want Ben to overhear this conversation.” John turned toward the stairs. “Why don’t we go downstairs and discuss what needs to be done in the days to come.”
Taylor followed behind Sierra, descending the steps and crossing to the living room. In front of the large window stood a Christmas tree, laden with tiny white lights, red garland and dozens of ornaments, a lot of them appearing homemade. He felt as though he’d stepped into a Christmas store. Since his son died, he hadn’t even put up a tree.
Sierra took a seat on the couch at one end while he sat in a chair across from her. John joined her on the couch. For a long moment silence ruled.
John cleared his throat. “For the next few days, I’d like to visit with Ben here at this house. This is where he’s felt safe and secure. I’m hoping that will help him begin to bring down his walls.”
Sierra folded her hands together in her lap as she faced the doctor. “I’m concerned. He hasn’t said a word so far. And like I said, Ben is a talkative child. He never goes long without talking.”
“Selective mutism is often caused by trauma. If we can deal with the cause, he’ll hopefully begin to talk again. But if he does, that doesn’t mean he’ll pour out the details of what happened this morning. I want to give him techniques to deal with stress and trauma. I think one of the best ways for him will be through his art. He’s very good at drawing for his age. He may never be able to say what happened with words, but maybe he will in pictures.”
Taylor remembered the myriad illustrations plastered all over the large corkboard in Ben’s bedroom, not to mention some in frames hanging on the walls. He wondered if Michelle Sanders could help Ben get started. The teenager had a way with children and certainly knew about being involved in a traumatic situation. Two people had kidnapped her nephew while she had been babysitting him and had left her injured. He’d call her father, Dallas, and see what he thought about it.
“What should I do to help?” Sierra asked John, twisting her hands together while chewing on her bottom lip.
“Love him. Keep his routine as normal as possible. And make sure he feels safe.” John stood and gave her a business card. “Call me at any time if you need me. I’ll be back tomorrow at eight before I go in for my first appointment.”
“I’ll walk you out.” Taylor pushed to his feet and accompanied John into the foyer. At the front door he finally said, “Thanks for coming on such short notice. I didn’t know what to do at the clinic. He wouldn’t let go of me.”
“Anytime. We’ve been friends for a long time.” He shook Taylor’s hand. “You know, there’s a chance we’ll never know what happened from Ben.”
“But the killer doesn’t know that. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“Ben’s in good hands with you.”
As John left, a news van pulled up to the curb in front of the house. While Taylor gripped the edge of the door, a cameraman and woman reporter climbed from their vehicle and started for the porch. He immediately stepped outside and met the pair on the sidewalk leading to Sierra’s home.
“We understand Ben Markham was the only surviving person at the clinic. Has he said anything about the shooting? What does the killer look like? Can the boy identify him?”
Although the police had withheld Ben’s name, he’d known it wouldn’t take the press long to figure it out, and now the killer would know for sure there was a potential witness. In addition to working the case, now he needed to find a place to keep Ben safe from the media and possibly the shooter.
He threw his shoulders back in an imposing gesture as he made a statement. “The families of the victims are dealing with a difficult situation. Please respect their privacy and grief. The police department will be giving a statement later today. Do not trespass on this property, or I’ll arrest you.”
He spun around and marched to the porch while the reporter asked, “Why wasn’t Sierra Walker at the clinic? She’s the office manager.”
He felt the urge to slam the front door but refrained. He didn’t want to alarm Ben in any way. So he closed it quietly.
Sierra stood in the foyer with her arms folded over her chest. “I don’t want them to upset Ben any more than he already is. Are they leaving?”
Taylor headed into the living room and stared out the large front window. “No. They’re standing by their van. There’ll be more before the day is over.” He turned toward Sierra.
The ashen cast to her face highlighted her large, dark brown eyes. “No! They can’t. Ben will see them. They will scare him even more.”
“As long as they stay off your property, there’s little I can do except find you and Ben another place to stay for the time being. A place that the reporters don’t know about.”
Sierra eased down onto the couch. “Like what? A hotel?”
As a second car parked in front, Taylor left the window. “I have an idea. Y’all can stay with my dad. He lives in a small town right outside of San Antonio. He’s a retired Marine and loves children. My sister, who lives three hours away, has a nine-year-old daughter and a five-year-old son. Besides that, the holiday season is a big thing for my dad. It might help Ben to get away.” He didn’t know if it would, but the boy’s safety was the most important aspect to consider.
“We can’t impose. We can keep the blinds closed. The press might get tired of waiting.”
“First, you aren’t imposing. I know my dad. He would be the first to tell you to come to his place. I’ll be there, too. I think Ben needs to be protected until we find the shooter. It didn’t take long for the reporters to find where y’all were. The same can be said of the killer.” Taylor sat next to her on the sofa, so close a whiff of vanilla teased his senses. “Let me call him and—”
A piercing scream reverberated through the house.
The shrill sound from the second floor chilled Sierra to her core. She jumped up at the same time as Taylor surged to his feet and raced toward the staircase, withdrawing his gun. He took the steps two at a time while she followed closely behind him. He disappeared inside Ben’s room a few feet before her. When she entered, she nearly ran into Taylor, poised in the entrance with his gun raised.
Sierra peered around him, her heartbeat racing. “Where’s Ben?”
He shifted his attention from one area of the bedroom to the next, lingering on the window. He walked to it and checked to see if it was locked. “I don’t know.”
While Taylor stooped down and inspected beneath the bed, Sierra went to look in the bathroom, knowing of two places Ben had used when they’d played hide-and-seek. But Ben wasn’t between the stool and counter or in the bathtub.
As she reentered the bedroom, Taylor opened the closet door. Ben sat hunched over, covering his ears. When her nephew dropped his hands to his sides and looked up, his tear-soaked face ripped at her composure.
Being closer, Taylor holstered his weapon and squatted next to Ben. “You must have had a bad
