by Alison Stone
Deep blue. Bottomless. Unreadable.
“Were you home this afternoon, Eva?” he asked, and she shook her head because she wasn’t sure she could speak without tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Was Brady?”
“He was with his babysitter. Mrs. Daphne lives two doors down,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat.
“Is that close to Slade McNeal’s place?” he asked.
And odd question, but she’d answer whatever he asked if it meant getting him outside searching for Brady.
“Yes.”
Detective Black and Officer Cunningham exchanged a look she couldn’t read. One that excluded her, made her even more terrified than she already was.
“What’s going on?”
“Captain McNeal’s father was attacked today. His dog, Rio, was stolen. The person responsible is still on the loose.”
“What does that have to do with Brady?” she asked, but she knew, the cold icy feeling in her heart making her shake.
“It’s going to be okay.” Detective Black walked across the room and opened the front door. “I’m going to get Justice. Eva, if you want to get a photo of your son and an article of his clothing. Something that he wore today, preferably. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She ran into Brady’s room, trying not to think about Slade’s father, his missing K-9 partner. Trying not to think about how pale and quiet Brady had been when she’d picked him up from Mrs. Daphne’s house.
He hadn’t eaten much for dinner.
Maybe he’d just been sick. A stomach virus. Kids got those all the time.
She wanted to believe that accounted for his silence at the dinner table, his desire to go to bed early.
Check the window again, Momma. Did you check it?
The words seemed to echo in Brady’s empty room.
She should have asked him why he was worried about the window lock. Should have pressed him about his day, asked just one more time if everything was okay.
If she had—
“Did you find something?” Detective Black walked into the room, a bloodhound padding along beside him. Orange vest and droopy ears, a wet nose and big, dark eyes. Brady would have loved to see him.
The thought burned behind Eva’s eyes, and she ran to the closet, yanked out the T-shirt Brady had worn to school.
Blue today. Orange tomorrow!
“This is the shirt he wore today.” She handed the detective Brady’s T-shirt before she gave into temptation and pressed it to her face, inhaled her son’s little-boy scent.
Please, God. Please.
“He asked me to check the window lock twice. He seemed quiet at dinner. I thought he might be getting sick, but maybe...” Her guilt spilled out, and she had to stop the words so that the tears didn’t spill out, too.
“Your son’s disappearance might not have anything to do with what happened at Slade’s house.”
“But you think that it does?”
“Do you have a recent photo?” He didn’t respond to her comment, and she knew that he did.
She hadn’t realized she could be any more petrified than she’d been when she’d walked into Brady’s room and seen his open window.
She could be.
She was.
Cold air blew in, carrying a hint of rain or snow.
And, somewhere out in the darkness, Brady was scared and probably calling for her.
A tear dripped down her cheek.
“Eva, I need that photo,” Detective Black said gently, and she ran from the room, ran into hers.
So close to Brady’s.
She’d planned it that way when she’d decided which of the three bedrooms she’d take and which Brady would have.
So close, but she hadn’t heard a sound until he’d cried for her.
She grabbed the framed school photo from her nightstand, pressed it to her chest.
“Got it?” Detective Black walked into the room with his bloodhound, and Eva didn’t care that she’d left her waitressing uniform in a stack on a chair. She didn’t care that a pile of college books and papers lay beside her bed. She didn’t care about anything but handing him the photo and watching him walk out the door to find her son.
“This was taken a few months ago.” She handed him the photo, and he studied it for a moment.
“Cute kid,” he said with a small smile, and she nodded because she couldn’t speak past the tears that clogged her throat.
The doorbell rang again. This time she didn’t run to answer it. Didn’t believe that somehow Brady would magically appear on the porch, tired and scared but with some explanation that would make sense. Maybe some story about sleepwalking or thinking that Mrs. Daphne’s dog was outside whining for his attention.
She walked into the living room, her heart heavy and aching, her chest tight.
Captain Slade McNeal stood near the front door, his dark hair mussed, his face drawn and weary. “Eva, I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner. I had to wait for my son’s babysitter to arrive.”
“It’s okay.” Her voice sounded hollow and old.
“Have you found any evidence, Cunningham?” Slade turned to the patrol officer.
“I checked the back window. It looks like someone popped the lock on it. I’ve already called for an evidence team.”
“Good. Are you going to take Justice out to track Brady, Austin?”
“Yes. We’ll start around back and work our way from there.”
“I’ll come with you.” Eva pulled her old wool coat from the closet near the door. There was no way she could put Brady’s life in someone else’s hands. No way she could trust that anyone else would look as hard or as long as she would. He was her son, after all. Her responsibility.
“The best thing you can do for your son is stay here and answer the captain’s questions. The more information you provide, the faster we can narrow down our search.” Austin walked onto the porch, and she followed.
He might not want her to help with the search, but she had no intention of staying behind. Brady needed her, and she needed to be there for him. That was the way it had been from the moment he was born, the bond between them so strong that she’d thought that nothing would ever tear them apart.
Something had.
Someone had.
She clenched her fist.
Brady was okay. He had to be.
“I’ve called in Lee Calloway. I’ll have him question the neighbors while I work with Cunningham and the evidence team.” Slade stepped outside, and Eva walked down the porch stairs, letting him approach Detective Black. They could talk all they wanted. She was going to look for her son.
Please, God, just let him be okay. Please, help me find him.
Please.
She could not lose her son.
Wouldn’t lose him.
If that meant searching alone while the police collected evidence and speculated on the who and why and how of Brady’s kidnapping, so be it.
ISBN: 9781460314128
Copyright © 2013 by Alison Stone
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