The Last Child

“If the Merrimon kid stayed on the trail, he would need to cover a lot of ground to reach the place where he was grabbed, say ten or fifteen minutes at a dead run.” Cross tapped a finger on the map. “If I left the trail and cut across here, I could walk to that same place in five minutes.”

“Cut through the woods, and it’s close.”

“Really close.”

Hunt looked out at the tent, a blur in the drumming rain. The man had been run off the road, crushed. “If David Wilson was killed because he learned something-”

“Knew something about the missing girl…”

Hunt bit down. “The man that killed him would want Joh

“He could cross here and wait for the boy. Joh

“Damn.” Hunt straightened. “Get on the radio. I want an all-points on a large black male, forty to sixty, with severe scarring on the right side of his face. His car will have visible damage, probably to the left front fender. Inform dispatch that he’s wanted in co

Cross pulled out his radio and called it in.

Hunt waited, and another wave of anger rolled over him. The past year had worn him thin, made him sloppy. He should have seen the river issue-the way it bent like that-not heard it from some rookie detective. But it was done. The girl was what mattered, so it had to be done. He let it go, drilled in on the matter at hand. Tiffany was missing for less than a day, eight hours, almost nine. This time, he would bring the kid home. He clenched his fists and he swore it.

This time it would be different.

He looked at Joh

Promise?

Hunt reached for the large, brown feather that hung below the seat of Joh

Promise.

Behind him, Cross lowered the radio. “Done,” he said.

Hunt nodded.

“What do you have there?”

Hunt let the feather droop back on the cord that secured it. It swung once, then stuck on the wet metal. “Nothing,” he said. “A feather.”

Cross stepped closer and lifted the feather.

“This is an eagle feather.”

“How do you know that?”

Cross shrugged, looked embarrassed. “I was born in the mountains. My grandmother is half Cherokee. She was into all that totem stuff.”

“Totem stuff?”

“You know. Rituals and sacred plants.” He lifted a hand toward the river. “The river for purity. Snakes for wisdom. Stuff like that.” He shrugged. “I always thought it was kind of bullshit.”

“Totems?” Hunt repeated.

“Yeah.” He gestured at the feather. “That’s good magic.”

“What kind of magic?”

“Strength. Power.” Lightning thumped and he let the feather fall. “Only chiefs carry eagle feathers.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the back of the patrol car, Joh

Maybe!

He’d said it loud, then repeated it when Hunt’s eyes went soft.

Maybe it is!

But Hunt was busy and had his own ideas. He’d grown short with Joh

Leave it alone, he’d said. This is not your problem.

But the cop was wrong. Joh

The patrol car stopped in the driveway. Rain hammered on the metal roof and Joh

Joh

“Well, this is it, kid.” He hesitated, eyes still on Joh

Joh

“Well, let’s go.”

Joh

“Home.” She repeated the word.

“Yes. Home. Let’s go.” Joh

Joh

Joh

“I want to go away.”

“Mom…”

“I want to wash into the earth and be gone from this place.”

Joh

Inside, the lights burned sulfur bright. Uncle Steve sat at the kitchen table, a row of beer cans in front of him. Ken paced, bourbon in a glass between his heavy fingers. They looked up as Joh

“He knows who you are. He just doesn’t care.” The words popped out of Joh

“I’ll take her.” Ken stepped toward them, and Joh

Red suffused Ken’s face. “Messing with her…”

Joh

“It’s okay, Joh

Ken followed her to the end of the hall, looked back once, and shut the door. Joh