Chapter 7

In the middle of the night, Grayson was awakened by the sound of the door on the woodstove opening. Slitting his eyes, he suffered the despair of knowing he wasn't dreaming any of this. It was real, and it would remain his reality until he was found, or managed to escape, whichever came first.

Brian was down on one knee, poking the embers in the woodstove. Grayson realized he had never caught Brian sleeping. The man spent most of his time sitting in his chair, considering his circumstances with a look of desperation on his lined face. He had to know he couldn't keep Grayson here forever. No one could take Tommy's place.

Poor Brian was in over his head. With that thought, Grayson drifted off to sleep, the musty blanket heavy on his chest.

Hours later, light was shining through the window. Sensing Brian standing over him, Grayson lurched awake only to shrink back at the intent look on his captor's face. Cradling his shotgun like a baby, he stared at Grayson as if for the last time.

There aren't any shells in the shotgun.

No sooner did that reassuring thought cross his mind than Brian slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out three of them. With sharp alarm, Grayson watched him load the shells one at a time.

"Get up, kid. You're goin' home." With the shotgun loaded, Brian propped it against the end table and picked up the serrated knife lying by the empty planter.

Grayson stared at the knife not moving an inch. Going home, as in heaven? Had Brian decided to kill him, after all?

Brian reached for him, grabbing the rope at his wrists and hauling him to a sitting position. With relief, Grayson realized Brian was just cutting off the bindings, not stabbing him. Silence fell between them as Brian sawed away at the rough rope. When it fell from Grayson's chafed wrists, Brian went down on one knee and sawed at the rope encircling his ankles. Once it was cut away, his captor pushed stiffly to his feet.

Grayson didn't move. There had to be a catch. If Brian was setting him free, then why the air of doom hanging over him?

Brian's dark eyes seemed to look straight through him. "I'm sorry, kid."

Grayson stared back, afraid to ask, "What for?" in the off chance that Brian still intended to kill him.

"You're free to go." His captor gestured at the front door with the knife he still wielded.

Something in the man's voice made Grayson loath to leave. A thickness in his words that conveyed despair.

Grayson finally found his voice. "Are you going to shoot me in the back?"

The incredulous twitch of Brian's eyebrows reassured him. "'Course not."

Then why the grim resolve in his voice?

But with hope leeching into his bloodstream, Grayson focused on himself and the future being handed back to him. Hope gave him strength to rise on legs that felt like rubber. For a second, they stood mere inches apart, and Grayson fancied he could feel the cloud of sorrow encompassing his captor.

"I meant what I said last night," he told the man. "I won't tell anyone what you did."

The ghost of a smile curled Brian's mouth.

The fear that had gripped Grayson for days eased suddenly, making room for the sympathy that had pricked him from time to time. "My dad wants you to know he's sorry, too." Then, before his courage could fade, he headed briskly toward the door, still not completely confident that Brian was letting him leave.

Beneath his hand, the door swung open, admitting a puff of chilly, wet air that smelled vaguely like the ocean. With a glance back at Brian, who wasn't even looking at him, Grayson darted onto the crooked porch and closed the door behind him. His heart began to gallop.

I'm free! He ran off the stoop and, with a fearful backward glance, broke into a jog, heading past Brian's car to lope down the long driveway. It was still early morning, and a thin mist obscured the main road, but Grayson could hear cars moving in either direction. He lengthened his stride, his heart bursting from his chest as he pushed himself to run faster.

The crack of a shotgun nearly sent him sprawling face first onto the patchy gravel as his head whipped around and his stride broke. Drawing to a stop, breathing hard, he peered back at the house, the skeletal remains of a once-quaint home.

"No." His cheeks turned cold as he realized what might have just happened—had Brian just taken his own life to avoid going back to jail? Then he hadn't believed Grayson would stick to his story about running away.

"No!" he shouted back at the house, but it was too late to persuade Brian he would keep his word. Rocking back on his heels, he pressed a fist into his empty stomach, sick at the mental picture of Brian lying in his living room with his brains blown out.

But then a movement at the front of the house caught his eye. With an indrawn breath, Grayson spotted Brian as he stepped out of the house onto the crooked front porch, no shotgun in sight.

Dizzy with relief, Grayson raised a hand in farewell and held it there until Brian responded, slowly raising his own hand.

With a sob of nameless emotion, Grayson whirled around and resumed his escape to freedom.

* * *

Faith had been standing in the breakfast area in the hotel lobby eyeballing the unappetizing offerings when Fitz's cell phone rang. She glanced over at him, holding her breath.

"Fitz here." He put his plate of eggs and sausages down on the counter.

She could tell by the immediate shift in his demeanor that this was the call they'd been waiting for.

"Perfect. Thank you. Text that address to me now. I'll keep you advised." He hung up and met her gaze before announcing to the rest of the agents, "We have an address. Let's go, people. We'll eat later." He looked back at Faith. "You should stay here."

Her eyebrows rose. "I'm going with you."

He sighed and firmed his lips. "Only if you agree to stay in the car when we get there. It could be dangerous. I don't want you getting hurt."

He didn't want her stumbling onto Grayson's dead body. "I understand." Turning her back on the buffet, she headed for the exit.

Ten minutes later, with Charlotte driving and Fitz eyeing the map on his cell phone, they led their small convoy of unmarked vehicles toward the address supplied by Brian Sutton's parole officer. It was just six miles from their hotel.

With the feeling that she was caught up in a dream, Faith sat in the center of the back seat so she could see, though her visibility was hampered by the mist hanging in the air. Clasping her cold hands together, she braced herself for the possibility of Grayson's demise while clinging to the hope that they would find him still alive.

Charlotte could not be driving any faster as she sped them across the state border back into Virginia. Soon there was nothing around them but farmland and the occasional house. How odd that Grayson would be out here in the middle of nowhere.

All at once, Faith's watchful gaze fell upon the silhouette of a man—no, it was a boy!—walking on the other side of the road. At their approach, he waved both arms as though to catch their attention. "Wait, is that…?"

Fitz and Charlotte saw him, too, turning their heads to glance his way, but they didn't slow down.

Faith whipped around to peer out the back window. "That was Grayson!" Or was her hopeful mind just imagining things?

Fitz cast an incredulous glance back at her. "Are you sure?"

Charlotte took her word for it. Without waiting for permission, the dauntless redhead stabbed on her hazard lights, then her left turn signal, conveying her intent to the agents behind them. As they came to a crossing in the median, she slowed abruptly, sending the car into a squealing, 180-degree turn and prompting the two vehicles behind her to do likewise.

"Don't hit him, please!" Faith was already taking off her seat belt.

"Stay in the car," Fitz ordered, but she wasn't going to obey him if it was Grayson she had really seen.

Eyes glued to the side of the road, she spotted him standing just inside a parking lot for a lone Dollar General, still closed on this early Saturday morning. "There he is!"

It was Grayson, hugging himself from the cold, looking forlorn and scared. Dizzying relief flooded Faith's arteries. A sob of pure joy escaped her.

No sooner had Charlotte pulled into the parking lot behind him, followed by two more cars, than Faith shot out of the back door. "Grayson!"

He turned toward her, his expression of hopefulness morphing into a look of wonder. "Mom!"

She rushed at him, then gripped him fiercely, knowing right away that he'd not showered since leaving home. His hair was lank and musty smelling, but she inhaled his adolescent body odor as if it were the sweetest-smelling flower. And given the way he gripped her back, he felt the same way.

"Mom." He burst into tears, fighting at the same time to control them.

"It's okay. You're safe now, honey. You're safe."

"I'm so sorry."

Faith was aware that all six remaining FBI agents had gathered around them, including the SOGs and Seth, waiting to hear from Grayson what had happened.

"It's not your fault, honey." She stepped back just far enough to inspect him. His face was grubby, his sweatshirt stained with what looked like spaghetti sauce, but she saw no apparent injuries. Nor did she think now was the time to question him about his captor, but the expectant expressions on the lawmen's faces told her they were itching to arrest someone.

Seth stepped forward first, as Grayson already knew him. "Son, where's the man who took you, Brian Sutton? Did you escape from his home?"

Grayson stiffened perceptibly. His gaze darted back to his mother, and his face tightened the way it did whenever he told a lie. "I don't know who you're talking about."

Seth grabbed Grayson's forearm and held it up, displaying a ring of reddened skin around his wrists. "Where's the man who tied you up, son?"

Faith gasped at the visual evidence that her baby had been forcibly restrained.

Grayson's expression turned mulish. "I wasn't tied up."

"It's okay, honey. You're not in trouble. We know about Brian Sutton, how your father got him arrested and what happened to his son."

"I ran away, okay?"

Grayson's sudden outburst silenced them all.

"I ran away because I thought I hated my life. I thought I hated our new house and how Dad was gone and now Fitz is here." He gestured at Fitz, who'd stepped closer to Faith at Grayson's outburst. "But I was wrong. I just…I just want to go home. Please." His face crumpled and tears filled his eyes.

Members of the rescue party scowled at each other, clearly disbelieving Grayson's story. It was Fitz who made the decision. "Let's get Grayson back to the hotel. Charlotte, you take him and Faith. The rest of us will join up with you momentarily."

In other words, they were going to descend on Brian Sutton, regardless of Grayson's insistence.

Grayson wasn't stupid. With a glance at the armed special operators, he caught Fitz's eye. "I won't press charges! I won't testify against him. He's just a lonely man who misses his kid."

Faith caught a glimpse of Jerry in her son as he dashed away his tears and clung to his serious, adult expression.

"What happened to him wasn't fair. He didn't hurt me." He turned his pleading hazel eyes on her. "We're not pressing charges. Promise me, Mom. He'll go back to jail for years. He doesn't deserve that. He's suffered enough."

Faith waffled. On the one hand, she wanted Sutton to pay for the terror he had put Grayson through and for her own misery these last three days. On the other, Grayson was clearly serious about this. He'd obviously gotten to know his captor on a personal level and talked him into letting him go. "But he stole you away from your home, honey. We thought you were dead!"

Grayson swallowed. "What about Tommy?"

Faith stared at her son while thinking about the innocent boy, killed in error. Jerry had been so distraught knowing what had happened to him.

"You get to have me back," Grayson pointed out, "but Brian never gets Tommy back, let alone the ten years he spent in prison. Dad didn't want that for him. I know he didn't."

Faith searched herself and realized that was true. But the mother in her wanted to hold Sutton accountable. He couldn't just go around grabbing kids off the street and tying them up, for heaven's sake! "It's not that simple, Grayson?—"

"Yes, it is!" He cut her off. "What is it you've always taught me? When someone hurts you, you turn the other cheek. So, that's what I'm doing!"

The righteous light blazing in Grayson's eyes finally penetrated Faith's resistance, forcing her to ask herself, What would Jesus do?

The answer, as much as she didn't want to accept it, was to go along with Grayson. Squelching her desire for justice, Faith faced Fitz and said in no uncertain terms, "You can talk to Sutton if you want to, but we're not pressing charges."

While the other special agents scoffed at her decision—especially the two SOGs, who clearly couldn't wait to take the kidnapper into custody—Fitz frowned and divided a thoughtful look between her and Grayson.

"As you wish." His calm tone conveyed absolute authority. "He will not be charged with child abduction."

Faith could tell that Sutton would at least get a talking to. Or perhaps the state would seek to arrest him for violating the terms of his probation, like crossing the state line without permission.

But Grayson had taken Fitz at his word. To Faith's surprise, her son released her. She watched with widening eyes as he took a step toward Fitz and extended his hand.

"Thanks for finding me, Fitz. We'll see you around, okay?"

With a stunned, somewhat humbled look, Fitz accepted Grayson's handshake, then clasped his other hand over Grayson's to indicate how much this meant to him.

Tears sprang into Faith's eyes. It couldn't be more obvious that Grayson was saying he would welcome Fitz back into their lives.

"Rest up." Fitz pumped Grayson's hand one last time, then nodded at Charlotte, gesturing for her to take Faith and Grayson to her car.

As Faith slipped into the back seat with Grayson, it finally sank into her that all was well. So much agony and uncertainty resolved in the twinkling of an eye. God was so good to her!

Soon, Grayson would provide more details. But, for now, she was content to buckle herself back into the center of the seat so she could sit right next to him and hold his grubby hand.

"I love you so much, Grayson." She caught his eye. "You're the best combination of me and your father."

A beat of silence passed as Charlotte started up the car and pulled them away from the knot of lawmen talking things over.

"Dad was with me most of the time."

Faith nodded, pleased but not at all surprised to hear it. "You felt him with you?"

"He talked to me. He was, like, inside my head but also all around me. I know he felt bad about what happened to Tommy."

Faith squeezed Grayson's hand. "Yes, he felt terrible. It upset him for years."

Grayson's eyes filled with tears, and he turned averted his face to keep her from seeing them. A mile down the road, he wiped his cheeks and faced forward again.

"I want to go to the Outer Banks this summer."

She smiled at him. "Me, too." He'd refused to go the previous summer. And between their move and starting up her new business, she hadn't insisted. "Let's do it."

"Fitz should come, too, so he can help with Mary Mae. I'll keep an eye on Olivia."

The offering of help was so unlike the sullen behavior he'd exhibited before his disappearance. Faith pressed a quick kiss on her son's grimy cheek. "You're a good big brother."

He paused reflectively. "I will be."

* * *

That afternoon, Brian Sutton fought to get the ax out of the log he was splitting. Moving the handle of the ax up and down, he refrained from cursing and thought, again, about what had happened just a few hours before.

Just as he'd suspected, though far sooner than he'd thought possible, the FBI and a state policeman had descended on his house. Not wanting any more trouble than necessary, he'd come out with his hands in the air, lamenting that he hadn't found the courage to shoot himself.

A ginger-haired agent with a gentle light in his green eyes had given him the shock of his life while informing him that he wasn't under arrest. He'd asked if they could go inside, just the two of them. There, he'd asked questions that had brought Brian to tears as he confessed to abducting Grayson, to putting him in his trunk, and restraining him with rope when he tried to escape.

The agent had seemed impressed by Grayson's resourcefulness as Brian described how he'd discovered the boy's cell phone under his seat and how Grayson had cut off the zip ties and escaped from a second-story bedroom by climbing down a tree.

"Brave kid," the agent had remarked.

"Yeah. He got to me. It's hard to want to hurt a kid like that. So, I guess you're gonna arrest me now." After all, he had just confessed.

The agent drew a deep breath and said, "No. No, the boy and his mother have declined to press charges. You're still a free man, Brian."

The astonishment he'd felt at hearing those words humbled him, still. Imagine if he'd actually shot himself. He would never have known the grace that he was now receiving.

Jerry Saunders had robbed him of his life and his son. But Grayson Saunders had showed him mercy. Humbled, remorseful, and unable to free the ax, Brian sank to his knees on the soft soil and dropped his head into his work-roughened hands.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry, kid." He sobbed out the words. "I'm just a bitter, old fool."

His tears seemed to scald his cold cheeks. As he went to wipe them away, a dry leaf crackled under a stealthy footfall. Brian whipped his face in the direction of the sound. Not ten yards away stood a beagle, shivering in the cold. They regarded each other for the longest time.

"Well, hey, little guy," Brian finally crooned. It appeared to be male. "You lost?" Brian held out a hand, worried if he stood up, the pup would bolt. It probably belonged to some hunter, though given that Brian could see the dog's ribs under his brown-and-white coat, he'd been lost for some time. "You look hungry. Come here, boy. I can feed you."

To his delight, the beagle's tail began to wag. He came straight toward him as if he'd known Brian all his life.

Still on his knees, Brian stroked the dog's broad head, while inspecting his faded red collar for a tag. Nothing. He looked directly into the dog's soft brown eyes and knew: This dog was for him.

"Let's go inside, little fella. I got plenty of firewood for now. Come on." He kept a hand on the dog's collar just in case, but it didn't pull away as he stood, prompting Brian to let go. He started for the door, and the pup fell into step next to him.

A minute later, he had filled a bowl with scraps from his refrigerator. "There you go." The beagle homed in on it.

"Oh, you like that, don't you, Tommy?"

In the act of wolfing down his food, the beagle stopped and looked up at him. Brian's eyes filled with grateful tears. So this was what it felt like to be forgiven.