Chapter Five

Four hours. That's how much sleep Evan had gotten last night.

The second he'd left the hospital, he'd gone back to the office to brief SAIC Mimoa and the FBI director via Zoom, then he'd hauled ass back to Manello's house to finish the search. So far, the only evidence was in the basement. The tech team was imaging the computer hard drive, and another search warrant was in the pipeline for Manello's emails.

Still no sign of Manello. Most likely, he'd driven by, seen all the police vehicles and kept right on going. Evan's boss had assigned rotating teams of agents to sit down the block from the house on the off chance Manello was stupid enough to come back.

He yawned. In the mirror, Blue also yawned. While he'd been working, Blue had slept in the SUV. At least one of them had gotten some shuteye.

Evan flipped down the rearview mirror. Red-rimmed eyes stared back at him. He looked like a walking piece of shit. For strong-arming the hospital custodian last night, he was a POS. For a moment there, he'd nearly caved to the absolute fear and desperation in her eyes.

Framed by tendrils of blond hair that had escaped her long braid, Marlie Foxe's eyes were the clearest shade of robin's egg blue he'd ever seen. He'd thought she was pretty. Sad, but definitely the prettiest custodian he'd ever met. While he'd been steamrolling her into working with him, color had risen to her pale cheeks, suffusing life into her face.

He shoved a hand through his still-damp hair, wondering what her hair would feel like if he unbraided it with his roughened fingers. Christ, he was tired.

"Let's go, buddy." While he opened the side door for Blue to hop out, he yawned for what must have been the fifth time in the last five minutes. Bottom line, it had been nearly two a.m. when his head had finally hit the pillow. The sleep that finally came wasn't the kind of deep sleep needed to reenergize. Fitful dreams had him waking up, tossing and turning all night.

Dreams of his sister and the day she disappeared.

Guilt slammed him like a wrecking ball. It had been his fault she'd disappeared. If there was a wayback machine and he could relive that day differently… But there was no such machine. All he could do was live with the consequences of his actions.

He opened the door to the FBI's Denver office on East 36 th Avenue and followed Blue inside.

Gracie was the reason he'd become an FBI agent, one who devoted his entire life to finding missing children, to the detriment of everything else. He had nearly a 100 percent find rate, 95 percent alive. That didn't stop his chest from tightening with guilt he'd never be free of.

Everyone thought he was some kind of hero for doing what he did. Deep down, he knew the truth. In his eyes, he was a failure. Only when he found a child— alive —did he feel worthwhile. His greatest fear was that he'd never find the next missing child whose file came across his desk.

The trail to his sister had long since gone cold. But if he never found her, never discovered what happened to her, he'd never be able to start living. Really living. He saw that in Marlie Foxe, too. Like him, she was alive, breathing air, and going to work every day, but there was a painful story behind those beautiful blue eyes. Even now, the Task Force's intel specialist, Sammy Aikens, was running a complete background check on her. Since she'd be working with him on a very sensitive and critical case, he needed to know everything there was to know about Marlie. Good, bad, or ugly.

He and Blue took the stairs to the second floor. There was, potentially, another impediment to the case yet to be dealt with. After all this time, he finally had a lead on his sister. Having a personal involvement could get him kicked off the case.

He smacked his hand on the wall. Knowing something was wrong, Blue stared up at him. His dog could read his emotions as if they were written on his face in German shepherd-ese. No way would he let anyone take him off the case, but he couldn't keep Gracie a secret from his bosses. If he did and they found out some other way, he'd be shit-canned in a heartbeat. Or at least suspended without pay for withholding critical information.

"Let's go."

Halfway down the hall, Blue gave a gruff snort, and his nostrils flared. In uncharacteristic behavior, he all but dragged Evan down the hallway to Sammy's office. She'd been assigned TDY—temporary duty—to the FBI for this case, as had virtually everyone else in the Denver Special Ops Task Force.

Against the far wall of Sammy's office was a dog crate. Blue uttered another gruff snort, standing motionless, with his head erect and his tail sticking straight up. The dog inside the crate wagged its tail in a slow, tentative gesture.

Sammy looked up from her computer screen and smiled. "Hey, Evan. Hey, Blue."

"Morning, Sammy. Did you get another dog?" She already had three.

"Nah." She flipped her brown curly hair over her shoulder. "This is Crystal. She's a Samoyed-Siberian husky mix I'm fostering. She's on new meds, and I don't want to leave her home alone."

Crystal was about forty-five pounds, with a pure white fluffy coat, courtesy of her Samoyed lineage, but with vivid blue eyes from the husky side.

Blue whined, so Evan gave him some slack and damned if his dog didn't do something he'd never seen him do before. Strut. With his head held high, lifting his paws off the floor more than normal and swaying his shoulders as he walked to the pretty female, Blue looked like John Travolta strutting down the sidewalk in Saturday Night Fever .

Crystal stuck her nose through the bars and wagged her fluffy tail faster, whacking it against the inside of the crate. She cracked her jaw, the upturned corners of her mouth reminding him of a human smile. When Blue touched noses with Crystal, she cavorted inside the crate, making it rock back and forth.

"Well, isn't that interesting." Sammy had turned to watch the canine greeting. "She's friendly with people but kinda standoffish with other dogs."

Chuckling came from the doorway, where Deck smirked. "Looks like love."

"You oughta know," Brett kicked back with a matching smirk.

"True that." Deck's smirk morphed into what was now an everyday thing on his friend's face—a contented smile, one that was pretty much frozen in place since the day he'd asked Dr. Tori Sampson to marry him. "When are you gonna pop the question?"

"The question" was aimed at Brett, who'd also become grin-prone since he'd moved in with Gemma Scott, an investigator with the National Insurance Crime Bureau with whom he'd fallen hard on his ass in love.

"Working on it." Go figure, Brett grinned. "I made a trip to the jewelry store last week."

"'Bout freaking time." Evan clapped his friend on the back.

"Congrats, man." Deck pumped Brett's hand.

"Thanks." Brett's grin broadened to the point Evan thought the guy's teeth would pop out of his mouth. "Haven't asked her yet."

"You got this," Evan said, meaning it. It might not have been obvious at first to either of them, but Brett and Gemma were destined to be together. In a When Harry Met Sally kind of way.

Like Deck and Tori, Brett and Gemma's path to happiness had been peppered—no, make that hammered —with tension and animosity. Eventually, and after copious groveling, his friends had found that one special woman who was always meant to be theirs. Sadly, Evan had learned the hard way there was no room in his own life for anyone else.

Being a workaholic always trashed his relationships before they'd even had the chance to get going. Too bad, that. He'd really liked Annelise. With her, he'd tried harder than with any of his previous girlfriends. In the end, he'd fucked things up like he always did. Always working. Always coming home late and getting up early. The minute he'd gotten another call about a missing kid, he'd been out the door. So had she. In the proverbial sense. Knowing how things would most likely end, he'd yet to bother giving a woman a key to his place, let alone move in with one.

"Get your tuxedos yet?" Deck looked from Evan to Brett.

Brett nodded. "Yep."

"Evan?"

"Haven't had the chance." That wasn't about to change anytime soon. Deck shot him a look that called bullshit. "I'll get it. Wouldn't want to piss Tori off."

"No, you wouldn't," Deck agreed, shaking his head. "Trust me on that."

"Speaking of not pissing anyone off"—Brett hitched his chin in the direction of SAIC Mimoa's office—"they're all in there."

Great . Given what Evan had to tell them, he might get his ass handed to him.

Both dogs had lain down. Blue outside the crate, Crystal still inside. They'd stuck their noses as far as they would go through the slats until they were touching. Love really was in the air.

Sammy looked up from her monitor. "I don't think Blue's going anywhere. I'll keep an eye on them. I should have that background check finished on Marlie Foxe by the time you're done in there."

"Thanks." Evan went down the hall and rapped twice on Brian Mimoa's door.

"Come," a voice called out.

Evan went in, closing the door behind him. Already seated in front of his SAIC's desk were ATF Resident Agent-in-Charge Lori Olyawule and DEA Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge Santiago Rivera, all bosses on the Denver Special Ops Task Force.

"Grab a seat." Brian indicated the only empty armchair in front of his desk.

Lori and Santiago gave him brief nods.

As Evan sat, he couldn't miss the red light on Brian's phone glowing like a giant red supernova about to explode on top of his head.

Brian gave him a meaningful look. "Assistant Director Harte is on speakerphone."

No shock there. Paulina Harte headed the agency's Critical Incident Response Group that oversaw the CARD teams assigned to work missing children's cases. In other words, Evan worked for her as much as he worked for Brian.

"Good morning, Evan," Director Harte said. "Great work apprehending Stonewall Jackson Jones."

"Thank you, ma'am." Patting him on the back wasn't why she was participating in this meeting.

"I understand you may have stumbled on a large-scale forced child labor-kidnapping ring. SAIC Mimoa provided me with the bare bones of the case. I hear you interviewed a witness yesterday, an escapee. I'd like to hear about it."

For the next twenty minutes, he outlined the relevant details of his interview with Noah. He included the part about recruiting Marlie Foxe, searching for the farmers markets, and ending with Noah's statements that the people running the camp were in a hurry to grab more kids.

"I agree about the sense of urgency," Director Harte said, "but a hospital custodian ?" Her voice held an undisguised note of disbelief.

"Yes, ma'am." He looked at Brian, whom he'd already briefed about the need for Marlie's involvement. Yesterday, he'd lied to her. He still didn't know if the FBI would actually cover her salary while she was away from the hospital, and he didn't care. He'd pay it out of his own pocket, if that's what it took.

"Sammy Aikens is running a full background check on her," Evan continued. "I'm convinced she's the key to whatever information is locked away in Noah's head." Information he'd do just about anything to extract.

A long beat of silence came and went. Then another. If Director Harte canned his idea, he'd have to find another way.

A long sigh came through the speaker. "Evan, I know your track record. If you say this is the best way to work this case, we'll go with it. For now."

Yes! Adrenaline sped through his veins faster than a gunshot. "We're also waiting on the tech report from the imaged hard drive. As soon as we get Manello's email address, we'll get a search warrant for his email service provider."

"Good," Director Harte said. "Brian, let me know if you need any additional support from HQ, manpower or more IT resources."

"I think we're good for now." Brian leaned closer to the speaker. "We're tapping into every agency on the Task Force, including the DEA, ATF, and the Denver and Lakewood PDs. We also have agents trying to match up the eight photos found in Manello's basement to missing children's reports in the area. Any photos we can't match up we'll circulate to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children."

The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children was the nation's largest child protection organization and had FBI personnel assigned who could assist with the search.

"How far back are you going?" Director Harte asked.

Brian gave Evan an encouraging nod.

"We're starting with ten years on the five printed images. The three photos tacked to the wall look older." Especially the Polaroid. "For those, we'll go back twenty-five years. As soon as we have names, teams of agents will coordinate with the local police departments where the children disappeared, then go reinterview the parents."

"Sounds good," the director said. "I want daily progress updates."

"Yes, ma'am," Brian said, about to terminate the call.

"Wait!" Evan cleared his throat, wishing like hell there was another way. "There's something else you need to know."

He tugged a folded sheet of paper from his back pocket—a photocopy of the Polaroid. "We found this in Manello's basement." He set it on the desk in front of Brian and took out another photo from his wallet, one taken during Gracie's last year of school. Taking a deep breath, he set it on the desk beside the Polaroid. "Both of these are photos of my sister. Grace McGarry."

Brian's mouth fell open. Evan didn't have to look at Lori or Santiago to know they wore the same shocked look on their faces. The room was so quiet he could have heard a gnat fart.

"She disappeared twenty-four years ago. Back then, there were no leads for the police or the FBI to follow up on." He let that sentence dangle for a moment. "Until now."

"Jesus, Evan!" Brian made a huffing sound and began shaking his head. "You know what this means, don't you?"

"No, sir." Evan stood, towering over the man who would equal his height if he decided to stand and get in Evan's face. "Please, do not take me off this case. My sister is the reason I became an FBI agent, the reason I applied for the CARD teams in the first place. I'm the best person for this job. There's no agent in the FBI who works harder to bring home missing children. This will only make me work harder." If that was even possible, considering he'd already dedicated his entire life to the job.

If they removed him from the case because of his personal connection to one of the victims, he'd quit the Bureau on the spot and work the case on his own. With or without the FBI.

"Paulina?" Brian stared at the phone as if he were staring into the director's face. "It's your call. I agree with what he said, but we all know leaving him on the case would go against protocol."

"I'm aware." Tapping came through the speaker, as if the director were tapping a pen on the phone. "But Evan is the best. I'll have to run this up the chain to the Director. Brian, loop in the U.S. Attorney's Office on this. I don't want any evidence to get flushed because of Evan's personal tie to this case."

"Understood."

The call disconnected. The dial tone was an angry buzz, replacing the absolute silence in the room.

"Have you told your parents?" Brian asked.

"Not yet." That was a conversation he dreaded, especially since he didn't know if Gracie was alive or dead, or if she was even at the camp or had ever been at the camp. But his parents might be able to help with the connection between Gracie and Manello. Even with the Polaroid, the likelihood of finding her there was still slim to none. If she was alive, why wouldn't she have contacted her family after all this time? Had they brainwashed her?

Brian leaned back and crossed his arms. "Even if the director okays you to remain on the case, I can assign someone else to reinterview your parents. If it's too difficult for you, you don't have to be the one to do it."

"I know." He'd already considered that. "I'll talk to them. It's my responsibility." In more ways than one.

With his birthday— Gracie's birthday, too—coming up in less than a week, telling his parents would make things worse. Long ago, his birthday had ceased to be a day of joy or celebration. Now it was a day of remembrance, sadness, grief, and the ever-present guilt.

"I hope you find her," Lori said, compassion creasing her features. "I'm assigning Brett full-time to assist you in any way you need."

"Same goes for Deck," Santiago said.

"Thanks." He never doubted his friends would have his back. Knowing all the bosses did, too, added another layer of support.

"I'll let you know when the decision comes down," Brian said. "Meantime, keep me posted. On everything."

A moment later, he stood outside his boss's office and breathed a little easier. It wasn't a done deal, but at least there was hope.

"Evan?" Sammy held up a thick stack of papers and grimaced. The background check on Marlie. Whatever she'd found wasn't good.

He went into her office, taking the report and noting Blue hadn't budged from Crystal's crate. Both dogs' eyes were closed in what looked like blissful slumber, making him jealous as hell. He doubted he'd have a minute of sleep, blissful or otherwise, until this case was taken down and those children found. He sat in the only other chair and began flipping through pages.

Marlie Foxe, born in Long Island, New York. Currently living in an apartment in the Bel Mar section of Lakewood. No wants, no warrants. As stellar citizens went, she was cleaner than the proverbial whistle.

The next few pages documented a marriage to and subsequent divorce from Christopher Parker, who resided in Littleton. He kept flipping through Marlie's employment records. North Metro Hospital for the last two-and-a-half years. Prior to that, Lakewood Middle School.

As a school counselor.

Marlie Parker had a doctorate in child psychology. That certainly explained how she could have established such quick rapport with Noah. She had the training chops and then some. But why would someone with a doctorate be working as a custodian?

He flipped to the next page, and—

His blood went colder than a glacier. Every inch of his intestines twisted tighter than the spring in the barrel of his Glock. He glanced up to find Sammy watching him sympathetically, clearly waiting until he'd gotten to that part of the report. No wonder Marlie hadn't wanted anything to do with him. He'd been expecting something bad. This was far, far worse than he could have imagined.

It was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, a mother's worst nightmare.