Walker stood outside the front door of the Bellwether homestead for the second time in as many days, filled with about as much dread now as he’d had then. It was just gone past 10 am on a grey, wet day.
It matched his dour, anxious mood.
The rain hadn’t let up at all since last night – it was relentless, coming down harder than he could ever remember it doing before. Which was saying something for the rainy Pacific Northwest.
The cloud cover was so thick that it bordered on claustrophobic. The swing where Tern had sat the day before swung in the wind with no one to weigh it down, the seat shiny with rain.
Inside the house, he could hear a baby fussing. The poor thing had been going for a few minutes now.
Minutes when he hadn’t been able to bring himself to knock on the door. What
