A sense of dread raced up and down Liz’s spine. “Jeremy is their five-year-old son.”
“The Hendersons had a son?” Darlene asked.
“Yes. A special-needs child.”
“I checked the house myself, Sheriff. There’s nobody else here.”
“He has to be, Sal. Kate homeschools him. They don’t have any relatives living nearby that would be taking care of him.” Liz pushed past Darlene frantically. She raced from one bedroom to the next, checking the closets, looking under the beds. She came up short in the doorway of the master bedroom and looked hurriedly around the room. Trying to keep the panic out of her voice, she called his name.
“Jeremy.”
Silence.
Liz dropped to her knees beside the master bed and looked underneath. Nothing. She raced to the closets. Tom’s closet was filled with shirts, pants, sneakers and polished shoes all organized and in their proper place—but no Jeremy.
Her eyes made a quick sweep of Kate’s closet, skimming over the shoe racks and storage bins. Her hands brushed aside the dresses, blouses and slacks.
She raced to the bathroom and looked inside the shower stall, even opened the linen closet.
“Jeremy.”
“I told you, boss,” Sal called from the doorway. “There isn’t any kid.”
A sense of unease crept up her spine. She suddenly remembered something Kate had told her about Jeremy. He liked to burrow under things. She raced back to Kate’s closet.
“Jeremy?”
Her eyes searched the contents on the floor. The storage bins. The pile of folded blankets in the back corner.
Then she froze.
* * *
Dr. Adam Morgan’s tall, imposing presence and crisp stride made people move out of his way without the need to ask. He didn’t pause at the nurses’ station or pull a chart or even speak to anyone for directions. It wasn’t necessary. He could see the police officer sitting on a chair outside the corner room at the end of the hospital corridor and he didn’t waste any time getting there.
He flashed his identification badge and shifted his weight from one foot to the other while he waited for the officer to check his name against the list of people allowed access to the room. When he received the okay, he pushed open the door, strode into the room and then came to an abrupt stop.
Lizzie.
When he delivered his medical report to the sheriff’s department later today, he fully expected her to ask him to come in and answer some questions. Knowing her first impression of him after all these years would be important to what he hoped to achieve now that he’d moved back, he’d been trying to brace himself for it, trying to prepare how he’d act, what he’d say. But he hadn’t expected the encounter to be this soon.
Not here, sleeping in a chair beside the hospital bed with her arm outstretched protectively over the sedated child.
Not now.
His heart skipped.
Her features were exquisite—smooth skin, gently sloping nose, cheeks rosy with sleep. Her teenage lankiness had blossomed into softly rounded, female curves. The golden highlights in the loose bun tucked behind her neck caught the sunlight from the window. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
He didn’t think he had made a sound but her eyes shot open.
The electric shock of sky blue looking back at him pierced his heart and froze him in place. A slow, sleepy smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when she saw him. Happiness lit her eyes, basking him in sunshine. He had missed this so much over the years—and then she came fully awake. The smile faded. The brightness dimmed. Being a psychiatrist, Adam recognized the flash of pain and hurt that danced across her features before she masked her emotions with another one—anger.
“Adam.” He tried not to wince at the cold tone in her voice.
“Good morning, Lizzie.”
He knew it would be difficult seeing her again, but even years of studying human behavior hadn’t prepared him for the waves of shame and pain that engulfed him. After what had happened to her brother, Luke, Adam had believed he was doing what was best for Lizzie when he left. At the time, he’d convinced himself that he’d be the only one who would be hurt.
It took just a glance at her face to make him realize just how wrong he had been—about everything. He’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most. He had made a huge mistake and compounded it with more wrong choices. He’d failed her. After all these years, there was probably nothing he could do to fix it.
But he was going to do his best to try.
“Good morning.” The soft, wistful sadness in her tone made him feel as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart. “I heard you were back in town.”
“I didn’t expect to see you this morning.”
She smiled sadly and shrugged. “Why would you?”
It was the words not spoken that filled the room and heightened the tension between them. The mild censure in her last question was understandably deserved. He’d left without a word and he had returned—still, without a word.
She stood up, stretching her arms and back like a cat after a summer nap, and stepped forward. “I suppose we should talk.” She nodded toward the tiny body covered with white sheets lying on the bed. “About Jeremy.”
“How long have you been here?” He moved toward the bed to check his patient’s monitors.
“All night.”
That surprised him and he turned to look at her. “Why? Doesn’t he have any family? Grandparents?”
“No. Kate told me that Dave lost his family in a car accident when he was a teen. Her father died of a heart attack a couple years back. Her mother’s alive but has dementia and is living in a nursing home in Poplar Bluff.”
“Aunts? Uncles?”
“My team will check it out but I don’t think so.”
“Poor little guy. As if autism wasn’t a big enough challenge for him.” He brushed his hand over the sleeping boy’s head and then turned his attention back to Liz.
“So, why did you stay? You have a guard right outside the door.”
“He’s afraid of uniforms.”
“What?”
“Jeremy.” She stretched again and rubbed her lower back as though trying to work out a kink. “Kate…that’s his mother…was his mother…” She bit her lower lip, frowned and looked across the bed at him. “Anyway, she told me once that Jeremy is terrified of people in uniforms. I thought the sight of the medical and police uniforms might send him over the top. I’ve met Jeremy a couple of times when Kate brought him with her to church. He might remember me. I thought I should stay close by to see if I could help when he wakes up.”
Adam gave her a closer look and noted for the first time the loose flowered blouse covering her uniform. Only the bottom of her holster peeked from beneath the edge. If the boy did wake up, what he’d see was a pretty lady and lots of flowers—not a cop.
A wave of respect washed over him. She’d grown up to be a caring, intelligent woman. But then, he’d always known she would because that’s what she’d always been. Most teenagers are self-serving and selfish until they find their place in the world. Lizzie was an exception. She was always loving, kind, trusting. It was the trusting part that made another wave of guilt wash over him.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when the boy arrived last night. I had an emergency