Was this some incomprehensibly cruel joke the powers that be were playing on him? Three years ago his wife went missing and now his son? Jeannette might be lost to him, but he had to get Dylan back. Whatever it took. If not, he really would go insane.
If Dylan had been abducted, who would’ve done it?
“Mr. Evans?”
A male voice, so the captain, not the officer. Sawyer spun around.
“It might be advisable for you and your family to go home. We’ll need to ask you some more questions, but we can do it there.”
Sawyer looked around and noticed that the campsite was now being treated as a crime scene. There were more cops present and yellow do-not-cross tape had been used to cordon off the area.
“Dylan...” he whispered and turned imploring eyes on Shannon.
“There’s nothing more you can do for him here,” she said softly. “If he was abducted, you should be home near your phone.”
He nodded. “I...I have to tell my parents and Meg.”
“Okay. Then we’ll have someone drive you home. You can get your vehicle some other time. It’ll be fine here until then.”
“Sure. Yeah.” Didn’t they understand that he didn’t care about his damn car?
All he cared about was getting Dylan back.
THE AUTHORITIES WERE convinced that the young boy, Dylan Evans, had been abducted. Despite there being no ransom demand. No contact. At least not yet.
When the possibility had first occurred to Shannon, dread had washed over her. Telling the father, Sawyer Evans, what they suspected had broken her heart.
Afterward, she’d gone to Sawyer’s home with Logan, and then back to the division for the briefing of the Special Response Team. Richard Bigelow was the lead detective assigned to the case, and she was glad of it. She didn’t know him well, but he was said to be the best on his team.
The SDPD had called in the FBI to assist, standard operating procedure with children presumed to have been abducted. The FBI had assigned a special agent in charge to work with the SDPD, Gavin Leary, and another special agent, Anne Wilson, to assist.
Shannon didn’t know if her help would be required again, but took comfort in the fact that they had the top resources available on the case.
Back at her desk, she scooped kibble into Darwin’s bowl. She watched him scarf down his food. Shannon might not be hungry, but the events of the day didn’t seem to have hurt her dog’s appetite.
After he finished his meal, he ambled over and rested his head on her lap. She stroked him as she thought back to the meeting.
They’d considered all the possibilities and narrowed it down to two. Either Dylan had wandered off and someone had seized him opportunistically, or it had been planned and he’d been taken from the campsite and to the vehicle.
Everyone present had agreed that the second scenario was more probable, since the former would’ve been too coincidental and highly improbable in the middle of the night. Also, as Shannon had concluded, it would’ve been too long and arduous a trek for Dylan to walk from the campsite to the service road on his own.
But how could someone have gotten Dylan out of the tent without waking his father? The only plausible scenario they could come up with was that the boy had gone outside to relieve himself and been taken then. But that would’ve meant someone had been watching and waiting, possibly all night, for Dylan to appear. She returned to the fact that it had been hours and there was still no ransom demand.
Shannon got her laptop, put her feet up on a chair and opened a picture of Charlie.
She was fourteen when her little brother died and the events that had led up to it still haunted her.
All through her childhood, people had called her a tomboy. When she’d first heard the term, she hadn’t known what it meant. Curious, she’d looked it up online, where it said something about how the way she was didn’t follow the “female gender norm.” That hadn’t bothered her. She’d seen it as fact. When other girls her age were playing with dolls or going to tea parties, she’d been engaged in sports or building mechanical things.
Her best friend since the first grade was a boy. Kenny had been her only friend for most of her life. When her parents had another child and that child turned out to be a boy, she’d been relieved. Shannon would’ve loved her sibling no matter what, but she’d secretly worried about how she’d handle having a sister. She was okay with being a tomboy, maybe even pleased by it, but what sort of influence would she have been on a little sister? So, she’d been glad when her mother had given birth to Charlie.
There was a ten-year age gap between them, but she’d loved Charlie completely and unreservedly.
And Charlie had loved her unconditionally in return. Their mother had said he idolized her. That put a lot of pressure on Shannon to be a good role model. Charlie wanted to do everything Shannon did; in fact, their father called him her shadow. As Charlie had grown, he’d also developed an open adoration for Kenny. Shannon had worried about how Kenny would respond to a young child hanging around them. She’d been delighted when Kenny, an only child, treated Charlie as if he was his kid brother, too.
Shannon’s parents started calling them the Three Musketeers. Shannon had Googled that, and she liked the sound of it. Yeah, the three of them against the world!
Shortly after Shannon turned fourteen, something had changed between her and Kenny. At first it was subtle; with time, it became more pronounced. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but their relationship just wasn’t the same. She worried that because Kenny was sixteen, two years older than her, he now thought of her as a kid. Her idea was reinforced when he’d insisted that she—and everyone else—start calling him Ken. He considered himself too old to be called Kenny. But she concluded she couldn’t have been correct about how he felt because they still saw each other as much as they used to, if not more. Then she’d fretted that it was Charlie, since Ken no longer wanted to have him around.
Shannon’s mother had sat her down and had a talk with her about Ken and their relationship now that they were teenagers, but Shannon had assured her that Kenny—Ken—was just a friend.
When Ken had asked Shannon to go for a hike in Torrey Pines State Reserve north of San Diego, Charlie had wanted desperately accompany them. Kenny had insisted that it would be a long hike, too strenuous for Charlie. Tears had coursed down her brother’s cheeks when she’d told him he couldn’t come with them.
If only Charlie had listened...
* * *
SHANNON CLOSED HER eyes and the memories came rushing back.
It was shortly after Kenny had gotten his driver’s license and he was so proud to be able to drive them to the park in his mother’s car.
As they walked side by side along a forest path, Kenny bumped Shannon’s shoulder. Shannon had been watching the shifting patchwork of light and shade on the sun-dappled forest floor, her thoughts so focused on how to broach the subject of what had caused the change between them, that the movement made her lose her footing.
He caught her with one hand on her arm, the other at her waist.
“Thanks, Kenny.” Noting his annoyance, she quickly amended her words. “Sorry... Ken.” Steady on her feet again, she tried to step away, but he kept an arm around her waist. “Um... I’m okay now. Thanks.”
Instead of releasing her, he closed the gap between them. Shannon saw his mouth open and his eyes close as he lowered his head toward hers. With an appalled jolt, she understood that he intended to kiss her. Letting out a squeal that