Chapter 2

Grayson hustled toward the head of the driveway at eight fifteen in the morning with the ham-and-cheese sandwich his mother had made tucked into a brown paper bag inside his backpack. It was the first week in January, misty from the cold snap that swept in suddenly. Grayson shuddered in his sweatshirt, wishing he'd put on a jacket like his mom had told him to. But doing exactly the opposite made him feel independent.

"Hurry," she called off the front porch after him. "You're late!"

He didn't acknowledge her, just walked a little faster. Then, hearing the distinct roar of the bus, he broke into a hobble—not that he was eager to get to school. He hated his new middle school, which was full of kids who treated him like he'd come from another planet. Only Cameron, who lived right down the road, had befriended him.

Grayson was still fifty yards from the road when heard the bus slow down at the head of his driveway. Brakes screeched. Red lights flared, rosy pink in the mist. He picked up his pace, confident the bus driver could see him running toward her with his backpack jiggling. But, apparently, she did not because, instead of coming to a stop, the bus picked up speed again.

"Hey! Wait!" Grayson's shout went unheeded as the bus roared away.

He reached the head of the driveway breathing fast. Seeing nothing in either direction but asphalt, ditches, and trees, he uttered a curse word, which made him feel like a grownup. But then he turned helplessly around and started back home, only to stop in his tracks as he pictured his mother's dismay.

She would have to take him to school, but not until after Olivia's bus came and the babysitter showed up. With her first patient arriving at nine o'clock, that didn't leave her enough time to drive to his middle school and back again. That meant the babysitter would have to do it. Grayson cringed at the thought. Grownups did not have babysitters.

If only Dad were here.

Longing swept through Grayson. He used to sit in the front seat of his father's state police cruiser, listening to the chatter on the radio. That joy would never happen again. Loss bored into him, only slightly less painful than it had been a year ago.

The purr of a car motor pulled Grayson from his abstraction. He turned around, wishing his father's silver-and-blue Ford Interceptor with its distinctive grill would materialize from the mist and rescue him. Instead, a ratty purplish Buick rolled toward him. With a spurt of alarm, Grayson recognized it.

As with the last time, the window lowered, and the man's elbow came out. Grayson took a precautionary step backward, but the shaggy-haired man didn't have tattoos on his face. He had a thick brow ridge, days-old bristles, and a scar hatching one corner of his upper lip. Otherwise, he looked normal.

"Hi again. Looks like you missed the bus."

His voice was friendly, his deep-set eyes direct. How could he have known Grayson missed the bus?

"No, that wasn't mine," Grayson lied. "There's another bus coming."

The man's hairy eyebrows quirked. "You don't have to lie to me. I knew your father, remember?"

"Yeah." That's what he'd said the night of Grayson's birthday.

"My name's Brian. Hop in. I'll give you a ride to school." The locks gave a click.

Grayson remembered his fear on their previous encounter, but it had been dark that night, and he'd thought the man had tattoos on his face. This morning, he seemed harmless enough, and the fact that he'd known his dad meant he had to be a good guy. Besides, this way, he wouldn't have to ruin his mother's morning. "All right."

Hearing no cars coming, Grayson approached the door behind the driver's seat and slipped in. The car smelled of cigarettes. He'd scarcely closed his door when it started forward.

"I'm at John F. Kennedy Middle School," he volunteered. "Do you know where that is?"

"Sure, sure. Don't worry. I'll get you where you need to go."

As he fastened his seat belt, Grayson noted the tattoos on Brian's knuckles with a stab of concern. He didn't know any state policemen with letters tattooed onto their hands. What's more, there was trash under his feet and an old rag on the seat next to him.

"How do you know my dad?" Maybe this man used to work with him, though all the state troopers Grayson knew kept their cars clean.

The driver angled his rearview mirror so he could look back at him. "We did a job together once. Nice guy, your dad."

The compliment didn't match the hard edge to the man's voice. Then again, his father had worked with a tough group of men, not always known for using the right intonation with their words.

They came to an intersection. Without coming to a full stop, Brian rolled past the stop sign and turned right instead of going straight.

Grayson's alarm ticked upward. "Oh, this isn't the way to my school."

"No worries. I know a shortcut."

The words failed to reassure Grayson. It occurred to him that he'd better call Cameron to explain that he'd missed the bus. Unzipping the small pocket on the front of his backpack, he withdrew his cell phone and noticed Cameron had already called him, only his phone hadn't rung because it was still on DO NOT DISTURB.

"You got a cell phone?"

The sharp question had Grayson stuffing his phone under his leg. "No."

"What's in the bag?" A thick arm came over the back seat, snatched the backpack out of his hands, and slammed it down on the front seat, where Brian proceeded to paw through it.

This isn't normal.Grayson thought fast. "I was going to eat some of my lunch."

Brian's search turned up his bagged lunch and a notebook with his homework in it. He shoved the bag away from him, clearly relieved not to find a cell phone.

Stunned, Grayson kept quiet. This man wasn't planning to take him to school.

Brian braked abruptly, turning them off the road onto a dirt track Grayson had never noticed before. As they bounced through ruts and brushed past branches pressing in on them, his heart started to pound. This situation had all the earmarks of an abduction, and his father had told him if he got snatched to try to get away in the first few minutes.

Grayson peered around. This road was probably only used by hunters. But thanks to playing paintball wars with Cameron, Grayson was good at hiding in the woods, even with the mist lifting. He just had to get out of the car.

Moving stealthily, he released his seat belt. It came apart with the barest of clicks, covered up by their sudden lurch in and out of a rut. Keeping the strap pinned under his right arm, he placed his left elbow on the door's armrest. The man's eyes rose to the rearview mirror, and Grayson froze. A cold sweat filmed his upper lip.

I'm seriously being kidnapped. He gripped the phone hidden beneath his leg.

When Brian looked back at the road, Grayson assessed their speed. He would jump first, then call 911 as he was running away. Once he heard a voice on the other end, he wouldn't be so scared. Luckily, Brian was driving slowly, but Grayson would still need to push off to avoid getting run over.

He summoned his courage as Brian drove over a fallen branch.

Now!

Grayson jerked the door handle with his free hand, but the door was locked. Brian heard him and braked hard. Throwing up his hands to keep his face from hitting the seat in front of him, he dropped his cell phone, which tumbled to the floor of the car. He kicked it under the driver's seat as the car stopped moving forward.

His door came unlocked with a loud click, but there was no point in jumping out now because Brian was already there, wrenching Grayson's door open. Grayson dived across the back seat, hoping to escape out the other side, but the man caught the back of his belt and dragged him closer. As his legs came out of the car, Grayson glimpsed his cell phone, hidden deep under Brian's seat.

"I should've known you'd give me a hard time."

Brian pulled him out of the car. He wasn't on his feet one second before the man shoved him facedown over the trunk while pulling his hands behind his back. Grayson kicked and squirmed, but he was no match for the bigger man. In seconds, his wrists were bound together with a zip tie.

Breathing hard, Brian jerked Grayson upright before popping open the trunk with his remote.

"Get in, kid. You brought this on yourself."

Grayson eyed the dank trunk with its stained and trash-littered carpeting. "No. Please, I'll be good. I won't try to escape again."

A heavy hand on the back of his head forced him to bend over. At the same time, Brian hoisted him by the back of his pants, causing him to fall forward. He tucked his chin to protect his face and rolled onto a shoulder, which took the weight off his legs. Brian promptly heaved him the rest of the way in. As Grayson went to kick him, his captor slammed the trunk closed.

Wake up. Wake up.But this was too real to be a dream. He'd been crammed into a cold, dark trunk with his hands trapped uselessly behind his back. Gasping for air Grayson tried to subdue the panic rising up in him.

"Mom!"

Of course, she couldn't hear him. As far as she was concerned, he was at school by now. It would take hours for her to realize he was missing. His only consolation was that his cell phone—providing his captor didn't find it first and toss it somewhere—would tell his mother where to start looking for him.

* * *

Faith, bundled up in a long brown coat, wearing gloves and a hat, wondered if her client, a forty-year-old veteran who'd been inside a jeep in Afghanistan when it rolled over a mine, was warm enough, but she didn't want to break his concentration to ask him.

Mark had been riddled with shrapnel during his final tour, and some of it was still in his body. In subsequent months and years, pain had caused him to lose much of his muscle tone. On their first session at Back in the Saddle hippotherapy ranch, it was all he could do to keep his balance. For that reason, Faith had put him on their smallest mare, only fourteen hands high, but today, on Mark's fifth session, he was riding Blossom with so much confidence that Faith had let him hold the reins.

"You're doing great." She smiled up at him, proud of his accomplishment.

As she spoke, the cell phone in her pocket buzzed, drawing Mark's attention and causing him to wobble in the saddle. "Keep your eyes forward," she reminded him while ignoring the call. If the man lost his balance, she would be hard-pressed to catch him.

It was Fitz who'd pointed out that she'd get squished if she had to catch any falling patients. Faith's heart gave an ache at the memory of his teasing. The suspicion that he would never be part of her life again hollowed her out. If he meant to return one day, he would answer her texts, which he did not.

Mark clicked his tongue, prodding Blossom into a faster walk—not quite a trot as Blossom could tell he wasn't ready.

Faith picked up her pace. "Not too fast."

"It's easier at this speed."

Not for Faith, it wasn't. But this was how she got her exercise, walking and sometimes running dozens of times around the riding ring four days a week. As they performed their second circuit, her phone vibrated again in her pocket. A moment later, it chimed, telling her the caller had left a message.

She was out of breath by the time Mark's therapy session ended. In their reflection following his ride, she asked him whether he had noticed his improvement.

"Absolutely." Mark's cheeks were still ruddy from the cold. He rubbed his hands together as he sat across the desk from her. "I used to get fatigued just walking from my bedroom to the kitchen. You have literally brought me back to life, Faith."

His gratitude warmed her. "Well, thank you, but it's really Blossom who's done the work. I'm just there to catch you if you fall." Fitz would have said something like that. How she missed his droll remarks!

Mark laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners the same way Fitz's eyes did. "I like you."

The artless confession took her aback.

Mark cocked his head. "Any chance I could take you on a date sometime?"

Faith sent him her most professional smile. "I'm afraid I can't do that. It's a violation of my patient policies."

"What if I wasn't your patient anymore?"

Her cell phone, now sitting on the desk between them buzzed a third time, saving her from having to answer him. "I should really get this."

Smiling ruefully, Mark pushed to his feet. "See you next week, same time."

"Great. Bye." Faith waited until he'd reached her door before answering. "Hello."

"Mrs. Saunders?"

"Yes."

"This is Mabel from John F. Kennedy Middle School. Is Grayson out sick today?"

A drop of concern fell into Faith's stomach. "Um, no. He should be in school."

"Nope, he's not here."

"Oh?" Faith's thoughts went to his best friend. Maybe they were skipping school together. "Is Cameron Potts in school?"

"I'm not supposed to tell you that but, yes."

"Huh." Faith shot a worried gaze out of her many windows. "Would you call me, please, if Grayson shows up?"

"Sure." Given Mabel's tone, she was certain Grayson was skipping.

Faith hung up, then remembered the calls she'd received earlier and checked the source. Cameron Potts had called her twice. Unease twisted her insides as she put her phone to her ear and listened to his message.

"Hey, Mrs. Saunders. I'm just looking for Grayson. He didn't get on the bus this morning, and his phone bumped me over to voice mail. Can you tell him to text me? Thanks."

Faith's mouth went suddenly dry. She could tell by Cameron's tone alone he was telling the truth. Grayson hadn't gotten on the bus. She remembered him leaving the house a minute late. Had he missed his ride and was now walking to school?

She speed-dialed his cell phone, but as it had for Cameron, Grayson's voice mail answered. His phone was probably still on DO NOT DISTURB, a setting she insisted he use at night so his friends wouldn't wake him up.

Faith checked the time on her phone. Her next client wasn't due to arrive for another half hour. She could jump into her van and drive toward the school, hopefully to encounter Grayson along the way. The urge to share her concerns led her nowhere. She couldn't bother her twin sister, who was probably already at the elementary school where she taught. Jerry was dead, and Fitz wasn't talking to her.

Faith left word with the babysitter, grabbed her purse, and slipped into her van. With no time to scrape off the layer of frost on her windshield, she sprayed wiper fluid on it and used her wipers to clear it away. But as she traveled up her long driveway, a fresh layer of frost began to form, obscuring her vision. She cranked on the defroster to combat it.

The country road on which they lived was completely devoid of traffic when she emerged from her driveway. She lowered her windows to look each way, then turned left, peering through the widening bit of clear glass to keep from driving into the ditch on the side of the road. God forbid Grayson had decided to walk to school and been hit by a driver like her, whose windshield wasn't clear.

But she saw nothing to indicate that was the case. She drove all the way to his middle school, twelve minutes away, without seeing him. It was hard to believe he wasn't in the ugly two-story brick building, but Mabel hadn't called her back.

Before turning around in the empty bus lane, Faith tried Grayson's number again. Again, it bumped her over to voice mail. With a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach, she started back home. Maybe on the way back, she would run into Grayson. Maybe he'd stopped into a convenience store somewhere to spend some of the money he'd gotten for Christmas.

But when she didn't see him in or around the little market at the gas station, her thoughts became more frightened. Had Grayson run away? She knew he was still lost without his father, still unhappy about changing schools. Had she driven him to this?

Or could he have been kidnapped? Who would want to abduct a thirteen-year-old boy? Don't answer that. Deviants of every kind lurked in this world.

She arrived back at her big farmhouse with a prayer on her lips. "Oh, Father, please let him be here." Perhaps Grayson simply didn't want to go to school today. Yes, that made the most sense. He was hanging out in the woods around the house. She didn't have to be so fearful. Besides, her next client would be showing up any minute.

An hour later, as her second client pulled away, Faith went into the house where the babysitter was sitting in the outdated kitchen feeding Mary Mae squash from a jar. The sixty-something grandmother type lived not five minutes up the road. Sonja glanced over at Faith and did a double take. "Everything okay, dear?"

Faith sighed. "Not really, no. Grayson didn't show up for school this morning. I think he might be hanging around the property. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Not me, honey." Sonja slipped a loaded spoon into Mary Mae's mouth. "Has he ever done this before?"

Faith thought back. "No. Never. It's just…he hates his new middle school." She crossed to the nearest window and tried to imagine where Grayson might be. Turning around, she started for the front door in the adjacent living room. "I'm going to take my old horse for a spin around the property. Grayson might be up at the creek."

"Hope you find him."

Their dried-up Christmas tree, which she had planned to drag out of the house over her lunch hour, taunted her as she burst out the front door and returned to the barn to saddle up Otis. The three therapy horses watched her, clearly curious to know why Otis was about to get ridden and not them. She mounted him in the middle of the barn and rode him out the open front doors. The billing and note-taking she ought to be doing would have to wait, as would her lunch, which she still hoped to eat before her next client showed up.

After rounding the house, she urged Otis into a trot. "Grayson!"

Her voice carried in the still forest. But all she heard over the horse's hooves was the distant screech of an osprey.

Otis carried her through the woods along the path leading to the creek. Faith had grown up in this forest of pine, cedar, and dogwood trees playing hide-and-seek with Grace, her only sibling and Grayson's namesake. All her life, Faith had a best friend—first Grace, then Jerry, then most recently Fitz. Isolation wrapped cold fingers around her heart.

"Grayson! You don't have to hide, honey. It's cold out here. Come on home. I won't take you to school today."

But no one answered her. She came upon the creek at last, just a narrow, little estuary comprised of mudflats and marsh grass. Taking in the leaden sky and the naked limbs of the surrounding trees, Faith suffered a sudden certainty that Grayson wasn't here. She was wasting time.

Wheeling Otis sharply about, she headed back toward home. Her heart had begun to thud. Her innards congealed with fear. Where could Grayson be? Should she call the police first? Or Fitz? He would know what to do.

She returned Otis to his stall, rushing to remove his bridle and saddle. With just half an hour left before her next client arrived, she put a call through to Fitz while pacing in her office. The Christmas lights still strung across the wall of windows lent a kaleidoscope of color to her peripheral vision.

Fitz wasn't going to answer. Then again, this was his cell phone number, and he couldn't take it into the office. She hung up and dialed his office number, gratified when he answered on the second ring.

"This is Fitz."

"Hey, it's Faith."

* * *

With four ongoing investigations, Fitz didn't have time for a phone call, let alone a call from the woman he was trying to purge from his thoughts, but her tone alone made all thoughts about work vanish. "What's wrong?"

"Grayson is missing."

The news didn't alarm Fitz. He waited for more details.

"He apparently missed his bus this morning. His friend Cameron alerted me first and then the school. I hopped in the van to see if he was walking to school, but he wasn't. Then I came home and took Otis out to the creek, thinking Grayson was just hanging around and avoiding school. But he's not anywhere."

Fitz pictured the way Faith looked right then, her long, straight hair swirling around her shoulders. Her soft brown eyes would be huge with worry, her wide mouth ruddy from the cold.

"Don't worry." He wanted to soothe her fears. At the same time, he wished she hadn't called him at all, stirring up emotions that had settled to the bottom of his soul like sand. "He's probably hanging out at somebody's house. He'll be back when he's hungry?—"

"No." She cut him off firmly. "He doesn't have any friends here besides Cameron. Something isn't right. He wouldn't just vanish like this."

Fitz scraped his teeth over his lower lip. "I hear your concern, and I can give you some advice, but it's the local police who need to get involved. The FBI can't touch abductions until twenty-four hours have elapsed."

"Who would abduct him?"

The panicked question made Fitz want to kick himself for even mentioning the possibility. "Look, he's probably fine. Does he have his cell phone on him?"

"Yes, but he's not answering it."

"Did you set up the Find My Phone app when he first got his phone?"

Her silence told him the answer was no. He could tell her composure was slipping. "That's something Jerry would have done. I didn't do it."

He could hear her self-recrimination. "Faith, it's okay. The police don't need that app to find him. They can still locate him using pings off the cell phone towers. Do you know if his phone is fully charged?"

"It should be. He charges it overnight."

"Good. Good. Then call the local police. They'll find him for you."

She drew a shaky breath. "Okay. Thank you. It was good to hear your voice."

She hung up abruptly, leaving him steeped in feelings of loss, longing, and helplessness. Lowering the receiver back into its cradle, he pushed his emotions away by sheer force of will.

His work was all that mattered now. He couldn't afford to get involved with her again. He'd been so much a part of her life that he'd nearly lost the ability to turn off his feelings, and that gift was the only thing that had kept him alive after losing his family.

Turning his thoughts back to the projects screaming for his attention, Fitz pretended Faith hadn't called him at all. He was opening the shared file on the local merchant with ties to the mob when the memory of the Buick sitting in Faith's driveway the night he was babysitting flashed into his thoughts.

Could a peculiar incident that had happened over two months ago have anything to do with Grayson's disappearance now?

Nah.Shoving the memory aside, he focused on the report in front of him.