LITMIR.BIZ

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“As much as I could stand. I had to turn it off near the end.”

      She had had enough after the media started asking questions about Rick’s death and the stress a grieving widow must be facing as she raised two young children on her own.

      “Your sister was a perfect spokesperson—calm and controlled, but impassioned and forceful at the same time.”

      “That’s Molly in a nutshell.”

      He looked as if he wanted to say something else and continued to study her with that probing look she found so uncomfortable.

      “Was there something you needed, Agent Davis?” she asked when the silence between them stretched on a little too awkwardly. She deliberately used his title and that seemed to jar him back to awareness.

      He blinked. “Right. I came in for a drink. That hot wind out there is a killer.”

      Between the rain of the night before and the hot dry wind today, conditions couldn’t have been more unfavorable for tracking one missing little boy.

      “I hope the searchers are keeping hydrated.”

      “They’re all under strict orders, eight ounces of water for every hour they’re out in the sun.” He paused. “You know they had to call off the search dogs, don’t you?”

      She nodded tightly. She had been devastated when Daniel Galvez had told her the news, explaining that the swirling wind and the volunteer searchers were all muddying the scent and the dogs hadn’t been able to pick anything up.

      “The handlers will take them out again tonight after they’ve rested, when it’s cooler and the wind dies down,” Agent Davis said. “They might have better luck then.”

      Nighttime. She couldn’t bear to think of Cam being out there somewhere in the dark, alone and wanting his mother. Even more frightening, each tick of the clock was one more minute he spent without his life-saving seizure medication.

      “Do you know anything about epilepsy, Agent Davis?”

      He finished a swallow of his water before answering. “Some. My first partner had a sister with it.”

      “My son suffers from grand mal seizures. After much trial and error, we’ve been lucky to find a medicine combination that has worked for him for the last few years. As long as he takes his meds twice a day, his seizures are controlled. He’s now missed one dose. By this evening he’ll have missed two doses. He’s out there somewhere, and every moment that passes until we find him puts him in more jeopardy of having a seizure that could kill him.”

      Chapter 4

      She had nothing to do with her son’s disappearance.

      Cale wasn’t sure exactly what convinced him in her impassioned speech. He only knew that as he listened to her, he realized he could never believe she was hiding anything about her son or her treatment of him.

      Megan Vance was exactly as she seemed—a frightened mother worried for her child. He would bet his reputation on it.

      He had put his trust in the wrong people a few times before. He didn’t know anybody in the Bureau who hadn’t made some mistakes. But something told him, without any shadow of doubt, that this wouldn’t be one of those times.

      He believed her. Though he had tried to keep an open mind and consider the possibility that she might have harmed her son and filed a false missing persons report, he just couldn’t buy it. Nothing in her background or in her behavior set off any red flags.

      Not only did he want to trust her, he wanted to help her find whatever measure of peace might be possible under the circumstances.

      “I’m sorry, Mrs. Vance,” he said quietly. “I know this is terrible for you. But there are hundreds of people out there doing everything possible to find your son before that happens.”

      She nodded tightly and let out a shaky breath. “I know that. This waiting is just so horrible.”

      He had seen it in every one of those seventy-nine missing child cases he had worked. Sometimes parents only had to wait and hour or two. Others waited days, holding out a frantic hope only to see it cruelly dashed when their child’s body was found.

      He thought of Lynn and Sam McKinnon, the parents of his partner Gage. Their daughter Charlotte had been stolen from them at age three from their Las Vegas front yard. For nearly twenty-four years, they had never given up hope of finding her, though the girl’s disappearance had haunted the family every day for decades.

      And then, when they should have lost all hope, Charlotte had been miraculously returned to them.

      The McKinnons had lost their daughter’s childhood, but they had her back with them again. He knew plenty of parents who still waited and would probably never find the answers they sought.

      He could only hope Megan Vance wouldn’t be one of them.

      “You shouldn’t be waiting alone. Isn’t there someone who could sit with you?”

      Someone besides me, he thought. An FBI agent who had spent years slogging through the absolute worst humanity dished out against the innocent was probably not the most comforting companion for a parent in crisis looking for hope and encouragement.

      Her lovely features twisted into a grimace. “I sent everyone away. I swear, if one more person pats my hand and asks me how I’m holding up, I’m going to rip somebody’s eyeballs out.”

      He blinked rapidly, surprised to find himself smiling a little. After the last two weeks, he hadn’t been sure he would be able to find anything to smile about again. How strange that he should find it in the frustrated words of a terrified mother.

      He leaned a hip against the counter. “Do me a favor and keep your hands in your pockets, then, just in case I happen to forget that I’ve been duly warned.”

      Though she didn’t smile in return, the tightness of her features eased a little.

      They lapsed into silence and he sipped his water, wishing he had some comfort to offer. His mind pored over the facts of the case, his working theory right now that the boy had climbed out on his own.

      She might be able to shed some light on a few inconsistencies in the case.

      “Mrs. Vance—”

      “Megan, please,” she said.

      “Megan.” It was a lovely name, one that, combined with her green eyes and vibrant hair, made him think of fairy sprites and rolling fields of clover and…

      He broke off the thought. Where the hell had that come from? He was here to do a job, not suddenly wax poetic over a woman’s name.

      Annoyed at himself, his voice came out more brusque than he intended. “I know Cameron had epilepsy. Do you think that hinders his physical abilities at all?”

      Her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

      “How athletic is your son?”

      She sighed. “More than I have ever been comfortable with, if you want to know the truth. Because of his condition, I’ve always been a little overprotective, afraid he’ll have a seizure in the middle of doing something physical and hurt himself. It’s easy to forget that beyond his epilepsy, he’s just a typical boy who loves sports. Everything physical—soccer, basketball, baseball. You name it.”

      “I noticed your son has some pictures in his room of your late husband in climbing gear.”

      She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I guess you could say Rick was an adrenaline junkie. He always skied black diamond runs, kayaked Class Five rapids and climbed any route above a 5.8.”

      There were some who would put Cale in that same category. When he wasn’t working, he was usually heading to southern Utah to bike the slickrock or go canyoneering through the slots. Adrenaline junkie was probably an accurate term.

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