Page 87 of Adam's Rising

A silence dropped over the room like an avalanche.

Claire finally spoke. “So they took Peter to get to you.”

“Or because they thought he was me,” Adam said. “I’m hard to sneak up on. Peter made it easy for them.”

* * *

Adam saton the porch steps, still clutching Peter’s bracelet. The wood dug into his palm like a silent rebuke.

Wrong brother.

He hadn’t realized how much power those words could hold. How much guilt could wrap itself around a heart and squeeze.

Claire stepped outside with a mug of coffee. She handed it to him, but he didn’t drink.

“He’s still alive,” she said softly. “Like me, they want something, which means he’s still alive.”

Adam nodded, but it felt like someone else’s head was moving. Someone outside himself, calmer. Less furious. The rage boiling under his skin needed a leash. Peter wouldn’t survive if Adam lost control.

“I need to go to Anchorage. I heard Thomas talking to one of his late-night clients once, about a truck stop. He told the guy he needed to meet someone off Muldoon Road, asked him to come with him.”

Claire stood, too. “Then I’m going with you.”

“No,” Adam said without hesitation. “You stay here. If they call again, we need someone on this end. And…” His voice dropped. “I don’t trust leaving Clara Mae alone, either. What if they come back? You, Clara Mae, and Rusty are safer together.”

Claire’s brow furrowed, but she nodded. “Okay. Just… please be careful.”

He gave her a quick kiss — too fast, too tight — and was already moving.

Anchorage felt bigger than usual, like the buildings themselves were watching him. He stopped at the largest truck stop off Muldoon Road. It had changed hands since their dad used to pass through with them, but the manager boasted that he’d been running the place since statehood.

“Big black Ford? Yeah. Always came in threes. Hard to miss ’em. Like a convoy. Been here several times in the last year. Used to park way in the back, near the old generator shed. Your brother always tipped decent, so I didn’t ask questions.”

“Anyone ever meet him inside? Talk to him?”

The man rubbed his chin. “Yeah. Stood out. Tall guy. Slick looking. Like one of those fluffballs in that GQ or somethin’. Didn’t say much. Had a strong accent.”

“You remember what kind of accent?”

“Damned if I know. If it ain’t English, it’s foreign to me.”

Adam made a mental note about theaccent. “You remember when?”

“March or April, maybe.”

That would’ve been right before everything went south. Before Thomas sent Adam and Peter away.

He tried the connected diner next. The waitress wasn’t as old as the manager, but she had a few years on Clara Mae. Adam guessed her to be fifty-something.

She squinted when he showed her Thomas’s Coast Guard ID. “He looks like you.”

“He’s my brother, but this was taken a couple of years ago. His hair would have been longer when he stopped in a few months ago.”

“Cute. I remember him. Must’ve been a good tipper.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Adam said. “Do you remember who he was with?”

She leaned on the counter. “Not his face so much, but I remember one thing. The guy he met had a tattoo. Big rattlesnake coiling down his forearm.”

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