“He won’t speak, Gray. We don’t know what happened to him, but we think something traumatized him badly enough to stop his speech.” Joshua Darling, the senior partner in Blessing’s medical practice, put a hand on his shoulder and kept it there, his voice low but firm. “There’s a technical name for this, which I know you don’t care about. The gist of the diagnosis is that Cody’s problem doesn’t seem to be medical—there’s no sign of injury. Though we don’t know why, we think he’s unconsciously decided that he’s not going to speak. Not yet, anyway.”
“Can you accept that?” Luc demanded.
“I—I don’t know.” Not speak? For how long? Cody, the boy who had always brimmed with giggles just begging to be free—that beloved voice silent?
What could have happened to do this to my child?
Gray wanted to hit something. Images he’d seen on the street when he was not much older than Cody rifled through his mind. What horror had his child observed? If he didn’t talk about them, didn’t let Gray help, how would they ever be able to erase those pictures? Then Gray remembered—he hadn’t yet forgotten the images from his own childhood, and he was a lot older than Cody.
Fear loomed large in Gray’s mind.
“How long will this not speaking last?”
“We don’t know. Tomorrow morning I’ll phone a specialist and Cody can see him. We’ll find out exactly what’s going on. But tonight I’ve told the police I think it’s best if you just let him get used to being back home. Don’t ask questions, don’t push him, don’t press for more than he’s ready to give. Most of all, don’t ask him about Marissa. Apparently it scares him.” Joshua frowned. “Can you do it? Because if you can’t let go of all the questions and just let him relax, I’m going to check him in to the hospital.”
“What’s wrong—”
Joshua shook his head.
“I checked him over. So did Luc. We can’t find anything wrong. The damage seems to be psychological, and even that may only be temporary.”
“The thing is, Gray,” Luc murmured, laying one hand on his arm, “he’s obviously gone through some sort of ordeal. But right now the details aren’t important.”
Gray snorted. “Of course they’re important. Marissa could be holed up somewhere against her will. We’ve got to find her.”
“Listen to me.” Luc lowered his voice, his look intent as he focused on Gray. “We don’t know about Marissa. You have to face it. We don’t know if she’s alive or dead. Not yet. But we know Cody is here. He needs you. You must focus on his needs right now. The police will find your wife and the perpetrator, but at this moment your place is with your son.”
“Marissa would never have let him go without a fight.” Gray’s confidence would not be shaken. “If it was possible, she would have followed him.”
“I know. We all believe she’s out there somewhere.” Nicole tried to soften the pain with her sympathetic words. “But maybe she’s hurt. A thousand things could have happened to her. There’s no point in conjecturing. Right now you’ve got to focus on Cody.”
She was right. Though his heart ached with loss for Marissa, though he wanted to tear up the countryside, find her and never let her go—right now one thing took precedence. Cody. Marissa would want him to concentrate on their son, to do what she couldn’t. Maybe never would.
No! He wouldn’t think like that. She was all right. She had to be.
All Gray knew right now was that he couldn’t lose this second chance to be the kind of father he knew he could be.
God wouldn’t fault him a second time.
He stood in the shade of the pine tree and stared down at her, scared by the trail of blood that trickled from her head. Blood was bad.
“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered, angry that she hadn’t obeyed. “I told you not to run. That was very bad. Now you’re hurt and there’s no one to make you better.” He put his knife back in the leather holder strapped to his belt and waited for her to tell him what she’d done with Brett.
But she didn’t wake up. Not for a long time.
And then there were voices, people calling.
They were looking for her. If she woke up now, she’d run away again. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up, maybe they wouldn’t find her and he would learn where she’d taken Brett. He glanced down, saw the dirty shoes. If she couldn’t run, she couldn’t get away. He slipped them off her feet, tucked them into his belt.
The voices were coming closer.
He shimmied up the nearest tree, hid himself among the thick branches and waited. After a while some people saw her and rushed over to help her. Still she didn’t wake up.
“Look at this! Someone hit her with it.” A man in a police uniform held up a branch with blood on it. “Don’t move her. I’ll radio for a stretcher. Maybe one of the doctors will want to look at her first.”
He was scared now. He hadn’t hit her. He wasn’t bad. He wanted to tell them that. But they wouldn’t understand. Nobody understood about Brett. That’s why he’d run away.
So he sat in his tree and waited some more.
After a while he grew tired of sitting above them, watching in the tree. But there was no way to get down without being seen. Besides, maybe these people knew where she’d taken Brett. He’d have to stay still and listen.
So he waited some more.
“At least she got the boy to safety. Now he’s with his father, he’ll be okay.”
“I don’t know about that. I heard he won’t talk.”
Brett wouldn’t talk? He leaned down, trying to hear more.
“You mean he couldn’t tell them what happened?”
“Nope. Didn’t say a word.”
He smiled, nodded. That was his friend, his very best friend, Brett.
Brett wouldn’t tell them. Brett loved him. And he loved Brett. He’d just have to find him and bring him back. This time she couldn’t come. She didn’t belong.
He waited. More people came. Finally they carried her away. He waited and listened and watched, and when there wasn’t a sound in the forest, he slipped out of his hiding place and hurried back to the special place. It was pitch-black, but he needed no flashlight. He knew the way like the back of his hand. As he walked, he thought about what to do next.
Brett was with his daddy.
He remembered their talks, remembered about the horses and the long road and the big house.
He’d go back into town, listen to what the people said.
And then he’d find Brett and bring him back.
They belonged together.
Chapter Two
In the soft butter sun of midmorning Gray picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“It’s good news, Gray. We found her. In the ravine. Her clothes are tattered and torn, her body is a mass of cuts and bruises, but she’s alive.”
“What aren’t you saying?” Gray knew there was more. He could feel the tingles of apprehension winging over the airwaves.
“Right now she’s unconscious. Marissa has a head injury, Gray, and a pretty good-sized cut. I put in seventeen stitches.” Luc’s voice relayed his concern. “I think you’d