Kate James - Home To Stay

“Mr. Evans... Sawyer?” she said softly as she approached him.

He gazed up at her as if he’d just come out of a trance and scrambled to his feet. His eyes were wild as he glanced about.

“We didn’t find him,” she said.

He seemed to close in on himself and collapsed back onto the ground, elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands. “What now?” he asked in a barely audible voice.

She lowered herself to the sand beside him. “We need to ask you some questions.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t look at her. “You and the others have already asked me all the questions imaginable.”

Shannon understood his frustration, but the questions so far had focused on the possibility of a child wandering away. She had to tell him what their hypothesis was and that it required a whole new set of questions to be explored—including those that would probe whether he or another member of his family could’ve had anything to do with it. “No, we haven’t,” she responded. “We suspect that Dylan didn’t wander away.”

Sawyer lifted his head and stared at her as if she’d suddenly grown horns. “What? If he didn’t wander away, then where is he? One of us has been here at the camp since I discovered he was gone.”

As painful as it had been when she’d learned that Charlie was missing—and all because he’d wanted to be with her—it would be far worse for Sawyer once she explained the situation to him. She wished there was something she could say or do to soften the blow, but the cold, hard truth had to be said.

* * *

WHEN THE POLICE officer didn’t answer his question right away, Sawyer scrabbled around to face her and grasped her upper arms. “What do you mean Dylan didn’t wander away?”

Her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced down to where he was gripping her.

Only then did he realize he was holding her and not gently. He immediately released her. Seeing the distinct marks left by his fingers below the short sleeves of her uniform shirt, he was dismayed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry... Officer,” he mumbled.

She rubbed a hand over the spot on her arm. “It’s okay. And it’s Clemens. Shannon Clemens. We followed a trail to a service road. We think he was put in a vehicle there.”

Sawyer slumped back on his heels. “Someone found him? Have you checked to see if anyone’s reported finding him? To the rangers or the police?”

“Yes. Neither the park rangers nor the SDPD have received any report of a young boy being found.”

“But you think someone put him in a vehicle and...took him?” Sawyer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If someone had found Dylan, lost and alone, surely that person would have taken him to the rangers’ office or the police by now. And if not? As he realized what she was saying, the horror of it threatened to overwhelm him. “You think he’s been...kidnapped?” he asked, his voice raw.

“We think someone took Dylan. The distance he would’ve had to travel to the service road, especially in bare feet, is too far. He was probably carried, if not all the way, then part of it.” Shannon nodded to her captain, who’d just joined them, before continuing. “Based on the behavior of the dogs, we suspect a person or persons put him in a vehicle at that location.”

Sawyer staggered to his feet. Turning his back on the cops, he dragged the fingers of both hands through his hair.

He was fairly certain this was what losing one’s mind felt like. His son was missing—might have been abducted—and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. After Jeannette had left them, he’d sworn he’d protect Dylan and give him enough love for two parents.

He stumbled to the edge of the water and stared off into the distance.

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.

CHAPTER THREE

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.