Chapter 13

Mallowater, TX, 2008

"Sorry for texting so late." Sloan waited till Noah closed his office door to apologize.

"No big deal," Noah said, but even as he sat behind his desk, facing Sloan, he avoided looking at her.

"Was Vickie upset?"

Noah shook his head. "I'm a cop. She's used to my phone going off at all hours."

"Good. I didn't want to get you in any sort of trouble."

Noah finally met her eyes. "You realize this information I'm getting for you could get me in trouble, too, right? Bigger trouble than you could ever get me in with Vickie?"

Sloan sat up straighter. So, he had found something. "I'd never tell anyone you're helping me."

"Well, there's nothing on file about an attempted kidnapping in Mallowater in or around August 1989," Noah said.

Sloan threw up her hands. "You said you had information."

Noah smirked. "Are you going to let me finish?"

Sloan put her hands on her lap. "Sorry, go ahead."

Noah opened a file folder on his desk. "Eddie Daughtry was arrested on August 20, 1989, for contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He supposedly offered drugs to a fifteen-year-old boy, but the case was thrown out."

"That's how he got Dylan, with drugs," Sloan said.

"Dylan Lawrence? What do you know about that case?"

Sloan twisted her watch. "We had dinner with him."

"We?"

"Felicity and I," Sloan said.

"Wow, Dylan Lawrence and Felicity Hadfield? Seems I've missed a lot." Something bitter dripped from Noah's tone. "Anyway, I tracked down Leo Jackson. I called and asked him if he remembered somebody trying to take you that day at his store."

Sloan leaned forward. "And?"

"And he does."

Sloan felt a rush of relief at having been validated.

"He didn't remember the year, but he remembered the day," Noah explained.

"The day?"

"It was his birthday. He was so bothered by what happened, he and his wife didn't go out to dinner that night."

"And his birthday is?"

"August 20 th ."

"It had to be Eddie then," Sloan said.

"Now, hold on." Noah raised his hand. "Leo knew Eddie Daughtry. He doesn't think it was him."

Sloan stood, pacing in front of Noah's desk. "Did he actually get a good look at the man's face, though?"

"I don't know. All he said was Caroline was adamant that the police not be involved. She claimed she was taking you away soon—somewhere the bad men couldn't find you."

Sloan stopped pacing. "Bad men? That's what she said, bad men?"

"According to Leo."

"So, she knew?" Sloan plopped down in a chair. "She knew Eddie was after me? Did she know he took Ridge? Noah, what's going on here?"

Noah crossed his arms. "I'm not sure, but this proves nothing about Ridge. There was an investigation. There was evidence against Jay. The D.A. and twelve jurors agreed he killed Ridge."

"I'm well aware of that." She spat out the words. "But has anyone even asked Eddie about this?"

"I'm not on that case. I have no clue what they've asked Eddie Daughtry."

"And you're not going to find out?" Anger like sharp barbs formed on her words. "Some best friend you turned out to be to Ridge."

"And some friend you turned out to be to me, Sloan." Noah's voice rose an octave. "You just drove away and never looked back. Now, you want my help." He picked up the folder. "This is me helping you, but it's still not enough! Everything has to be on your terms. It's always been all or nothing with you." Noah slammed the folder back down on the desk, sending a few papers inside flying.

Sloan bent down to gather the papers and her composure. Noah was right; she had no room to talk about being a lousy friend. "Sorry," she said, rising up to put the papers back in the file. "I have no right to ask you for anything, but something's going on here. Can I get a copy of the report of Eddie's arrest that day?" Sloan wanted to read it herself. Wanted to try to put a timeline of the day together.

"This is an active case. I can't do anything to undermine the investigation."

Sloan sighed. He hadn't earned the nickname Noah the Noble for nothing.

"The FBI is in this," Noah said. "I shouldn't be discussing any of it with you. The best I can do is to give you our records about Ridge's disappearance." He reached under the folder and held out a manila envelope. It hardly looked thick enough to hold the contents of an entire investigation.

"Thanks." Sloan's hand shook as she took the envelope.

"This won't turn out like you hope," Noah said. "This isn't like those detective novels you used to like. You aren't going to read these files and find some smoking gun. Read them. Then, let this go."

"Will you read through them too?" Sloan asked.

"I did. Nothing points to Daughtry. Just your dad."

"Then who tried to take me? What bad men were after me?"

"Ask Caroline," Noah said. "It's a long shot, but it's worth a try. And . . ." Noah rubbed his hands over his face. "I'll pass Ridge's file to the chief; tell him it was around the same time as Logan and Dylan. See if he thinks it's worth looking into."

Sloan closed her eyes, letting the relief set in. "Thank you." She reached across the desk and placed her hand on top of Noah's.

He lowered his eyes to their hands as if he wasn't sure what to make of the gesture. Just as Sloan was about to retract her hand, Noah rotated his own until their palms touched. His skin was clammy and cold. His touch still made every nerve ending stir.

He raised his eyes to meet hers. They stared at each other, hands touching, but neither holding on. They were kids again, silently daring each other to make the first move.

It took a knock on the door for them to separate. Noah retracted his hand as if Sloan were a hot stove he'd accidentally touched. "Come in."

Sloan grabbed her purse and pretended to be searching for something when the receptionist entered, but she felt the old woman's eyes on her.

"Sorry to bother you, Mr. Dawson, but Vickie is on the line. Didn't want to interrupt um . . . this, but she needs you to get Hudson from preschool. She texted you."

Noah patted his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Crap. Yeah, I can get Hud. Put Vickie through if she's still holding."

"Yes, sir."

Sloan wrestled her purse over her body and stood. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you."

Noah stood too. "No, it's fine. Good to see you again. I'd walk you out, but . . ." he gestured to the phone. As if on cue, it rang.

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Give Vickie my best."

"Will do." Noah smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Sloan knew he wouldn't mention her to Vickie. That exchange was just an attempt by both of them to relieve guilt. Nothing to hide here.

Not that there was anything to hide. It was only a touch. Nothing else happened. Nothing else would have happened. Even so, Sloan couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with the receptionist as she left the station.

Sloan waited till Caroline was asleep to find Leo Jackson's number. She had to hear his version of events herself.

He told her he couldn't remember much about the would-be kidnapper's appearance. Just that he was average height, thin, and wore a black hoodie. Eddie Daughtry was average height and thin, but Leo was certain he would have recognized him.

And though Leo had set off the alarm, he called off the cops at her mother's pleading. He said Caroline had been hysterical and practically got on her hands and knees to beg, claiming involving the police would only put Sloan in more danger.

"She said she had a plan to get you to safety, but when I saw her a few months later and asked, she seemed to have no idea what I was talking about." Leo sighed into the phone. "She already had those mind troubles then."

Mind troubles. That was an awfully nice way to put it. But it made Sloan wonder if this was the event that set her mom off. When Sloan remembered those days . . . Ridge's disappearance, his funeral, and Daddy's trial, she recalled her mom's strength, her strange calmness. Something had stolen that strength. Sloan had always assumed it was a gradual change, but what if it wasn't? What if this event was the tipping point?

"I was always worried about you after that, Sloan," Leo told her. "But you were always with the Dawsons, so I figured you were in excellent hands."

She had been in excellent hands with Noah and his family. Sloan wondered why she'd never told them about what happened at Leo's. What other memories from those difficult days had Sloan blocked out?

Sloan turned on her laptop and googled Eddie Daughtry. A slew of newspaper articles appeared, but all with the same information.

Sloan needed to talk to Dylan Lawrence again and ask him more questions. But his number was unlisted, and she wasn't up to going through Felicity right now.

Sloan stared again at Daughtry's mugshot. But this face was unfamiliar; it unearthed no repressed memories, just a burning sensation in her gut at the thought of what he'd done to Dylan, to Logan, possibly even to Ridge.

Sloan pushed the computer away and pulled out the copies Noah had given her from Ridge's file.

A grainy photo of her brother on the first page took her breath away. This was the picture plastered all over town those first few days when Ridge was still considered a missing person. It wasn't the last picture they had of him, but a good close-up of his face—his missing front tooth, the scar above his left eyebrow, and the blond hair creeping past his ears. This was the image America saw, the only Ridge Hadfield they'd ever know. They'd all forgotten about that gap-tooth grin and shaggy hair, but Sloan never would. A few tears dripped onto the page as she pushed it aside and flipped through the court records.

First was a statement from Caroline detailing the morning of the disappearance. Sloan didn't like remembering that day, but she owed it to Ridge to read everything, to analyze it until she found the truth.

Detective Peterson: Thank you for agreeing to meet, Mrs. Hadfield.

Caroline: It's Radel, actually. Caroline Radel.

Detective Peterson: Sorry, Ms. Radel. Can you tell us a little about the morning of November 6 th ?

Caroline: The boys were going fishing, so I got up early to pack a lunch. We ate breakfast. It was all very usual.

Detective Peterson: Can you describe Mr. Hadfield's disposition that morning?

Caroline: Well, Jay wasn't thrilled about going. It had all been my idea. Something I put together. God, this is all my fault.

Detective Peterson: No one can blame you, Ms. Radel. Would you like to pause the interview for a moment?

Caroline: No, I'm okay. Sorry. I just keep remembering that Ridge didn't want to go. Jay and Ridge were never close, so I hoped this would be good for them.

Detective Peterson: You say they weren't close. Can you elaborate?

Caroline: Ridge was a mama's boy. That bothered Jay. He just wasn't the son Jay hoped for. Not athletic or adventurous. He was a smart and gentle boy. That's what they were fighting about that morning. Ridge wanted to throw the fish back because he didn't want to hurt them.

Detective Peterson: I'm going to back up here a bit. There was a fight that morning? You said earlier it was a normal morning.

Caroline: Oh, well, it was a normal morning. I can't recall many mornings when there wasn't some sort of disagreement between Jay and Ridge.

Sloan stopped. She didn't remember a fight that morning. In her memories, Ridge was mopey, but their father had been in a great mood. There had been no fight that morning and certainly not every morning.

"Whatcha looking at?" a voice boomed behind her.

Sloan barely caught herself from falling out of the chair. "Mom! What are you doing up?" Sloan realized the answer. She'd been so distracted, she'd forgotten to give Caroline the Doxepin.

"I'm just thirsty."

"Okay, let me get you some water." Sloan filled a glass and glanced over her shoulder before digging the pill bottle from the back of the cabinet. Caroline was staring at the computer in an almost trance-like state.

Sloan used her body as a shield as she broke open the capsule and shook the powder into the cup.

"Here you go." Sloan twirled the cup around a few times before handing it to her mother.

But instead of taking the cup, Caroline knocked it out of Sloan's hand. Glass shattered across the tile.

"What the hell are you slipping me?" Caroline asked.

Sloan's muscles tensed. "Just something to help you sleep."

"You mean something to tranquilize me?" Caroline jammed a finger into Sloan's chest. "I don't want any meds."

Sloan stepped back. "I'm sorry. Just go to bed, and I'll clean up the mess."

"No, I got it," Caroline said, stepping into the pile of glass.

"Mom, stop!" Sloan yelled, but Caroline didn't seem bothered by the shard of glass that stuck into her foot as she stepped forward to grab Sloan's laptop off the kitchen table.

Sloan held up both hands. "Mom, you've got glass in your foot. Let me—"

But before she could finish, Caroline raised the laptop over her head and slammed it down. Bits of plastic and keyboard flew across the kitchen floor.

Sloan bent down to survey the damage. "What the hell, Mom?"

"I saw what you were looking at. I don't want to see that man's face ever again."

"Eddie?" Sloan asked. "Eddie Daughtry's face?" She stood and met her mother's eyes. They had gone wide, with the white showing all around the iris. "How do you know Eddie Daughtry?"

"It's all over the news. Everybody knows who he is and what he did," Caroline said.

"I don't believe you." Sloan fought to keep her voice steady. "I think you knew about Eddie Daughtry a long time ago."

Caroline pounded her hands on the table. "I recognize him from the news!"

"Did he take Ridge?"

Sloan shrieked as Caroline grabbed a clump of her hair and pulled. "Don't talk about Ridge!" Caroline screamed. She released Sloan's hair, causing her to stumble forward. "And why are you reading this?" She picked up the police interview from the table.

Sloan smoothed her hair down. "Because the police missed something."

"Your brother is fine." Caroline lifted her foot and pulled out the broken glass. "I talk to him at the creek."

"I understand," Sloan lowered her voice, choosing words that might calm her mother. "And if he's alive, Dad didn't kill him. It means something else happened. Why don't you sit down, and we can talk about it?"

But Caroline didn't sit; she stared down at the laptop. Miraculously, it was still on. The glass hadn't shattered, but a big black shape like an inkblot covered half of the screen. All that remained visible was the face of Eddie Daughtry.

"Did you know crows never forget a face?" Caroline asked quietly.

Sloan shook her head. This was good. Nothing calmed her mother like crows.

"Captured crows remember the faces of their abductors forever." Caroline's eyes left the broken laptop. "A group has been studying this up in Seattle. They had two masks: caveman and Dick Cheney. They wore the caveman ones to trap the crows." Caroline's voice grew louder and her gestures more demonstrative as she continued. "The crows left the researchers alone when they were in the Cheney mask, but when the birds saw that caveman face, they howled, Sloan. They screeched, dive-bombed, and attacked. Months later, even."

"Sounds like they have excellent memories," Sloan said.

"It's not just their memory. Some crows that harassed the researchers in the dangerous masks were not even present during the initial trapping; some weren't even born. Crows not only hold grudges; they tell others; they pass their grievances down to their offspring."

Sloan wondered what her mother was trying to tell her. Just another random fact about crows or something deeper? She took a chance.

"Do you remember that face, Mom?" Sloan pointed down at the computer. "Is Eddie Daughtry your man in the caveman mask?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He took Ridge. He tried to take me. Didn't he?"

When Caroline's hand met her cheek, it transported Sloan back to her teenage years. This was all familiar. The burning cheek, the burning rage inside of Sloan. Before she had time to react, her mom stomped over to the computer, raised her foot, and brought it down onto the screen, shattering it completely this time.

"That's enough!" Sloan grabbed her mother's arm, but she shook free.

Caroline moved around the kitchen, tearing up the police report, knocking dishes off the table, and breaking the flour canister into the sink.

"I'm calling the cops!" Sloan pulled out her cell phone. "They will readmit you to the hospital."

But Caroline was undeterred. She pushed past Sloan into the living room, knocking pictures from walls and tossing throw pillows off the couch, her voice growing hoarse from screaming. Sloan expected her to run when she reached the front door, but she sat and banged her head against the frame. Harder and harder until drops of blood splattered on the white door.

Sloan's hands shook as she began dialing Noah's number. She stopped halfway through, remembering his warning. Don't contact me this late again. She cleared the number and dialed 911 instead.

Sloan's eyelids kept involuntarily closing, so she went to bed without cleaning up the mess. The hospital couldn't keep her mom long; psychiatric holds were seventy hours max but rarely lasted longer than overnight. Sloan was as familiar with that procedure as she was with the burn of a just-slapped cheek.

As she swept the shards of glass and computer parts into the dustpan the next morning, she thought about her mother's reaction to seeing the photo of Eddie Daughtry, about the darkness that had crossed her eyes as she stomped on the screen. There was something personal behind that darkness.

Sloan jumped at the sound of the doorbell. She caught her reflection in the microwave and hoped it wasn't Noah at the door.

She was surprised to see Dylan Lawrence on the porch. He seemed thrown by her rattled appearance but recovered with a smile. "Hey, Sloan. Sorry to just stop by, but I didn't have your number and wanted to talk. Is this a bad time?"

Sloan glanced behind her. It was a terrible time, but with all her questions, she wasn't about to let him leave. "Well, if you think I'm a mess, just wait till you see the living room."

Dylan grinned. "I can come back later."

"No, come in. I've wanted to talk to you too." Sloan ushered him inside.

Dylan took off his sunglasses and glanced around. "Is it okay to ask what happened?"

"Hurricane Caroline." Sloan rubbed her forehead. "AKA my mother. She's . . . um . . . well, she's crazy." Sloan lowered herself onto the loveseat. "We can sit here."

Dylan sat next to her. Sloan expected him to speak first, but after almost a minute, Sloan broke through the uncomfortable silence.

"So, did you remember something or—"

Dylan's cheeks flushed. "Right. Sorry. Before I tell you, please understand it's nothing earth-shattering. But I've been thinking about Ridge's story, and I want to help if I can."

"Go on," Sloan coaxed.

"The FBI has got me going over timelines, and I remembered something. Well, it may be something, may be nothing." Dylan rubbed his hands down his pants legs. "I probably shouldn't even say anything."

Sloan touched his knee. "It's okay, Dylan." Her touch seemed to calm his nervous energy. "I won't share anything you don't want me to. And I won't be angry if it turns out to be nothing."

Dylan smiled. He looked young for his age and especially when he smiled. How he still kept such a sweet smile given all he'd been through was a miracle.

"When Eddie took me, Logan had already been there five years." Dylan leaned forward and held his head in his hands. "This is tough to talk about, but Eddie made a lot of money recording videos and selling them. Early on, he made me watch one of Logan and another boy."

Sloan noticed Dylan's hands were shaking. "You don't have to tell me this if it's too much," she said.

"No, I need to." Dylan raised his head. "This isn't like me, to share personal things. But when they found Logan's remains, something inside me just woke up. I realized I couldn't change what happened to us, but I could make sure Eddie Daughtry was held accountable. Make sure he didn't hurt anyone else."

"You're incredibly brave," Sloan said.

Dylan shook his head. "No. I'm having a moment of bravery after sixteen years of being a coward."

Sloan wanted to tell him a moment of bravery mattered. That it was more than she'd ever had. She'd rarely talked about her childhood with her own husband, much less the media, much less a complete stranger, but she kept quiet, giving Dylan room to speak.

"So, the video . . ." Dylan squeezed his eyes shut. "There was Logan and a younger kid. I asked Logan who the boy was and what happened to him."

Sloan sensed where this was going and felt a sharp pain in her stomach. She didn't want it to be Ridge in that video. The creek was better.

"Logan said the boy had been there about four years ago, and that Eddie sold him to some perv in Louisiana."

"Sold?" Sloan pressed her hands against her stomach. "Was that boy Ridge?"

Dylan met her eyes. "I'm not sure, Sloan." His voice was fragile. "Logan told me not to worry. Said the boy only got sold because he was young and that nobody would pay Eddie that much for sixteen and seventeen-year-olds." Dylan leaned forward, resting his head on his hands. "This sounds so screwed up, but in Logan's mind, and eventually my own, Eddie took care of us. We had food, beds, and heroin. So, it was a case of the devil you know being better than the devil you don't."

Sloan put her hand on Dylan's back. "I'm so sorry. I'm just so sorry."

Dylan turned his head toward her. "I hope it wasn't your brother."

"But the timeline fits. Four years before would've been 1988." The air conditioner kicked on. Sloan rubbed at her exposed forearms. "Do they have any other leads on who else it might be?"

"There were no other boys reported missing from this area in that time frame, but the feds have found Eddie had connections in at least three other states. So, the kid could have come from anywhere. Eddie had a lot of victims. He held at least three of us captive; some, he'd pick up off the street and have them home for dinner. Others came to him, knowing he kept bags of quarters for the arcade in the kitchen drawer and willing to do whatever it took to get them. He never got caught. Eddie's smart. Smart enough to set up your dad."

"Did you tell the FBI this? That the boy in the video could be Ridge?" Sloan asked.

"Not yet, but I will. They say the simplest explanation is usually the answer. So maybe your brother really died in the water that day. But it's best to assume nothing is simple when men like Eddie Daughtry are in this world."

"Are they looking for that video?"

"Yeah. As much as I hope it's been destroyed, if it hasn't, then we'll know."

"We'll know," Sloan repeated.

"I looked at Ridge's picture again online, but I just don't remember. I'm sorry."

"I've been doing the same with pictures of Eddie Daughtry," Sloan said. "Me obsessing over his picture . . . that's what caused all this." She motioned around the demolished room.

"How so?"

"I'm not sure," Sloan said. "Something's going on. When a man tried to abduct me, Mom didn't want to call the police. She told the shop owner bad men were after me. That she was going to take me away; only, she never did."

"You think she knows what happened to your brother and was worried it could happen to you too?" Dylan asked.

"I don't know. My mom's a fighter. She wouldn't have let it rest if she found out what had happened or even had an inkling."

"Maybe she had to. I know that sounds crazy, but Eddie has this way of keeping you scared. She might have been worried for your life."

Sloan shook her head. "She wouldn't sacrifice Ridge for me. She probably didn't want to see Eddie's picture for the reason the rest of us don't—because he's a sick pedophile."

"It's possible," Dylan said. "But this," he gestured around the room, "seems a little personal."

"I wish I could just ask Eddie. I mean, they've already got enough to put him away for life, right? So, he might tell the truth about Ridge, especially if he got something out of the deal."

Dylan's face went white. "Please don't contact him. He's an animal." Sloan noticed Dylan fidgeting again, dry-washing his hands. "Leave this to law enforcement."

"Right. Bad idea." Sloan glanced at the clock. "I hate to cut this short, but I'm expecting a call anytime to pick up my mom, and I'd like to get the house cleaned up before."

Dylan stood. "Yeah, sorry."

"No, I'm so glad you came." Sloan rose to meet him. "I've been wanting to talk to you again but didn't want to go through Felicity. That probably sounds horrible, but I don't want a relationship with her."

Dylan pushed his hands into his pocket. "Yeah. I wanted to talk to you without her too, so I found your address."

"Really? Wow. I'm horrible at reading people because I sorta thought you liked her."

Dylan's cheeks reddened. "Liked, liked her? No way. I mean, I'm sure she's a great person, but she's just too, I don't know, too happy."

Sloan laughed. "Well, this is a first. My dismal disposition has made me a preferable companion."

"Hey, we unhappy people need to stick together," Dylan said, his smile contradicting any claim of unhappiness at that moment. He bent down to retrieve a throw pillow from the floor. "Mind if I help you clean up a little?"

"Oh no, you don't have to do that," Sloan said.

"This is going to sound like a lie, but I enjoy cleaning. My therapist says I use cleaning and organization as coping mechanisms—a way to gain control of certain aspects of my life." He shrugged. "Makes sense. I mean, if you can't organize your thoughts, organize your sock drawer."

Sloan smiled as she handed him the broom. "All right then. Let's get to work."