Kate James - Home To Stay

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 me 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.”