Chapter Ten

Harper and Devlin were comparing notes about the resort project on Wednesday when Jacy, the receptionist, came in looking flustered. She hurried to Harper. "There are two men here who say they need to talk to you." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "They showed me identification that says they're with the FBI."

Devlin's eyes widened. "What have you done to have the FBI after you?" he asked.

Jacy scowled at him. "I don't think that's very funny. I put them in the client interview room next to Patterson's office," she said.

Harper followed her to the comfortably furnished lounge where clients could review the work the company had done for them or discuss new projects. "Are you Harper Stanick?" a craggy-faced man with very black hair and olive skin asked.

"Yes."

"Special Agent Cussler and Special Agent Reno."

"May I see some identification?"

They each displayed badges and ID. "Sit down." Cussler motioned to the sofa. "We have a few questions to ask you."

She sat, perched on the very edge of the sofa, in danger of sliding back on the marshmallow-soft cushions.

"We've received a report from the local sheriff's department about an incident in which you reported seeing Charlotte Vernon and her suspected kidnappers in a car near here," Cussler said.

"That's right."

"Could you describe the incident again for us, please," Agent Reno said. He smiled, while Agent Cussler's expression remained stern.

Harper described that evening again, until the point where Sheriff Walker and his deputies arrived. "Are you sure you saw Charlotte Vernon in that car?" Cussler asked.

"I saw a child with long blond hair who looked to be about Charlotte's age. And the woman in the front seat definitely looked like Kim Vernon."

"You know Kim Vernon?"

"I met her the night before Charlotte disappeared and spoke to her briefly. She's a very striking woman, not one I would forget."

"What about Charlotte Vernon? How well do you know her?"

"I met her that same night. She asked for my help washing her hands in the ladies' room. She is a very friendly, beautiful child."

"What is your relationship with Ryker Vernon?" Cussler asked.

The shift in the conversation startled her. "Ryker and I are friends."

"You're friends, but you only met his daughter for the first time the night before she disappeared?" Reno posed this question.

"I've only recently returned to town after living out of state," she said, determined to remain composed despite their firing questions at her. "Ryker and I ran into each other the day before—Tuesday. He was working an accident scene and I was part of the search and rescue crew called to help rescue the accident victims. Before then, we hadn't spoken in more than seven years."

"But you knew each other before?" Reno asked.

"Yes. We went to school together."

"So the two of you met at this accident and you saw him again the next night at Mo's Pub, is that the name of the place?" Cussler took over again.

"Yes. I was there with some friends and he was there with his daughter."

"So you didn't arrange to meet?" Cussler asked.

"No."

"You didn't think it was strange, seeing him again so soon?" Reno again.

"This is a very small town. It's not unusual to see people you know."

"Back to Monday afternoon," Cussler said. "This car drove past and you recognized Charlotte and Kim. Where was this exactly?"

"We were stopped at the end of a dirt road in the mountains, about to turn left onto another dirt road that leads back to the highway. We hadn't seen any other traffic all afternoon, but Ryker had to stop to wait for this car to go past."

"What kind of car?" Cussler asked.

"A white Jeep. I don't know what model. I don't know cars."

"How fast would you estimate it was going?" Cussler asked.

"Fast for travel on those rough roads, but not that fast overall. Maybe twenty-five miles an hour."

"What time of day was this?"

"About seven o'clock."

"Wasn't it too dark to see much in the car?" Reno spoke up again.

"It passed very close by. And there was plenty of light to see. It was dusk, not yet dark."

"Is it possible you saw someone else?" Reno asked. "Or imagined the child?"

"No. Why don't you believe me?"

Cussler moved closer. He was a tall man, looming over her. "Maybe you said you saw Charlotte because you wanted Ryker to like you better."

"I wanted... What are you talking about?"

"You say Ryker Vernon is your friend," Cussler said. "Why were you with him that afternoon?"

"I already told you I volunteer with search and rescue. While on a rescue call, I found a pink hair ribbon that belonged to his daughter. He wanted me to show him the place where I found the ribbon."

"Did you go with him to the campsite?" Cussler asked.

"Yes."

"Did you see the items he found in the tent—the child's clothing and shoes?"

"No. I waited outside the camp while he went to investigate."

"So you don't know if the items were there or if he put them there," Cussler said.

"Why would he put them there? And he wasn't carrying anything when he went up to the camp."

"He had a backpack, didn't he?"

"Yes, but it didn't have his daughter's clothing in it."

"How do you know?" Reno asked. "Did you look inside?"

She glared at both men. Before, she had been annoyed. Now she was getting angry. "Are you accusing Ryker of something?"

"We're not accusing anyone. But we have to consider all possibilities. What was his relationship with his ex-wife?"

"I don't think they had a relationship. He hadn't seen her since they divorced three years ago."

"You knew that or he told you that?" Cussler asked.

"He told me that but I've never known Ryker to lie."

"He didn't move to Eagle Mountain to get away from her?"

"He moved to Eagle Mountain so that his parents could help him care for his daughter. Why are you asking me all these questions about Ryker?"

"Why are you so upset?"

"I'm upset because a little girl is missing and you don't seem to be doing anything to find her."

Cussler stepped back. "That's all the questions we have for now. We may want to talk to you again. You can go now."

She was shaking as she walked out of the room and decided that instead of going back to her desk, she needed to get some fresh air and try to calm down. She crossed the street and walked two blocks to the park. The day was sunny and mild, a soft breeze stirring the broad leaves of the cottonwoods that towered over the park. A group of toddlers swarmed the playground in one corner, and a man played fetch with his dog on the grassy stretch in front of the stage where there were sometimes concerts in the summer.

She hadn't walked far before she saw a familiar figure ahead. "Ryker!" she called, and jogged to catch up with him.

He stopped and waited for her, hands in the pockets of his khaki uniform pants. "What are you doing here this time of day?" he asked.

"I needed some fresh air."

"Me too." A shriek went up from the playground and they both looked over as a little boy slid down the slide, laughing all the way. "I never really noticed how many children are around, everywhere," he said.

"The FBI came to my office to interview me," she blurted. "They were horrible."

He stopped. "What did they do?"

"They practically accused you of having something to do with Charlotte's disappearance. They suggested you planted her clothing in that tent."

The lines around his mouth and eyes tightened. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised," he said. "They probably read about Aiden's case and the accusations against me."

"I told them you didn't have anything to do with Charlotte's disappearance."

They started walking again in silence. "I'm sorry I got you all tied up in this," he said after a moment.

"I'm not. I want to help."

"It helps just being with you. It was always like that, from when we first met."

"I was a little nervous about you at first." She smiled, remembering that first date. He took her to the local drive-in, having borrowed his father's car for the evening. "I didn't think you'd want to mess your hair up on a motorcycle," he had told her, and she had been both touched and disappointed. She had liked the idea of pressing up close to him, hanging on for dear life on the back of his motorcycle.

"Why were you nervous?" he asked.

She laughed. "Are you kidding? You were the cutest guy in our class. And you had that bad boy reputation."

"I thought you were the prettiest girl." He took her hand. "I still think you are."

She squeezed his hand, afraid to speak and break this spell. Then her phone buzzed. She sighed. "I'd better check that text," she said, and disengaged her hand from his. "It might be search and rescue."

It wasn't search and rescue, but Devlin. You okay?

I'm good , she replied . I just had to get some fresh air.

Good...bring me a latte when you come back?

She laughed, then showed the screen to Ryker. "I'd better get back to work," she said. "But I'm feeling better now."

"Me too."

She set off across the park toward her office, but at the street she stopped and looked back. He was still there, watching her. She waved and he lifted his hand in return. Of all the awful circumstances in which to fall in love with a guy, this had to be the worst, but then, she had always had a terrible sense of timing, from getting pregnant at seventeen to marrying a man she had known all of six weeks, to having to move back in with her parents at twenty-four.

What if Charlotte was never found? Or she was found and needed all of her father's attention to recover from her ordeal? Harper didn't see where she could fit in that scenario.

"Be careful," she whispered. She didn't want history to repeat itself. She had had more than enough of being hurt by Ryker Vernon.

R YKER WASN ' T SURPRISED to find agents Reno and Cussler waiting to interview him when he returned to the sheriff's department after talking with Harper. "We have some questions about your alleged sighting of Kim Vernon and Mick Davis," said Cussler when the three of them were alone in one of the interview rooms. He was the older of the two agents and had the demeanor of someone in charge.

"All right." He reminded himself these men had the same goal he did—to find Charlotte and bring her home safely.

Cussler pulled out a chair and sat, while Reno stationed himself by the door. "How good a look did you get at the people in that Jeep you followed?" he asked.

"Not a very good look," he admitted. "The woman with me—Harper Stanick, I believe you've already spoken to her—told me she saw a child with long blond hair and a woman who looked like Kim in the vehicle."

Cussler's right eye twitched at the mention of Harper, or maybe it was the idea that Ryker already knew the feds had interviewed her, but he let the moment pass. "So it might not have been your daughter and your ex-wife in that car," he said. "It might have been two ordinary tourists."

"Except that we tracked them to a campsite with a tent that contained items I know belonged to my daughter."

"How do you know the clothing belonged to your daughter?" Cussler asked, his gaze drilling into Ryker, as if daring him to lie.

"I know my daughter's clothing."

"Do you?" Reno spoke for the first time. "I don't know mine. Except she has a lot of it."

"You probably have a wife to dress her," Ryker said. "I don't."

"You have a mother, though," Cussler said. "Isn't that why you moved here—so your mother could take care of your daughter?"

"I moved here so my parents could help care for my daughter. Especially when I have to be away at work. That doesn't mean I'm not the person primarily responsible for her." He leaned forward, his voice harder. "It's not a burden. I like spending time with her." If either of these men took this as a dig against their own parenting styles, so be it.

"Tell me more about the letter you received from your ex-wife," Cussler said.

Abrupt change of subject. A classic interviewing technique, designed to throw the suspect off guard. Was that how they saw him—as a suspect in his own daughter's abduction? "It was delivered to my parents' home yesterday," he said. "My mother found it and brought it to me here, at the sheriff's department."

"You recognized the handwriting?" Cussler asked.

"Yes. The handwriting looks how I remember Kim's. Though I haven't seen anything she's written in three years."

"The letter was postmarked from Utah," Cussler said.

"Yes. About a three-hour drive from here."

"So you think she drove all the way to Utah to mail a letter, then returned here?"

"Why not? She's probably heard the news reports that you guys think she and Mick and Charlotte are in Utah."

No eye twitch this time, but he gave Ryker a hard stare. "We'll be investigating this thoroughly."

"Did you check the items from the tent for fingerprints?" Ryker asked. "I know Mick's are on file."

"We know how to do our job, Deputy."

Ryker nodded. He wanted to believe this, but part of him couldn't help insisting that no one would work as hard to find Charlotte as he would.

"Tell us about Aiden Phillips," Cussler said.

Ryker had expected this, but the words still sent a chill through him. "Aiden was my cousin. I was babysitting him when he was taken from his room. His body was found two days later. I didn't have anything to do with his murder. I was cleared as a suspect."

"Because a neighbor provided a statement that the motorcycle you rode never left the front of the house the night Aiden disappeared," Reno said. "And you didn't have access to another vehicle."

"And my DNA wasn't a match for that found on Aiden's body."

Reno looked away. Cussler shifted, the chair creaking beneath his weight. They would have known the facts in Aiden's case before they brought it up. They were purposely trying to unsettle him. "You said you haven't spoken to your ex-wife in three years," Reno said. "She had no contact with you or with your daughter in that time?"

"No."

"Why do you think she came to Eagle Mountain now? Why take your daughter?"

He had lain awake nights thinking about this question. "I don't know," Ryker said. "But when Kim left she said that once she and Mick were ‘settled' she would come back for Charlotte."

"What was your response to that?" Reno asked.

"I didn't say anything," he said. "I intended to ask for sole custody of Charlotte—I didn't want a felon like Mick Davis to have anything to do with her. But I was also hoping Kim and I could work out some sort of visitation arrangement so that Charlotte could still see her mother."

"That seems very generous, seeing she abandoned you both," Cussler said.

"I would have been fine with never seeing her again," Ryker said. "But I had divorced friends who used their children to get back at their exes. It was ugly and I'm convinced it hurt the children. I had other friends who worked things out amicably and I saw how much better that was for the children. I wanted to do what was best for Charlotte."

"But Kim never took you up on the offer of visitation?" Cussler asked.

"She never contacted me again," he said. "I had to hire a private detective to track her down to deliver the divorce papers, and even then she didn't ask about Charlotte."

"Did that surprise you?" Cussler asked.

"Yes and no. For all her faults, I thought she was a good mother. But she was also...unpredictable. And once she and Mick started seeing each other, it was like she was obsessed. She didn't want to have anything to do with anyone but him."

"Do you believe he manipulated her?" Cussler asked. "Do you think he's behind the abduction?"

"I don't know. I probably haven't spoken ten words to him in my life. Though I can't say he ever showed any particular interest in Charlotte before. And Kim told me once that he didn't want children. I always believed that was why she hadn't tried to be involved with Charlotte's life."

"I wonder what changed," Reno said.

"I don't know." Ryker looked at the younger agent. "You probably know more about Mick than I do. I've read his rap sheet, but that's it. Is there something I should know?"

The look that passed between the two agents sent an icy surge up Ryker's spine. "What?" He leaned forward. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You don't need to be concerned," Cussler said, but while he was probably practiced at deceiving suspects, Ryker immediately knew he was lying.

"You need to tell me," Ryker said, barely managing to keep his voice even. "We're talking about my daughter."

Cussler wouldn't meet his gaze. He pushed back his chair and stood. "You're free to go now. We'll be in touch if we need anything else."

Ryker stood also, hands in fists at his sides. He wanted to grab the man across from him and shake him—to force him to reveal whatever he knew about Mick Davis. But that wouldn't get him anywhere, except perhaps arrested.

He left the room and stood in the hallway for a long moment, trying to slow his breathing and calm his racing heart. He tried to think of who might help him. Sheriff Walker had been sympathetic—a man with two young children of his own. But the sheriff was also a man who played by the rules. He had taken over a department that had a history of scandal and made sure there was nothing like that associated with his watch.

He headed for the office across the hall from the sheriff's. Gage Walker looked up from his desk. "Finished with the feds?" he asked.

Ryker stepped inside and closed the door. "I need a favor," he said.

"Let's hear it."

"The feds know something about Mick Davis that they won't tell me. I think maybe something to do with his history with children, a crime involving a child, something like that. They know I can find anything on his rap sheet, but maybe he's a suspect in some crime involving a child—something I can't uncover. They didn't come right out and say it, but they implied that he might be the one behind Charlotte's kidnapping, not Kim."

"And you want me to see what I can find out," Gage said.

"Yes."

"If it's not good, it's only going to make you feel worse," Gage said. "It's not going to make him easier to find."

"No. But my daughter is with him. I need to know."

Gage looked as if he wanted to dispute this. "If it was your daughter, wouldn't you want to know?" Ryker asked.

Gage blew out a breath. "Yeah." He looked at his computer. "I'll do some digging, let you know what I find."

"One more thing." Ryker didn't wait for Gage to answer, but pushed forward. "I want to see the file on Aiden Phillips's disappearance."

"Do you think Mick Davis had something to do with that?"

"No. But I want to see what evidence investigators collected at the time. Maybe I'll spot something they overlooked, or a new lead to follow."

"You were a suspect in that case."

"But I was cleared. My DNA wasn't a match."

"Do you really think you'll find anything?" Gage asked.

"Probably not. But I want to try. Even though my DNA wasn't a match, there are still people who believe I had something to do with Aiden's death. Those people aren't going to be satisfied until someone else is proven guilty." At Gage's doubtful look, he added, "I'm officially on leave and I can't drive around searching for Charlotte twenty-four hours a day. Going over Aiden's case will give me something else to focus on."

"I'll have to dig it up out of the archives," Gage said.

Ryker stood. "Thanks. I'm going to go home now. You can contact me there."

"Just one thing," Gage said. "Whatever I find out about Davis, you have to promise me you won't do anything rash. It won't help Charlotte and it will only hurt you."

Ryker nodded. His head knew this was true. His heart, on the other hand, wasn't so sure. If Mick or anyone else hurt Charlotte, he didn't know what he might do. He was her father. His job was to protect her. If he couldn't do that, did anything else really matter?