by Kate James
But her thoughts kept drifting back to Sawyer Evans and his son, Dylan. How could she not be emotionally engaged when a child’s well-being was at stake? And it wasn’t only about the boy. It was the father, too.
There was something about Sawyer... He stirred up feelings in her that were unprecedented in her experience, and she couldn’t set them aside. Was it empathy she felt because of Charlie?
She tried to take comfort in the fact that the investigation was a top priority. The assistance from the FBI added much-appreciated resources.
But no new information had emerged. The time factor associated with when Sawyer had left the DA’s office made it less likely that one of the people he’d prosecuted was responsible for the abduction, but the investigative team could not ignore it, as they had no other leads.
Shannon knew the SDPD and FBI couldn’t discount a random, opportunistic abduction either, improbable as it seemed. In addition to tapping their combined manpower, they were appealing to the public for help.
Missing-child posters went up across San Diego County. She’d heard that Sawyer had used his own resources to broaden the distribution. It wasn’t just because Shannon was focused on the case that she saw Dylan’s smiling face everywhere she went.
Shannon knew that as more time passed, concerns about the boy’s safety intensified. The first twenty-four hours were crucial, and they’d pulled out all the stops in their search.
But those critical early hours had now passed.
Sawyer had come into the division midday. His eyes had been vacant until they met hers. He’d paused, and she’d felt a brief connection before he moved on to catch up with Bigelow.
Sawyer must’ve been going out of his mind. For Shannon and her parents, it had been a little over a day until they learned Charlie’s fate. She remembered vividly those excruciating hours of not knowing.
Long after Sawyer left, the raw pain she’d seen on his face haunted her. She knew it was contrary to department policy, but she had to contact him. Offer him whatever comfort she could.
She hoped that if this turned out to be a second transgression, it wouldn’t end her career with the K-9 Unit when it had barely begun.
She thought about going to Sawyer’s home at the end of her shift. She knew the address. She’d been there with Logan on the day of the abduction.
Even if she was to step over the line and contact Sawyer, going to his home uninvited was decidedly wrong. She’d stop by his office instead. She debated staying in uniform and decided to go in civilian clothes. After all, it wasn’t official police business. She didn’t want to create any false expectations.
She’d worked the seven-to-three shift. If she changed quickly, she could be at the Thomas Jefferson School of Law by four, a time she assumed was within the normal hours of a professor. She wouldn’t call first, since she couldn’t explain over the phone why she wanted to see him. She didn’t entirely understand it herself.
She’d take her chances. If he was giving a lecture, so be it. Then she’d leave a message.
At the school, she got Darwin settled in the climate-controlled comfort of her Explorer and followed the signs to the faculty offices.
Sitting behind the reception counter was a slim young woman with a pretty face and a mass of wavy auburn hair falling nearly to her waist. The name plaque on her desk said Miranda Smith.
Shannon absently ran her hand through her own short hair. The word tomboy flitted through her mind. The presence of this beautiful, feminine woman made her feel self-conscious.
Miranda glanced up and smiled, revealing perfect, even white teeth. “May I help you?”
Well, at least Shannon had nice teeth, too. The braces she’d worn for the better part of two years as a teen had ensured that. She smiled back and walked to the counter. “I’d like to see Mr., ah, Professor Evans, please, if he’s available.”
Miranda’s smile faded immediately and her eyes clouded. “I’m sorry, but Professor Evans isn’t here. He’s taking some time off...” Of course he wouldn’t be at work while his son was missing! Shannon should’ve thought of that. She was obviously more affected than she’d realized. “Yes. Thank you,” she murmured. She pulled out a business card and a pen. Jotting her personal cell phone number on the back, she handed it to Miranda. “I’d appreciate if you’d ask him to call me...when he gets a chance.”
The receptionist accepted the card and glanced at it. Her eyes rounded. “You’re with the police? Is there news?” she asked hopefully. “I can try to reach him at home right now.”
Shannon shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.” She suddenly wanted to take the card back and leave. This was a bad idea, but it was too late to undo what she’d done. “Please just have him call me. There’s no urgency.” She thanked the receptionist and quickly left.
Inside her Explorer, she grasped the steering wheel with both hands and rested her forehead on it. How dumb was that? she asked herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAWYER SAT ON his sofa, head back, eyes shut. He’d closed the shades. He didn’t want to see sunshine, nor did he care what time of day it was.
He’d never felt so helpless, or so distraught, in his life.
He wanted to rage. He wanted to lash out.
He wanted to give in and break down.
But his lethargy prevented all of it. And what purpose would any of those reactions serve?
They wouldn’t bring his son home.
Not knowing where Dylan was... Maybe injured...
No, he refused to think about that.
As a father, he’d sense if harm had befallen his son. Wouldn’t he?
His parents. Meghan. They’d all wanted to stay with him.
He couldn’t handle company. He couldn’t bear their pain. The weight of his own was intolerable.
He just wanted to be alone.
And he hated being alone, in his own head, with his own thoughts. It was a dangerous place for him right now.
He wanted to be with Dylan, but that was impossible.
The sudden jangle of his phone startled him.
He kept his cell phone within reach at all times. Wishing. Praying. Hoping beyond hope that it would be the police. Calling to say they’d found Dylan. Safe and unharmed.
But whenever the phone had rung, it’d been his mother or father, his sister or a friend.
He picked it up and checked the call display.
It was his office.
He couldn’t imagine what they’d want. He’d advised the dean he’d be off until further notice. When he’d told her why, there’d been no further questions.
So why was Miranda calling?
He nearly put the phone back down, but curiosity got the better of him.
“Sawyer, how are you?” Miranda asked as soon as he answered.
Sawyer leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. How did she think he was, with his son missing for almost two days?
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was a stupid question.”
There was nothing to be gained by making Miranda feel bad. She was a smart, well-intentioned young woman. He understood why no one knew what to say to him. “It’s okay, Miranda. Why are you calling?”
“I have a message for you that I thought you’d want.”
“Yeah?” He had no interest in messages. Unless it had to do with Dylan. “Who’s it from?”
“San Diego Police Officer Shannon Clemens.”
Sawyer leaped off the sofa. “When did she call? What did she want?”
“Um...”
He softened his tone. “Sorry, Miranda. Go ahead.”
“Uh, she didn’t call. She stopped by. She left her cell phone number.”
Sawyer wrote it down. “Thanks, Miranda. I appreciate you letting m
e know.”
“Sawyer, I’m so very sorry. We’re all thinking of you and praying for Dylan’s safe return.”
“Thanks.”
Sawyer hung up almost before she’d finished. Shannon Clemens was the officer with the dog. He’d immediately trusted her. She seemed to truly care. She’d given him hope...
With unsteady fingers, he dialed the number Miranda had provided.
Please, God...please, God, he chanted in his head as the phone rang once. Twice.
On the third ring, she answered.
“Ah, Officer. It’s Sawyer Evans returning your call.”
“Oh, Mr. Evans... Sawyer, um, thank you for calling me back.”
“Yeah. Sure. Do you have news about Dylan?” He recognized the sound of desperation in his own voice but couldn’t help it.
“No... I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“But...but...” Now he was stammering. If she didn’t have information, why had she contacted him? “I don’t understand.”
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Dylan, and that I couldn’t find him for you.”
Sawyer brought back the image of the police officer. Youngish. Twenty-eight or nine. She was maybe five-five or five-six, slim, and she’d looked competent and steady. She had short blond hair in an edgy cut that, under different circumstances, he might’ve thought of as sexy. Well-defined features and a full, expressive mouth. And her eyes had caught him. They were a vivid sky blue, he remembered, and they’d had an intensity. Her eyes had told him that what she did was more than a job to her. And when she’d promised she’d do her best, the sincerity in those eyes had made him believe it. But even her best hadn’t been enough to bring Dylan back to him. “You’re calling to apologize?” He realized he hadn’t been getting any sleep and his mind was a mess, but her call made no sense to him.
“Well, yes.”
Her voice was soft. Somehow it dulled the sharpest edges of his despair.
“The department is doing everything possible. The FBI is involved, as you know. I wanted to tell you that I understand what you’re going through and—”
“You understand?” Sawyer tightened his grip on the phone until his knuckles ached. “How can you possibly understand what it’s like to have your child go missing?”
“Not my child. No. But my brother went missing. He was the same age then as Dylan is now. I saw what my parents went through. I was very close to my brother,” she added.
Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been harsh and was sorry about it. He couldn’t imagine anyone understanding what he was experiencing, but she probably could, more than most people. “How much time had passed before your brother was found?”
“A day.”
Dylan had been missing for over a day. Going on two. As a former prosecutor, he knew the statistics about missing children. “What happened to him? To your brother?”
He heard her inhale sharply.
“Charlie got lost. In Torrey Pines State Park.”
Also a forested area with wildlife. Yeah, there were similarities. Sitting back down on the sofa, he took a long drink of the beer that had gone warm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” He laughed bleakly. “I’m not myself right now.”
“How could you be?”
Again, her voice soothed him. “The police found Charlie?”
“Yes.”
The tone of her voice said more than the single word. “Was he hurt?” Sawyer wasn’t sure he was prepared for the answer, but he had to ask.
“Charlie... He drowned in a creek.”
Sawyer pressed a hand over his eyes. He remembered the terror he’d felt standing at the edge of the lake by their campground, and praying that nothing like that had happened to Dylan. “I’m very sorry.”
“It was a long time ago...”
Her voice was sorrowful. Maybe this wasn’t the same, but here finally was someone who could understand what he was going through, without amplifying his personal pain. Being a police officer, she might be able to give him details he needed. Maybe she could keep him from going completely crazy. All of a sudden, Sawyer wanted to talk to her.
He glanced at his watch. No, not today. “Officer Clemens...”
“Shannon,” she corrected him.
“Shannon, can I buy you a coffee? Tomorrow sometime, if you’re free?”
There was a brief hesitation. “It’s my day off. I could meet you anytime.”
“Good. How about the Starbucks on East Harbor Drive? Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“Two thirty?”
“That works for me.”
* * *
SHANNON ARRIVED AT the coffee shop ten minutes early. She ordered a latte and sat at a table with a clear view of the entrance.
Since she’d spoken to Sawyer, she’d incessantly questioned the wisdom of what she was doing. Why was she having coffee with a man whose son was missing? What could it lead to, if not heartache? He expected information from her; she was bound to disappoint him. He’d know as much or more from Detective Bigelow and FBI Special Agent Leary than she did from Logan and the departmental briefings.
The last thing Sawyer needed was another complication.
The last thing she needed was another complication.
Sawyer hadn’t been cleared yet as a possible suspect in his son’s abduction, although she was certain he would be, in due course.
And his wife’s? She knew that Bigelow and Leary were taking another look at that. But she didn’t believe he would’ve done anything to harm his wife, either. Still, seeing him today was a bad idea and maybe she should leave before he showed up.
Too late for that. Shannon noticed Sawyer the moment he walked in.
He wore faded jeans. Not the designer type a lot of men were wearing these days. He’d paired the jeans with a blue-and-white striped button-down, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His hair, a deep brown with chestnut streaks, looked only slightly more orderly than it had the day his son went missing. She was struck again by the strength of character evident in his face. The strong jawline, straight nose and sensitive eyes made him very appealing.
He’d lost weight. Was it possible to lose enough weight in two days for it to be noticeable? He was tall, but his build was lanky. He couldn’t afford to lose much more.
She knew him to be thirty-six. She’d read the file. He’d looked his age when she’d first met him. Today? He appeared older than his years. There were deep lines etched across his forehead and bracketing the sides of his mouth. His eye sockets were hollow and had dark circles beneath them, but his eyes warmed briefly as they connected with hers.
No, he didn’t seem like a man who’d harm his own son. Departmental procedures or not, if she could help ease his pain or be a sounding board for him to release some of it...
He raised an arm in a halfhearted greeting and walked toward her. She rose and held out her hand.
His grip conveyed hesitation, despite its strength.
“Can I get you a coffee?” she offered.
“No. No, that’s fine. I’ll buy my own.”
He was back a few minutes later and slid onto the chair opposite her.
“I’d like to clear up one thing, if that’s okay?” Sawyer asked.
Her nerves hummed. “Sure.”
“You’re not here on police business, are you?”
She felt like squirming in her seat, but resisted. She shook her head slowly. “No, I’m not.”
He nodded. “I just want to be clear on that. Can I call you Shannon?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He closed his eyes. With an unsteady hand, he rubbed his forehead. “This is all surreal. I have moments when I convince myself that it’s a nightmare and
I’ll wake up any minute. Then I realize I am awake, and Dylan isn’t with me.”
He opened his eyes, and what she saw in their depths tore at her heart.
“I don’t know how to cope. How I can go on one more minute, never mind an hour. But then I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Shannon could see by the tensing of his jaw and the pulse jumping at his temples that the effort to contain his emotions was costing him.
“Is there anything at all that you can tell me that I haven’t already heard?”
She wished... Oh, God, she wished there was. Anything that would in any way ease his pain. “I’m sorry. I’m not involved in the investigation.”
“Okay.” He looked away abruptly. Even in profile, she could see the sheen of his eyes, the tension in his features. When he glanced back at her, he seemed more controlled. “I want to ask why you contacted me, but I can’t help thinking that would be rude. So, I’ll ask you another question, if that’s okay.”
She nodded once more.
“How are your parents?”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t understand the relevance of the question.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did your parents deal with the loss of a child?”
Shannon went with her instincts. She placed her hand on top of Sawyer’s. “You can’t think about that.” Maybe there was something she could say to ease his mind. “We—the SDPD and the FBI—have no evidence to suggest that any harm has come to Dylan. You have to stay positive.”
She saw him swallow, then clear his throat. “I’m grateful to hear that. Thank you.” He groped for his coffee mug and took a drink. “I suppose you know about my wife?”
“Yes. It was mentioned in a briefing.”
“Dylan hadn’t celebrated his first birthday when she went missing. For the police it’s a cold case, but under the circumstances, they think she died...as do I.” He rubbed the bottom of his nose with a finger. “You probably know all this, but in law, there’s an assumption that a person is alive until there’s reason to believe otherwise. Seven years is the usual amount of time. Then, legally, she’ll be presumed dead, but for all intents and purposes, the evidence—or lack thereof—points to her having died.