Page 8 of Three Steps Behind

“Bristol walked out of our lives years ago,” Christian said. “Besides, she’s always been able to hold her own.”

“She likes it that way,” Deck added.

Art shook his head. “She’s in too deep.”

Was that true or just another lie? Knowing their father, it was a lie to drag them into another of his schemes. Deck wasn’t biting. “She chose her path.”

“She’s your sister,” he hissed, a white cloud puffing out with the stressed release of air.

“As Christian said, she walked out of our lives years ago.” Walked out on a crying and distraught Riley without a second thought.

“You don’t understand,” their dad protested.

“Clearly, neither do you.” He glanced at Christian, who nodded, and each taking one of their father’s arms, they lifted him from his feet and strode for his vehicle.

“You’re going to regret this.” He squirmed in their grasp, but they held firm.

“We already do.” For giving him time to spout his lies.

Moments later, their father’s taillights disappeared into the white snowy blur of night.

“You think he was telling the truth about Big Max questioning us?” Christian asked as they turned and headed for the house.

Deck brushed the flakes off his shoulders and weighed the likelihood of his dad telling the full truth about something. “Given everything the man says is usually a lie . . .” He shook his head. “It’s probably just a scare tactic to get us to work with him . . .”

“But?”

Deck hitched. “My gut says for once he wasn’t lying.”

Christian stalled beside him. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

Four

THE FRONT DOOR SHUT, the dead bolt clicked, the chain rattled, then Christian and Deck entered the living room.

Harper took in the deep, pinched lines at the corner of Deckard’s soulful ice-blue eyes and his rigid jaw—clamped so tight she feared his teeth would crack. Deck allowed very little to affect him, but between the bruises on her face and looking at his father’s, he’d had two surprises in as many days.

“Is he gone?” Riley asked, trepidation in her round blue eyes.

“Yeah.” Christian nodded.

“That wasn’t a wanted Christmas surprise,” she said. “He faked his death? All these years . . . he was . . .” Riley shook her head. “Hiding like a coward while our mom is actually serving time for her horrid acts. Not that it makes her better.”

The muscle in Deck’s jaw flicked. “They’re both—” He cut off his biting words, or so Harper guessed they’d be, and she couldn’t blame him in the least.

Deck’s piercing gaze landed on Grey, who nodded.

Grey rubbed Ri’s arms. “Should we get something hot to drink?”

Her gaze bounced between Deck and Grey, then she took hold of Grey’s hand. “Good idea.”

The moment the pair rounded the hallway, Christian fixed his gaze on Deck. “Thoughts?”

“I think we let it sit for the night, pray over it, and then we can discuss over breakfast. Rushed plans are rarely wise.”

That sounded like a Grey mentoring statement if Harper had ever heard one, but it was wise.

“Good point.” Deck loosened his fists and shook out his hands. “Besides, I owe this lovely lady a milkshake.”