains.
Derby steps closer, not touching, but there.
I lift a hand before panic catches fire. “Not filing yet?”
Twila shakes her head. “Not yet. But he’s laying groundwork. Concerned father. Unstable wife. Motorcycle club involvement. The usual pretty garbage men say when they need law to put a bow on control.”
Whiskey looks at her.
That look is too sharp.
Too interested.
She doesn’t look back at him, which tells me she knows exactly where his eyes are and refuses to give him the satisfaction.
Future trouble.
Not today’s fire, but smoke on the horizon.
“How do you know?” Derby asks.
Twila’s eyes cut to him. “Because not every person wearing a badge is eager to hand a woman back to a man with clean shoes and dirty hands.”
Amelia swallows. “You believe me?”
Twila’s expression shifts. “I believe he sounds too rehearsed.”
It isn’t comfort.
It may be better.
Whiskey steps beside Twila, close enough to look like teamwork and far enough that she doesn’t step away.
“I’ve been digging into Vale.” Twila looks at Sophie then. “And your father’s name came up.”
Sophie goes still.
My head turns slowly.
Twila doesn’t miss my reaction. “I take it that part isn’t news to everybody.”
The room gets ugly quiet.
Whiskey looks from Sophie to me.
He reads it fast. Too fast.
“You knew?” he asks Sophie.
Not accusing.
Worse.