Chapter Three

Harper had just settled into lettering the ski trail map when Devlin Anderson, a talented young artist who had a penchant for vintage menswear, swept into the studio. Today he wore the pants and vest from a brown plaid suit, with brown wing tips and a brown bow tie. But his normally neat hair was ruffled, and he was red in the face, as if he'd been running. "I was down the street getting a latte when I heard there's a little girl missing," he said. "They're asking for volunteers to help with the search."

Chairs scraped and paper rustled as people rose from their worktables. "Who's missing?"

"When?"

"From where?"

The owner of the business, Patterson Taylor, emerged from his office. "What's going on?"

"There's a little girl missing," Devlin said. "We need to help look."

"Who is she?" Harper asked.

"All I know is her name is Charlotte," Devlin said. "She's four years old with long blond hair. She's wearing a pink-checked sundress and she disappeared from Robin's Nest Day Care. You know, that cute little house over on Second Street."

"Charlotte Vernon?" Harper didn't know her voice could squeak like that.

"Do you know her?" Another coworker, Lisa, rushed over to take Harper's arm. "You'd better sit down. You look like you're going to faint."

Harper straightened and forced herself to breathe deeply. "I'm okay," she said. "But I need to go help." Poor Charlotte. Poor Ryker! He must be frantic.

"They're asking volunteers to assemble in front of the sheriff's department," Devlin said. "They'll give us instructions."

Harper's text alert sounded and she studied the message. "You sure you're okay?" Lisa asked.

Harper nodded. "It's search and rescue. They're asking for search volunteers also."

The office emptied out as everyone hurried two blocks over to the sheriff's department. The sidewalks were filled with others headed in the same direction. Harper spotted SAR volunteer Carrie Andrews, an architect whose office was nearby and moved to join her. Hannah Richards and her mother, Brit, from the Alpiner Inn several streets over, soon gathered with them.

Sheriff Travis Walker asked for silence, then read out Charlotte's description. Four years old. Thirty-eight inches tall. Thirty-eight pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Pink sundress and shorts. Pink sneakers. "She's been missing less than an hour," he said. "Sheriff's deputies will search nearby homes. I'm asking civilian volunteers to search alleys, backyards, vacant lots. Look anywhere a small child might hide. It's possible she fell asleep or was hurt. Behind dumpsters, in tall grass—look everywhere. If you find anything, call for help and wait for others to assist."

Harper studied the faces of the deputies gathered around the sheriff, their expressions grim. She didn't see Ryker. Was he inside the station? Or somewhere else, already searching for his daughter?

Wherever he was, he was probably beside himself. In the few moments she had seen them together, there had been no mistaking the love he had for his daughter. And after what he had been through when Aiden was taken—people had said some terrible things, and even after it was proven he couldn't have been the one to hurt the boy, there were still whispers. Harper's parents had been quick to condemn him, and they hadn't been alone.

Search and rescue volunteers split into two teams, assigned to search a condo development under construction a few blocks from the day care. The site was full of potential hazards for a small child, from broken glass and jagged nails to an open basement. Upon hearing the situation, the construction workers pitched in to help. They formed a line to move through the site, turning over sheets of plywood and peering into any cavity. No one said anything, but Harper sensed that, like her, they were steeling themselves for the sight of a small body, injured in a fall or crushed by a piece of lumber. There were so many ways a small child was vulnerable, and she could see how a place like this might be tempting for an adventurous little girl.

Charlotte had struck her as the curious type, her big blue eyes looking into Harper's without fear. Harper remembered the weight of her as she lifted her to the sink, and the strawberry scent of her hair, so sweet and innocent. Obviously Charlotte wasn't the first little girl she had encountered in the past seven years. But she was the first who had affected her so viscerally.

Because she was Ryker's. Because she made Harper think of their little girl. Would she have been like Charlotte if she had lived?

Seven years ago

"C AN ' T I STAY up and watch TV with you?"

"Sorry, bud. Your mom was really clear that your bedtime is eight." Ryker patted his little cousin's shoulder. Aiden was small for his age, with a cowlick that stuck up at the back of his head no matter how much his mother, Melissa, tried to plaster it down. He had recently lost a tooth and the gap gave him a particularly rascally look when he grinned, as he did a lot. He was a happy kid, and even though he whined about having to go to bed, he obediently climbed under the sheets. "Did you brush your teeth?" Ryker asked.

"Yeah." Aiden looked toward the window beside his bed. "Can you leave the blinds up? I like to look out until I get sleepy."

"Okay. I'll be just down the hall if you need anything."

Ryker shut the bedroom door and walked down the hall to the living room. He turned the television on, keeping the sound low, and flipped through the channels, looking for something to hold his interest. He thought about calling Harper, but her parents didn't let her have her own phone, so he would have to call their home phone, and her mom was liable to answer. Mrs. Stanick had made it clear she didn't like Ryker, though he couldn't figure out why. Yes, he had a motorcycle, but that didn't mean he was dangerous or anything.

He settled on an episode of Deadwood and lay back on the sofa, a pillow under his head. He had gotten up early to finish an essay for English class and found himself drifting off.

When he woke, the show was over and it was dark outside. He sat up and checked the time. Nine o'clock. He went to the bathroom, then moved to the end of the hall and eased open the door to Aiden's room. He expected to find the little guy sleeping, but instead the bed was empty, the covers thrown back, half-trailing on the floor.

"Aiden?" Ryker stepped into the room. He looked around the small space and started toward the closet, but a rattling noise stopped him. The window was wide open, a breeze knocking the top of the blinds against the frame.

"Aiden!" Ryker rushed to the window. The screen was missing. He stuck his head out and could just make it out, lying on the ground. "Aiden!" He stared down at the screen—six feet down. A long way for a little boy to drop. And there was no sign of the boy anywhere.

Heart pounding, he raced outside. "Aiden!" he shouted. "Aiden, where are you?"

He ran around to the side of the house. No sign of the boy. No sign of anyone.

"Ryker? Is everything okay?"

He turned and saw Mrs. Kenner, a retired teacher who lived across the street, on her front porch. He jogged toward her. "Have you seen Aiden?" he asked.

She frowned, and pulled her robe—faded pink and quilted—more closely around her. "No, I haven't seen Aiden. Isn't it a little late for him to be out?"

"I put him to bed at eight and when I went to check on him just now, he wasn't there." He looked back toward the house, hoping to see the little boy pop out from behind the shrubbery or a dark corner of the yard. "His window is open and he isn't there."

"Where could he have gone?" Mrs. Kenner didn't look upset, merely puzzled. "Do you think he's hiding from you?"

"I don't know," Ryker said. "He's just...gone."

Mrs. Kenner put her hand on his arm. "Then maybe you'd better call someone."

He nodded, and groped in the pocket of his jeans for his phone. He stared at it for a long moment, wondering who to call. Not Aiden's mom. Melissa would faint if she thought something happened to her little boy. Aiden's dad was at work, and Ryker didn't know that number. He dialed a number he knew by heart. His father answered on the second ring. "Ryker? Is everything okay?"

"Aiden is missing," he said. "I went to check his bedroom and he's just...gone." He felt cold all over, and started to shake.

"C AN YOU THINK of any place Charlotte might have gone to? A friend she might have decided to visit? A store she liked and wanted to see again?" Declan Owen sat with Ryker in the sheriff's office, conducting what passed for a formal interview. Ryker wondered if the sheriff had assigned Declan this duty because, like Ryker, he was new to the department. Or because of his experience with the US Marshals Service. Or maybe it was because Declan didn't have children of his own. It didn't take a particularly perceptive person to see how Charlotte's disappearance had hit hard among the many officers in the department who were parents of young children.

"I don't think she wandered off from the day care," Ryker said. "She wouldn't have any reason to do that. I think someone took her." He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep it together. Charlotte wasn't Aiden. What had happened to him wouldn't necessarily happen to her.

"Why do you think that?" Declan asked. "You've taught her not to go with strangers, right?"

That was basic parenting 101, especially for a cop. Despite the way Charlotte had apparently enlisted Harper, a stranger to her, for help in the ladies' room, he didn't think his little girl would let someone she didn't know talk her into leaving the day care. They had even playacted scenarios where someone tried to tell Charlotte her daddy was hurt or they had a puppy they needed her to see. Charlotte had practiced saying no and going to get an adult for help. "This wouldn't have been a stranger," he said, and the certainty behind those words edged out some of the stark fear.

Declan leaned toward him. "Who do you think took her?" he asked.

"Her mother. My ex-wife." Was he saying that because he believed it to be true, or merely because he wanted it to be true? He wet his lips and said, "Charlotte wouldn't go with a stranger, but she would probably go with her mother. Even though she hasn't seen Kim in years, she has a picture of her mother in her room and she talks about her."

Declan nodded. He would be familiar with the same statistics as Ryker—the vast majority of kidnapped children were taken by a relative, often the noncustodial parent. "Has your ex-wife threatened to take Charlotte with her? Have the two of you argued over custody?"

"Kim hasn't seen Charlotte in three years," Ryker said. "Not since she packed up and moved out of the house to live with another man. When I filed for divorce and asked for full custody, she didn't argue. She's never even attempted to visit Charlotte."

"Then why do you think she would take her now?" Declan asked.

How to explain how Kim's mind worked? Not that Ryker would ever be an expert, but two years of living with her had lent him insights he didn't necessarily want. "Kim is impulsive. And self-centered. When she wants something, she wants it now and will run over anyone who tries to keep her from getting her way. She was also very influenced by her boyfriend. If he decided he wanted them to have Charlotte, Kim wouldn't bother with petitioning for custody through the courts. She would storm in and take what she wanted—her daughter. I think that's what she's done now." His stomach churned at the idea, but he could so clearly see it happening. Charlotte hadn't seen her mother since she was thirteen months old, but she had never forgotten her. In the beginning, Ryker had believed that Kim would change her mind and want to see her little girl, so he had kept pictures of Kim and Charlotte together, and when Charlotte asked questions about her mother, he tried to answer honestly, without making Charlotte feel that her mother's abandonment was in any way her fault.

So Charlotte would probably have recognized Kim if she approached. And if Kim had urged Charlotte to come with her, she probably would have obeyed. What little girl wouldn't want to go with her mother? Especially when her mother was beautiful and petite, and bore a more than passing resemblance to the fairy godmothers in the picture books Charlotte loved.

"Have you had any contact with your ex-wife in the past few months?" Declan asked. "Do you know where she's been living?"

"The last I heard, she was still with Mick and they were living out east of Denver, in Gilcrest." He shifted in the chair. "I haven't spoken to Kim in more than three years. The divorce was negotiated through our lawyers and we were never in the same room after she packed up and moved out. But I've kept tabs on her over the years." Given Mick's criminal history, Ryker had felt safer knowing what he and Kim were up to.

"Do you think she's still with the man she left with?" Declan asked.

"I don't know for sure. Maybe." He shifted, uncomfortable. If Kim was still with Mick, she had stayed with him almost twice as long as she had been with Ryker. But he could see it. Kim hadn't just loved Mick, she had been enthralled with him. Under his sway.

"What's this man's name?"

"Michael Davis. He goes by Mick. If you look him up, you'll see he has a record."

One of Declan's eyebrows twitched, but it was the only tell that this surprised him. "Has he served time?" he asked. "For what crimes?"

"Drugs. Extortion. Fraud. Theft."

"Nice guy."

"Oh yeah." He blew out a breath. "Kim said she wanted someone who wasn't like me. I took it as a compliment."

"I'll pull his record, see if I can get a recent photo," Declan said. "Does your ex have any priors?"

"Not unless they've happened since the divorce. When I met her she was squeaky clean. I made the mistake of believing she was ordinary."

Declan stood and rested a hand on his shoulder. "We'll put out an APB on your ex. We've already issued an Amber Alert for Charlotte. We're knocking on doors around the day care, trying to find anyone who might have seen someone talking to Charlotte. And most of the town is out looking for her."

He left the room and Ryker collapsed forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, fighting back tears and a terror that threatened to overwhelm him. Charlotte had to be all right. His beautiful girl had to be all right. He prayed she was with Kim. The woman might be irresponsible and misguided and a hundred other adjectives that added up to someone he could never trust. But she wouldn't hurt her child. She wouldn't let Mick hurt her child.

She wouldn't. He had to hold on to that belief.

T HE SEARCH FOR Charlotte Vernon ceased when it became too dark to see. By that time more than two hundred people had combed every inch of the town and found no sign of the little girl. Too upset to go home to an empty apartment, Harper gathered with her fellow search and rescue volunteers at their headquarters, where they sat at the long tables used for training and watched television reports about the missing girl, her picture filling the screen, sometimes alone, sometimes with her father.

"I feel so sorry for Ryker," Hannah said. "Jake says he's holding up okay, and they're all rallying around to support him and his parents, but I just know he's sick about this."

"Shh. Who's that?" The question, from someone at the other end of the table, directed their attention to the television. A different picture filled the screen, of a woman with abundant blond hair and blue eyes.

A second picture took its place—Ryker and the woman together, the woman holding a baby. "Kimberley ‘Kim' Rhodes Vernon, who may also be going by the name Kim Davis, is wanted for questioning in the disappearance of her daughter, Charlotte Vernon. A woman who was passing the day care facility about the time of Charlotte's disappearance reported seeing a blond woman—who may have been Kim Vernon—with the girl on the sidewalk in front of the day care."

The image on the screen changed to one of a man, thinning blond hair in a single braid, heavy eyebrows and a blond moustache, a flag tattoo on one bare arm, an eagle on the front of the T-shirt. "Ms. Vernon may be in the company of this man, Michael or Mick Davis. If you see either of these people, especially in the company of a little girl, please notify the police."

Harper shoved back her chair and stood. Hannah stared up at her. "Are you okay?"

"I need to talk to the sheriff," she said. "I saw that woman."

"When?"

"Today?"

"Where did you see her?" The questions came from all sides. Harper shook her head. "She was at Mo's last night. I need to tell the sheriff."

No one tried to stop her as she hurried outside to her car. She forced herself to slow down and pay attention to the road as she drove to the sheriff's department.

The parking lot at the sheriff's department was full and at least a dozen people milled about outside, from curious locals and tourists to a few reporters. Harper pushed through the door and found the lobby even more crowded. She made her way to the desk at the back of the room, where an older woman with purple-framed bifocals regarded her with tired eyes. Her name tag read Adelaide. "May I help you?"

"I need to see the sheriff," Harper said. She lowered her voice, not wanting any reporters nearby to hear. "I saw Kim Vernon. Yesterday, at Mo's."

Adelaide stood. "Come with me."

Harper followed the older woman through a door and down a long hallway to a cramped office. Sheriff Walker stood when they entered the room. Ryker, slumped in a chair in front of the sheriff's desk, looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "This woman says she saw Kim Vernon yesterday," Adelaide announced.

Ryker shot out of his chair. "Where did you see her?" he asked. "Was she alone? Are you sure it was her?"

"Sit down, please. Harper, isn't it?" asked the sheriff.

She sat on a folding chair and scooted it closer to the desk, within inches of Ryker. He sat down and stared at her, hands gripping his knees. "Harper Stanick," she said.

The sheriff pulled a yellow legal pad toward him and took a pen from a cup on his desk. "Tell me what you saw."

She told him about her conversation with the woman she was sure was Kim Vernon, outside the restroom at Mo's Pub the night before. "She said I should keep a better eye on my kid?" Ryker's deep voice held even more gravel than usual. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I didn't think it meant anything," Harper protested. "She was just some nosy woman."

"You say she left out the fire door?" Travis prompted.

"Yes. There's a door at the end of the hallway that goes out into the parking lot."

"Did you see what kind of vehicle she was driving?" Ryker asked. "Was she with anyone else?"

"No. I didn't see into the parking lot." She turned to Ryker. "I'm so sorry about Charlotte. But if she was taken by her mother, surely she wouldn't hurt her."

The tight lines around his eyes didn't ease, but he nodded. "No, I don't think she would hurt her."

"Thank you for coming forward with this information," Travis said. "We appreciate it."

She stood, and was surprised when Ryker rose also. "I'll walk you out," he said.

In the hallway, he touched her arm. "Let's go out the back," he said, and pointed down the hall. "Less likely to see reporters."

She waited while he badged through the door lock, and they stepped out into what was apparently the employee lot, black-and-white sheriff's department SUVs interspersed with other vehicles. Moths flitted around the security lights, but beyond where they stood, all was dark and quiet. The chill common to nights in the mountains, even in summer, had also descended, and Harper tried not to think about Charlotte without a sweater in the cold.

"How are your parents doing?" she asked. She didn't know Wanda and Steve Vernon very well, but she remembered them being nice people. Much nicer to her than her parents had been to Ryker.

"They're taking it hard. Especially my mom. She's spent a lot of time with Charlotte since we moved here." He sighed. "I was floundering on my own, trying to work shifts at the police department and find childcare. When my mom suggested I move back home I resisted the idea at first, but it ended up being a lifesaver. I think it's better for Charlotte, too, having my folks around."

"I'm glad you have their support now, too," she said.

"I didn't mean to jump down your throat just now," Ryker said, not looking at her. "There was no reason you should have mentioned seeing Kim to me. You didn't know her, and it's not like she really did or said anything threatening."

"How long were you married?" She wanted to take the question back as soon as she said it. Of all the things to ask at a time like this, that wasn't one of them. It was none of her business anyway.

"Less than two years," he said. "It was a bad idea from the start but we had only been dating about six weeks when she found out she was pregnant, and I wanted to do the right thing." He did look at her then, eyes dark and shadowed. "I would have married you, you know."

"I know." She blew out a deep breath. "But my parents were right. I mean, about us being too young. That wouldn't have been a good way to start out." She had been seventeen. He had just turned eighteen, in their senior year of high school.

"Would you have waited for me?" he asked.

"Yes." She didn't have to think about the answer.

"Then I'm sorry I didn't wait for you. I figured you felt the same way about me your parents did."

When Harper's parents had learned she was pregnant, and that Ryker was the father, they had been beyond furious. When Aiden had disappeared only a few days later, they had been even more set against him. They sent Harper to Florida, where she was to live with her mother's sister, Florence, until she delivered the baby.

"You know they sent me to Florida, right?" she said. "They took away my computer and my phone. My aunt wouldn't let me out of her sight. It was like being in prison." A posh prison, with its own pool and beach access. But she had been miserable without him.

"I didn't know about that until later. You had just vanished." He glanced at her again. "I even had some wild idea they might have harmed you. Your mother was so furious, the one time I tried to talk to her."

"You talked to her?" Harper felt her eyes go wide at the idea.

"Yeah. She told me she wasn't going to see her only child's life ruined and while you were upset with her now, you would thank her later for preventing you from making a huge mistake. Awful as they were, her words gave me hope. Leaving hadn't been your idea."

She pictured him, trying to be a tough guy, but really still a boy. Hurt and probably angry and more than a little lost. She had felt all those things, too. "I'm sorry," she said. "I wish I could have at least said goodbye to you, and explained what was going on."

"It was a long time before I found out you lost the baby," he said. "A friend of yours told me. I don't think she knew I was the father."

She stared at him. "I wrote you a letter," she said. "You didn't get it?"

"No. But I moved away the week after graduation." He stared off across the parking lot.

"What a mess we both were."

"Yeah, well. I met Kim three years later and we got involved and that was a mess, too. Except for Charlotte. It was all worth it for her."

She did what she had been wanting to do all night then, and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and leaned against him. "You're going to find her," she said. "You've got so many people looking for her and Kim—she's a striking-looking woman, isn't she? The kind who stands out. And Charlotte is such a beautiful kid. People will notice her, too."

He didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't believe the words. As a cop, he had probably seen and heard all kinds of horrible things that happened to missing kids. And then there was Aiden. His killer had never been found. She was grateful she didn't have those things in her head. "Thanks for your help tonight," he said. "And I know you and the other search and rescue volunteers looked for her today."

"She's a terrific kid," Harper said. "She won me over right away."

"She does that. I don't know where she gets it from." He unwound her hand from his arm and took a step away. "I'd better get back in there," he said. "Thanks again."

I'm not going to cry , she told herself as she walked around to the front of the building where she had left her car. She had spent so many years imagining what their reunion might be like—how they would exchange their stories and maybe laugh at the mistakes they had made. In her imagination it had never been like this—the facts laid out but so much left unsaid. And the heavy weight of sadness over his missing child threatening to pull them under.

She got into her car and started it, but sat for a long moment, the tears in her eyes blurring the world around her like raindrops on a window.