Chapter Fifteen

Evan turned out of the development, heading toward his childhood home in Morrison.

"Where are we going?" Noah asked from the back seat.

From the corner of his eye, he caught the questioning look Marlie shot him. He'd practically shoved them into his pickup and still hadn't told them their destination. "To a birthday party."

"Really?" Noah leaned over the seat. "Whose birthday is it?"

"Mine." Much as he wished it weren't.

"Happy birthday," Marlie said, although it had come out sounding more like a question.

Guess it was obvious he wasn't thrilled. In fact, for the first time in twenty-four years, he'd completely forgotten about it. Only the text from his father— Where are you? —while he'd been lip-locked with Marlie had yanked him back to reality.

He was a sorry-ass excuse for a son. For forgetting the most important day in his parents' life. It was their way of keeping Gracie alive, because they'd never really accepted she was gone. In some ways, neither had he. They'd be surprised when he walked in the door with Marlie and Noah, but he couldn't have left them unguarded. His parents would just have to deal.

"Will there be cake?" Noah asked.

"Yes, there'll be cake. Triple layer chocolate fudge cake. My mother makes it, and it's the best I ever had." Gracie's favorite. "And before you say anything, we had turkey sandwiches for lunch, so we're entitled to cake."

Humor twitched at Marlie's lips. He should probably thank his dad for the textus interruptus . Noah had been a second from catching him laying Marlie down on that pool table and—

He ground his teeth at his selfish carelessness. So what if he was starting to feel things for her? She was still wounded by her past. He had no future. Not with her or anyone else.

Finding missing children—especially the one child he doubted he'd ever find—took up his entire life. If only he could stop thinking how good Marlie had felt in his arms, how sweet she'd tasted. Sweeter than the honeysuckle nectar he'd imagined.

Evan turned off Morrison Road onto C-470 and rechecked the road behind them for the tenth time. He couldn't afford to get distracted again and risk missing a tail.

Marlie touched his arm. "It's your sister's birthday, too," she said softly. "This must be difficult for you."

"Yeah." It was. Same day every year. His cross to bear, and bear it he would. For his parents' sake.

"Do we need to bring anything?" she asked.

"No." He shook his head, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "But thanks."

Minutes later, he turned onto his parents' street. The folded color photo of Frank Manello was burning a hole in his pocket. He still had to show it to his parents and reinterview them. He hung a left into their driveway and parked next to a blue Lexus. "Good," he muttered under his breath. "The Wilsons are already here."

Marlie unbuckled her seatbelt. "Who are the Wilsons?"

"Elsa and Neil. They're friends of my parents. My folks run a charity for runaways, and the Wilsons volunteer there." He stared at the house, not really wanting to go inside.

"This is a nice house," Marlie said.

"I guess so." Built in the seventies, it was a combo brick-and-wood, two-story tract house with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, and mature trees in the front and backyards. The color was the same as it had always been. Red brick, yellow siding, white shutters. "I've been trying to get them to move into something smaller."

"They won't ever move," Marlie said wistfully. "They wouldn't want Gracie to think they'd left her."

He shouldn't be surprised she'd intuited so much and so quickly. Aiden Parker had been missing for several days before his body was discovered. Those days must have been a nightmare for her. During that time, he had no doubt she hadn't left the house once. In case Aiden came home. It was the same with every missing child case he worked.

Oddly, it was cathartic to talk to someone about it again. Someone who completely got where he was coming from. And what he had to do next.

He shut off the engine. "We should head in."

The first thing that hit him when he opened the front door was the smell of freshly brewed coffee. Voices drifted down the hallway from the kitchen—his mother's and Elsa Wilson's.

Blue led the way, wagging his tail in full expectation of the freeze-dried duck patties his mom kept in the pantry just for him.

"Blue! Evan, where have you—" The shock on his mother's face was enough to make his brain wrack with even more guilt. His birthdays had always been private, with only immediate family and close friends in attendance.

"Mom." He held out his arms, allowing her to give him the habitual birthday hug. Over her head, he nodded to his father. "Dad."

"Happy birthday, son." His dad gave Evan's shoulder a quick squeeze.

"Happy birthday," Elsa and Neil said at the same time.

"Thanks." He stepped aside. "Everyone, this is Marlie and Noah. They're friends of mine." He couldn't out them for who and what they really were to him. Not today, of all days. "These are my parents, Patty and Sean McGarry, and their friends, Elsa and Neil Wilson."

For a long, painful moment, no one said a word. His mother's gray eyes perused Marlie from head to toe. In obvious disapproval, his dad crossed his arms. Though silver now, he still had a buzz cut to go with the military bearing that would probably always be there. Wisely, the Wilsons remained silent, as if waiting for the bomb he'd introduced into his family's most sacred of days to explode.

"Mrs. McGarry, Mr. McGarry." Marlie went right up to his mother and extended her hand. "We're so sorry to intrude. It's been such a difficult week for Noah, Evan thought we could all use a little of your famous chocolate cake."

Marlie held out her arm for Noah to join them. Evan watched his mother for a reaction. In a show of reinforcement, he moved to Noah's other side. Blue took up a protective position next to Marlie.

"Hi," Noah said shyly. "Evan said your chocolate cake is the best."

"It is." His mother smiled. "Would you like some?"

Noah nodded enthusiastically.

"How about a glass of milk to go with that?" his father asked.

Again, Noah nodded.

"Say ‘thank you' to Mr. and Mrs. McGarry," Marlie said.

"Thank you."

"You're quite welcome." Evan's mother's smile broadened.

The tension stringing his muscles tighter than a board eased some. He should have warned his parents he'd be bringing guests, but he couldn't have risked them objecting.

Elsa cleared her throat, smoothing a hand over her short, mostly gray hair. She smiled at Marlie and Noah. "It's nice to meet you both."

"Thank you." Marlie shook Elsa's hand.

"Do you like animals, Noah?" Neil's thick gray brows rose. "There was a great man named Noah who lived a long time ago. He had a big ship—an ark—that he filled with all kinds of animals."

"I like dogs." Noah knelt and wrapped an arm around Blue's back.

His mother pulled a seven-inch-tall chocolate cake from the refrigerator and set it on the table between the framed photo of Gracie and the pot of yellow-and-purple flowers, courtesy of Neil's personal greenhouse. Beside the flowers sat a stack of brochures for the Amazing Grace Foundation—the charity his parents had set up.

"Wowww." Noah's eyes bugged out. "That cake is awesome!"

His mom laughed, something she'd ceased doing on his birthdays. "Thank you." She picked up a large knife, about to cut into it.

"Wait!" Noah shouted. "Don't you have candles for Evan to blow out? And we have to sing ‘Happy Birthday.'"

His mom's jaw dropped. Nobody spoke. They hadn't lit candles or sung "Happy Birthday" in forever. Evan was loath to alter the ritual, but Noah had a kid's birthday expectations. He looked from his mom to his dad. "Don't you think we can dig up a candle somewhere?"

His father cleared his throat. "I'm sure we can." He dug into a drawer and pulled out a small box.

A minute later, two lit candles graced the top of the cake.

"I can start, if you want." Noah began singing, then Marlie joined in.

Evan shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly in relief, as they all sang "Happy Birthday." When they were done, he stared at the cake. The significance of two candles, not one, wasn't lost on him. One was for him. The other was for his sister.

Noah made room for him at the table. "Now make a wish and blow out the candles."

He stared at the tiny flickering flames. For more years than he could remember, he'd wished for only one thing. That wish had never been granted. Maybe it was finally time to wish for something else, something that might actually come true. What that was, he had no clue. He leaned over, preparing to blow out the candles without making a wish. At the last second, he looked across the table. The hesitant smile Marlie threw him was both sad and warm. Silently, he wished her a happy life, then blew out the candles.

Two slices of cake and two cups of coffee later, he couldn't put it off any longer. "Mom, Dad, I need to speak with you for a few minutes." Privately , was the unspoken message he sent his father.

His father stood and pulled out his mother's chair.

"We won't be long," Evan said to Marlie.

"Okay," she answered quickly, then returned her attention to the Wilsons, who were trying to recruit her to join them as a volunteer at the Foundation. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, but beneath the table, he'd seen her hands twisting together. The Wilsons had piqued her interest, but she still seemed hesitant to counsel kids again.

When they were in his dad's study with the door closed, he pulled out the copy of Frank Manello's driver's license. "I'm working a case that hasn't hit the news yet, and I need your help."

"That isn't normal." His dad frowned. "Doesn't the FBI always enlist the media for help with missing kids?"

"True." Evan nodded. "This isn't a normal case. It involves as many as twenty runaways who may have been recruited into a forced labor camp."

His mother gasped. "What can we do to help? Do you want us to ask around at the Foundation? I'm sure Elsa and Neil would help."

Evan thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, but please be discreet." He unfolded the sheet of paper. "We're keeping quiet about this case because if we go public before we know where this labor camp is, they might close up shop and leave before we can find it and get those kids out of there." Now for the hard part. He handed his mother the photo. "This is one of the lead suspects in the case. His name is Frank Manello. Does he look familiar to either of you?"

After a few moments, his parents shook their heads.

"No," his mother said. "Should we know him?"

Evan took back the picture. "He owns Mile High Pool Cleaning. A number of the missing kids' families used that company to service their pools."

"We never used that company." His dad scratched his chin. "We used Blue something or other until we drained the pool and stopped using it altogether."

"Blue Waters. The owner is Arthur Constantino. He retired about five years ago."

"He was such a nice man," his mother said. " All the people who worked for him were nice."

"Why did you think we might recognize this man?" When his father pointed to the sheet, Evan looked at it, into Frank Manello's dark eyes. For a fraction of a second, a tiny spark of recognition pinged his memory, then it was gone. "Just covering all the bases."

A long shot and another dead end. There was no sense mentioning the photo of Gracie in Manello's basement. He wouldn't put them through the agony of futile hopefulness when he didn't have any idea where she was.

"Do Marlie and Noah have something to do with this case?" his mom asked. "Is that why you brought them here?"

"Yes." And no . He'd also brought them because he'd wanted to. Not only did he owe Noah cake, but the idea of getting through another birthday that was more like a funeral, was about as appealing as drinking an acid smoothie.

"Son, are they in some kind of danger?" his dad asked.

"Yeah, Dad. They are." The phone in his pocket buzzed. His SAIC's name lit the screen. "McGarry," he said.

"Evan, you need to come in." A sense of urgency in his boss's voice had him gripping the phone tighter. "Another kid just went missing."