pine and sage from the acres of national forest land bordering her property. After growing up in Boston and spending all her married life in the hustle of San Diego, she found she loved living out here on the edge of the wilderness, watching mule deer forage in her garden, listening to the shrill cry of hawks overhead and the distant yip of coyotes in the evening.
Now she hated it. Cameron could be anywhere out in that vast tract of land—and that was the best-case scenario. She couldn’t bear thinking that someone might have broken into her house and taken him under her very nose.
She drew a shuddering breath, feeling again the watchful gaze of Caleb Davis. She knew she was at the top of the suspect list right now, as far as the FBI agent was concerned. The knowledge burned, but she knew she couldn’t let it get to her.
“Tell me, Agent Davis. How many missing child cases have you investigated?”
If she hadn’t been looking closely at him, she might have missed the slight twitch of a muscle in his jaw before his expression returned to impassivity.
“A few,” he answered.
Some demon compelled her to push him. “Too many to count?”
“Seventy-nine, in the eight years I’ve been with the FBI’s Crimes Against Children unit.”
Seventy-nine. She shivered at the number, at the pain she knew it must represent, and at his preciseness in remembering it. All that heartache. She couldn’t bear it.
“How many of those have been resolved in a way you would deem successful?”
She didn’t want to ask but couldn’t seem to help herself.
Not enough.
He didn’t say the words, but she could see them in the sudden flare of darkness in the clear depths of his eyes. The unsaid message hovered between them, dank and ugly, and then he veiled his expression again.
“I know it’s an impossible thing to ask, Mrs. Vance, but you can’t think about those other children. All your energy right now should be focused on your own son.”
Before she could answer, the door of the command center trailer opened and the rescuers emerged into the sunlight. Daniel Galvez was the last to leave. He caught sight of them standing near the fence and walked to them. Megan was aware of the careful way he looked at her, as if he were afraid she would break apart right in front of him.
She felt like it, but she managed to hold on to whatever remnants of control she had left.
She was more surprised when he gave the same concerned scrutiny to Caleb Davis.
“Don’t even ask. I’m fine,” the FBI agent growled.
She gazed between the two men, baffled at their byplay. “I’m sure you are,” the sheriff said. “McKinnon wouldn’t have brought you back for this one if you weren’t.”
Davis said nothing. He just put his sunglasses back on.
Megan finally broke the awkward silence. “I’m sorry I interrupted you back there,” she said again.
The sheriff turned his attention to her. “Don’t worry about it. You should be included in the loop—I promise I’ll do my best to keep you informed of the search logistics. The first wave of searchers is already out there combing the grid, and another wave is receiving instructions so they can leave shortly. Search dogs will be here in the next hour or so, though the rain of last night and the wind that’s predicted to pick up in a couple hours may hamper their efforts.”
She was aware of Caleb Davis standing beside her, ever watchful. She found a strange comfort in his presence, though it made absolutely no sense, given his hour-long interrogation of her.
“Thank you,” she said to Daniel. “I do appreciate knowing what’s happening. Please, Sheriff, what can I do?”
He sighed and gestured to the news vans jockeying for position down the road. “I hate to burden you with this right now, but the media is already clamoring for some kind of statement from the family. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But we do need to get the word out that Cameron’s missing, in case someone might have seen something. Do you feel up to talking to the press?”
She pressed a hand to her stomach at the instinctive recoil there. How could she possibly stand before the harsh glare of cameras and strip her soul bare? Could she endure that sense of invasion again, that emotional purge? Her nails dug into her palms. She would hate it. But for Cameron she would endure anything.
“Mrs. Vance, may I make a suggestion?”
She turned to Agent Davis. “Of course.”
“Quite often in cases like this, the immediate family of a missing child appoints a spokesperson to handle the media, to make public statements, address media requests, that sort of thing. Perhaps your sister or brother-in-law would be willing to take care of that burden for you until you feel up to the challenge of facing the media.”
She seized on the idea. “I’ll talk to Molly when she returns from checking on Hailey.”
“I believe I saw her Expedition pull up a few minutes ago.” Daniel gestured to the row of vehicles in the driveway.
She followed his gaze and saw with mixed emotions that her sister had indeed returned. She must be inside the house.
As much as she needed Molly right now, she dreaded seeing her own fear reflected in her sister’s eyes.
“Thank you. I’ll go talk to her now,” she said.
She walked away from the two men, painfully aware of them watching her every step of the way.
Did the sheriff suspect her of harming her son, as well? She had met him a few times in town, and he had always been friendly and approachable. She hated that he might suspect her of something terrible.
Oh, she couldn’t bear this. She just wanted Cameron in her arms again and for all these people to be gone so she and her family could get back to the business of life.
Cale watched Megan Vance climb the redwood steps of the back deck leading to her house. She paused for a moment on the steps, her head angled toward a lone soccer ball rolled into a corner of the deck. Even from here he could see her shoulders slump, fear and tension in every line of her slender form.
She looked more breakable with each passing moment. He could only hope she had a good support system, that her sister could help pull her through.
She was going to need all the help she could get.
He hated this part of his job, dealing with the tumult of emotions in those left behind.
An image of Amanda Decker’s wild rage two weeks earlier lashed him. Why couldn’t you save them? she had half sobbed, half screamed. You were right there! Why couldn’t you help them?
He knew she had only been speaking out of grief and shock, but her words had been like hydrochloric acid on his already raw emotions. Later she had visited him in the hospital to apologize for her outburst and to thank him for his efforts, but it didn’t take away the searing guilt.
