Chapter 23 - The Baby's Wristband
Elias's truck was hidden a quarter mile away behind a broken stone wall. I ran toward it with Milo strapped against my chest under Elias's jacket. Behind us, fire swallowed the cabin roof.
"Who is Harlan?" I demanded as Elias drove.
"Victor Harlan. County commissioner. Rich enough to buy almost any explanation."
"Did he hurt Mom?"
Elias didn't answer quickly, which was an answer of its own.
He took us to a small urgent-care clinic across the county line. The nurse, a broad-shouldered woman named Greta Soto, gave Milo a careful examination while I sat on the edge of the bed holding his blanket like a rope.
"He's mildly dehydrated," Greta said. "You did the right thing getting help. We'll watch him, then make a feeding plan."
"Are you going to take him away?"
Her face softened. "I'm going to make sure both of you are safe. That means asking some questions, sweetheart."
"Every time grown-ups ask questions, something bad happens."
She pulled up a chair instead of standing over me. "Then you can ask me one first."
"Do you believe my mom left us?"
"I believe you know her better than I do."
Elias stood by the door, speaking quietly into his phone. Greta examined the hospital band still tied around Milo's keepsake blanket. "Where was he born?"
"St. Agnes, in Bellwether."
"That's strange." She studied the printed code. "This registration number belongs to a transfer, not a delivery."
I remembered Mom arguing with a receptionist after Milo was born. She'd come home furious, clutching a folder she wouldn't let me touch.
"What's a transfer?" I asked.
"Sometimes it's routine paperwork. Sometimes it isn't."
The clinic phone rang. Greta answered, listened, and went pale.
"Somebody just called from Bellwether County Services," she told Elias. "They say June is a runaway who kidnapped her brother. They're sending officers."
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I looked down at Milo, asleep with one fist wrapped around my finger.
Then the receptionist called from the hall: "They're already here."
