Chapter 5

Fitz set his morning coffee next to his keyboard, then sank into his office chair to begin his Friday. The first thing he did every morning was log on to the Trilogy platform used by the Bureau and monitor the cases being run by his special agents. He skimmed the latest updates.

Well, well. That businessman with ties to the mob had realized he was under investigation and wanted to turn informant on his fellow mobsters. Fitz's lips curled with disdain. So much for honor among thieves.

At precisely eight thirty, his phone rang, as it did every weekday when Peter Gray, the senior agent in charge in the Norfolk field office, touched base to hand down new orders.

"Good morning, sir." As much as possible, he smoothed the grating sound made by his injured vocal cords.

"Is it, though?"

No day was a good day for Peter. Fitz's biggest fear was ending up just as cynical as his SAC.

"I'm putting you in charge of a kidnapping case. Kid by the name of Grayson Saunders has vanished from his home in Suffolk…"

The humming in Fitz's ears kept him from hearing what Peter said next. Faith's Grayson Saunders? Who else would it be?

"…cell phone, before it stopped working, pinged several towers in southeast Virginia and just over the border in North Carolina. State police have launched an AMBER Alert and sent over their report. I'll forward it to you now. Keep me apprised."

The phone clicked in Fitz's ear. What a nightmare. His past rushed back to him. Rory, his son, had been Grayson's age when he'd been killed. Please, God, not again.

Guilt clamped down on Fitz for ignoring Faith's frantic call the previous day. In his defense, he'd thought Grayson had been skipping school like most teens did at least once. But his failure to return after twenty-four hours without a word suggested there was more to his disappearance than first met the eye.

Needing to pull a team together, Fitz tapped out his favorite subordinate's extension, gratified when Charlotte answered right away.

"Patterson-Strong."

Fitz had hand-picked her when she was just Charlotte Patterson. She'd married Navy SEAL Lucas Strong six months after the couple helped Fitz round up a group of extremists entrenched in the government and the military. The six-foot tall beauty with short auburn hair had been heading to CIA training when Fitz lured her to the Bureau instead—though her husband probably had more to do with her decision than Fitz did.

"It's me. Grab Lowe and meet me up in the command center. We've got an abduction case."

"Uh, slight problem. Lowe just called in to say he's too sick to come to work."

Fitz blinked several times as destiny interfered with his plans, leaving him just two choices: He could either find another pair of special agents, or he could step in for Lowe, roll his sleeves up, and get thoroughly involved. His battered heart quailed. Faith's vulnerability was going to suck him right back into having feelings for her.

"No worries," he heard himself say. "I'll stand in for Lowe."

"Yes!"

Fitz could picture Charlotte's grin. "Do me a favor," he requested, not quite ready to jump in feetfirst. "Give the boy's mother a call. You met her at a Labor Day party last year. She's Grace McLeod's twin sister."

"Oh, no."

"Yes. Ask her every question you can think of. I'll see you upstairs in twenty minutes. Here's her number." He recited it from memory, then hung up.

A real man would have called her himself.Fitz acknowledged as much, but he could feel Faith's pull on him already. Bittersweet memories of their three short months together saturated his mind. It was easier to feel nothing at all than to fluctuate between mountain-top moments and bottomless abysses.

He blew out a breath. Please help me find the kid alive. All he wanted was to send the kid safely home to his mother. Anything more than that—like asking for Grayson to accept him so he could marry Faith and be fulfilled—would just be greedy.

If you didn't want too much, you could never end up disappointed.

* * *

Faith knew how law enforcement worked. She'd been the wife of a state policeman for thirteen years. They didn't want civilians in the way. They wouldn't let her join them in their search for her son. It was only after pleading relentlessly that Seth agreed to take her with him as he liaised with the FBI team now handling the case.

She'd had a much easier time of convincing Grace to take over for Sonja after work that afternoon. The fact that it was Friday was proof of God's mercy, since Grace was a teacher and could watch Faith's daughters tomorrow morning without having to find a sub. Amos, her husband, would probably come over with their two boys for a fun day in the country.

On the other hand, the odds of finding Grayson, now that his cell phone had gone silent, weren't great. And the longer they looked for him, the less chance they would find him at all.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten, let alone slept, in the past twenty-four hours. Tired and overwrought, she kept silent as Seth drove them along the route Grayson had been taken yesterday according to the pings his phone had sent to nearby cell towers. The sky was overcast and dismal. A January chill pervaded the rural landscape.

As they passed the Great Dismal Swamp, the black-as-ink water lapping at the roots of cypress trees made Faith shudder. Grayson's not here, she assured herself. The route traced by her cell phone company suggested he'd been taken southeast, about one hour from their home.

Seth glanced over at her as he turned onto a narrow road that would cut east across the lower half of Virginia. "Would you believe we police this area, too?"

She eyed the relentlessly flat farmland surrounding them. "I remember. Jerry did an undercover job out this way about ten years ago, well before he joined the tactical team."

"That was before I joined the force."

The scenario returned to Faith. "Some guy with a gun shop was suspected of selling firearms without background checks. Jerry befriended him to find out. Sure enough, he sold a semiautomatic to a felon, and Jerry got him arrested." That memory jogged another. Hadn't a child been killed in a subsequent shootout? Jerry had been distraught for months afterward. "Hmm."

"What?" Seth prompted.

"Oh, I was just remembering what happened at the gun dealer's arrest. One of the arresting troopers was young and nervous about walking into a gun shop. The dealer's little boy popped up over the sales counter holding a water gun, and the trooper shot him dead."

Seth gaped at her. "No way. That's awful."

"Yeah, Jerry blamed himself for not communicating more clearly that the gun owner had a son. In his defense, the boy should've been in school that day." Closing her eyes, Faith willed away the tragic memory while blotting out the view of empty fields and naked tree branches.

The movement of the car must have lulled her to sleep. When she opened her eyes next, they were on a four-lane highway crossing the border into North Carolina, a mere half hour from the Outer Banks where they used to vacation every summer.

She straightened in her seat. "Oh, I know where we are." She scanned the familiar route with its quirky shops and empty market stands on either side of the road, seeking any sign of Grayson.

Minutes later, Seth put on his signal and waited for the oncoming traffic to pass before turning into a strip mall. Faith had already spotted the collection of unmarked sedans and SUVs. Her eyes widened as she took in the knot of federal agents, all wearing navy-blue jackets with FBI emblazoned in yellow on their backs. They stood on the sidewalk in front of a laundromat.

Faith recognized Charlotte, the leggy redhead who'd called her earlier that morning. Standing next to Charlotte, about the same height and with hair just a shade less vibrant, stood Fitz.

A gasp of surprise hitched in Faith's throat. He'd come! Relief and gratitude sang through her veins, causing tears to smart. She quickly blinked them back.

No sooner had Seth parked the car than Faith shot out of it, making a beeline to Fitz, who'd spotted her and fallen silent. Seven sets of eyes noted her and Seth's arrival, but Faith's attention was riveted to Fitz. She didn't miss the look of reproof that he shot at Seth for bringing her along.

Stopping in front of him, she read tension and wariness in his expression. "Any updates?" she inquired.

His lips firmed. "Not yet." Fitz's injured vocal cords made the words sound like a cat's purr. "This was the last area from which his phone pinged the nearest cell tower, but no one in these shops claims to recognize his photo."

Charlotte handed Faith one of the flyers they were distributing. It was the same picture she'd provided to Seth for the AMBER Alert. Grayson's lopsided grin as he held a newborn Mary Mae made Faith's stomach hurt. Hoping to sense her son's proximity, she noted the business in the strip mall: a liquor store, a laundromat, a Chinese restaurant, and an antique store. Only the restaurant would have been of interest to Grayson.

"Have you checked for any security cameras?"

Fitz nodded. "Of course. The liquor store has one, but it hasn't worked for years."

She turned away, hugging herself against the moist breeze as she surveyed the area. This busy stretch of highway was backed by trees and fallow fields. If Grayson was here, somewhere, wouldn't she feel it?

Hearing the agents confer in low voices, she moved toward them again, overhearing their decision to extend their search, since the pings were only vaguely reliable.

Faith waited for them to split up into three groups.

Seth caught her eye. "Have a seat in the car, Faith. We'll be back."

Ignoring his suggestion, she fell in behind Fitz and Charlotte as they peeled away from the group. The rest of the agents either headed east or crossed the highway to question people on the other side.

The small stand of trees on the west side of the strip mall was littered with trash. Taking note of Faith's company, Fitz slowed his step, then put himself between Faith and the traffic that was zipping up behind them. As a trio, they walked past the trees, between the highway's shoulder and a gully.

On the other side of the trees stood a brick rancher converted from a home into a funeral parlor. As Charlotte and Fitz marched up to the front door to make inquiries, Faith remained in the parking lot, not wanting to approach anything associated with death. Tamping down the shudders that racked her spine, she lamented the fact that Grayson had gone off in just a hoodie the previous morning. He had to be freezing.

Where are you, Grayson? Why did you come this way? The possibility that he'd run away occurred to her again. Surely he wasn't that unhappy.

Her attention snagged on something blue caught in the bushes just up the road from where she stood. Grayson's backpack was that exact shade of blue.

Wanting to investigate and seeing Fitz and Charlotte still occupied with the proprietor of the funeral home, Faith headed toward the object. The closer she came, the more it resembled Grayson's backpack. Her heart began to thud with cautious excitement, then with dread. She slowed her steps. What if she came upon his body? She wasn't prepared for that.

An eighteen-wheeler roared by her blaring its horn, as if the driver was angry at her for walking on the narrow shoulder.

"Faith!"

Fitz hurried toward her, a look of real concern on his face. Before he could scold her, she pointed to the object just feet away. "I think that's Grayson's backpack."

He caught her arm before she could step across the gully. "No one can touch it."

The feel of his warm hand anchoring her in place made her want to throw her arms around him and hold on tight.

As Charlotte overtook them, he pointed out the object to her while pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Charlotte took his place in holding on to Faith's arm while Fitz stepped across the gully. He reached into the branches and pulled out a backpack. Faith's knees jittered as she recognized the logo.

"It's Grayson's or one just like his." Joy and terror gripped Faith simultaneously.

Looking more grim by the moment, Fitz unzipped the main pocket, reached inside, and pulled something out—the brown bag lunch she'd made for him on Wednesday night.

Faith's head spun. Her legs went weak as a cold river of shock coursed through her veins. "I have to sit down."

Charlotte pulled her across the gully and down on the damp, dirty ground. "Put your head between your knees."

This can't be happening. But it was. As Faith breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, she could hear Charlotte join Fitz in moving through the bushes, canvassing the area for more evidence. Please don't find his body. Please don't.

"I've got a cell phone!" Charlotte sang out.

Faith snapped her head up. Fitz was stepping toward Charlotte. With his gloved hand, he picked up what she was pointing to.

Faith clambered to her knees, needing to see it.

Fitz joined her by the gully. "Can you ID this?"

The battered iPhone in his hand was scarcely recognizable, but it had the same green case as the phone Grayson had received on his tenth birthday. She'd been so proud of him for never misplacing or dropping it. But now it was crushed, the glass smashed to pieces. "It's his."

Fitz eyed her more closely. "You okay?"

"Yes. We have a lead now." And no body, which meant Grayson had to be alive.

Charlotte rejoined them. "There's no sign of anyone walking through these bushes. My guess is both objects were tossed out the window of a car, headed back the way it came, which means the abductor found the phone, destroyed it, and threw it out the window after turning around."

Fitz pondered her words a moment, then checked the shoulder—looking for tire tracks, Faith realized—but the shoulder was comprised of gravel.

"Looks like someone spun out right there, as they pulled back onto the road." He made brief eye contact with Charlotte. "Okay, let's get these items to our forensic team."

As they returned to their vehicles, he kept himself between Faith and the traffic while carrying Grayson's recovered items.

Once at their vehicles, Fitz opened his trunk and sealed the items in evidence bags of varied size. Just then the forensic team returned from their reconnaissance farther east and bent over the open trunk to examine the evidence.

Faith waited on tenterhooks, hugging herself hard as she prayed for something to be revealed by their discovery. At last, one of the forensic specialists turned to Fitz.

"Sir, there's nothing immediately apparent that would tell us anything. We'll need to take these items to the lab to look for fibers and fingerprints and such."

Faith's hopes floundered. How long would that take?

Fitz cast her a worried glance, then addressed the techs. "I want you to hop a flight from Norfolk. Every minute counts."

Hop a flight?Faith waited for the men to shoot away in their car before asking Fitz. "Where's the lab?"

"Quantico."

She stared at him, too stricken with dismay to speak. Quantico Marine Base was a good four-hour drive away.

Fitz's eyes, the color of spring grass, conveyed empathy. "Who's watching Olivia and the baby?"

It was good of him to spare a thought for her other children. "My sister."

He nodded, then grimaced and shook his head. "I understand why you're here, Faith, but it makes it harder for me to do my job while worrying about your state of mind."

"I'm fine. And I'm not leaving until I find my son." She stared at him until he looked away with a humorless laugh.

"You're a stubborn one."

"No. Grace is the stubborn one. I'm just a mother. And a mother will leave no stone unturned when her child is lost." Her throat closed up suddenly, and tears filmed her vision.

Fitz crossed his arms, as if to keep himself from hugging her. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

"I ate breakfast yesterday."

He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and checked his watch. "We're breaking for lunch," he announced, getting looks of agreement from the others. "We can brainstorm our next move while we wait for forensics."

* * *

Stooped over, with his ankles bound to his wrists, Grayson shuffled out of the little bathroom under the stairs and froze. The shotgun was propped against Brian's chair, forgotten, while Brian himself was in the kitchen, out of sight, cooking what smelled like pasta.

Grayson's stomach rumbled, but all thoughts of eating took a back seat as he beheld the shotgun just standing there. It looked like the one his father used when hunting.

His heart began to thump. He looked down at himself. Could he raise the shotgun when he hadn't even been able to pee standing up?

Buckshot doesn't require accuracy. Just point and fire.

His father's advice sounded in his head, right when he needed it. When he was eleven, his father had taken him hunting for deer. A beautiful doe had wandered into the clearing while they were hunkered up in a tree stand.

"Just point and fire,"whispered his father. Grayson had centered the crosshairs right over the doe's heart when his dad pushed the barrel down. "Wait."

A fawn had ambled into the clearing to join its mother. They'd both stared at it before looking at each other, chagrined to have nearly killed the baby's mother. Ultimately, they'd gone home from their hunting trip empty-handed but with no regrets.

Grayson had no intention of killing Brian, either. Buckshot punched multiple holes in the target, and he didn't want to see that. On the other hand, maybe he could use the shotgun to barter for his freedom.

He shuffled closer to the chair, inspecting the weapon more closely. It was exactly like the one his father had taught him to shoot! What's more, if he sat down, he had enough slack in the rope to pick up the shotgun and hold it.

With his knees quaking, he dropped into Brian's chair. The ex-con was stirring something on the stove and didn't notice. The smell of onion and garlic made Grayson's stomach burn. He'd never been so hungry. Grabbing the barrel with both his bound hands, he hefted the shotgun, careful not to bump it on the side of the chair as he worked his hands down the frame, past the loading port, to the grip. He had just tucked the stock under his arm when Brian peeked his head out of the kitchen.

"Hey, you done in…" The man's words died. He gaped in surprise at Grayson who was pointing the shotgun directly at him.

Say something. "I want you to let me go." His voice came out fearless and confident. "If you don't, I'll shoot you." That was a bald lie, but Brian didn't know him.

To his surprise, his abductor threw back his grizzly head and guffawed.

Grayson scowled at him, trembling with frustration. Brian kept bellowing with mirth, his laughter getting louder. The man wasn't taking him seriously enough. Pulling back the bolt, Grayson went to drop a shell into the chamber to show the man he was serious. The subsequent hollow click told him the reason for his captor's glee. The shotgun wasn't even loaded.

Grayson lowered the weapon to his lap, then flinched against the back of the chair, expecting retribution.

Brian sobered, wiping a tear of hilarity from his face. But with liquid boiling over in the kitchen, he was forced to attend to it. Grayson eyed the impotent weapon. Had the shotgun ever been loaded? Was Brian carrying the shells in his pocket, or had he just used the shotgun to scare him?

If he wasn't going to kill Grayson or ransom him for money—since he didn't even seem to own a cell phone—why, then, had he bothered kidnapping him?

A terrible notion stole into Grayson's mind. Maybe Brian was keeping him here to take Tommy's place.