The Last Child

“Or my sister.”

“I doubt that.”

“It could be her.”

“It’s been a year, Joh

“Don’t tell me about the odds!”

Jack hesitated. “You’re going out, aren’t you?”

“I have to.”

Jack shook his head, face gone serious. “Don’t do it, man. This is not the night to be sneaking around. Every cop in town is out there. Whoever did this is going to be looking out. He’s going to be alert.”

Joh

“Where are you going?”

“You know where I’m going.”

“Don’t do it, man. I’m serious. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Joh

“I never agreed to go to those houses. That was always the line for me, and you know it.”

“This is different.”

“You’re go

Joh

“What do you mean?”

“The guy landed right at my feet. I heard his bones break. There was blood everywhere. One eye was about to pop out of his head.”

“Get out. Really?”

“He knew where she was. You get that? Whoever ran him off the road did it on purpose so he couldn’t tell.” Joh

“So?”

“I got scared. I ran.”

“So you ran. So, what? I’d be in Virginia by now.”

Joh

“There you go. He told you.”

“Don’t you get it, man? He knew where she was and I ran! She’s my sister. My twin.”

“Don’t, Joh

“I have to make it right.” Joh

Jack fidgeted, threw a desperate glance at the closed door. “Don’t ask me, Joh

Joh

Jack pleaded. “But this is not for play, is it? This just happened. This is fresh. For real. Say you find this guy… You’re go

“This is the time. Now. Right this second.”

“Joh

“In or out, Jack.”

“Dude…” The answer was all over him.

Joh

Katherine Merrimon stumbled down the last step and into the rain. She bent at the waist, lurched into the yard. “Joh

She was frightened, probably medicated, so Hunt moved with caution. He’d seen mental breakdowns before, and that’s what this looked like, like she was ripped at the seams. He held out his hands, fingers spread. “Mrs. Merrimon.”

“Joh

Hunt guessed that Tiffany Shore ’s abduction had scraped the soil off whatever poor grave she’d made for thoughts of her daughter’s fate. She’d woken to an empty house, to another empty bed.

“Mrs. Merrimon,” Hunt spoke softly.

She looked up, and even with the light full on her face, her eyes remained wide and dark. “Where’s my son?”

Hunt knelt and placed his hands on her shoulders. “It’s okay,” he said. “Everything will be okay.”

For that second, she calmed; then her face cracked, and when she spoke, her voice was so soft he barely heard it. “Where’s Alyssa?” she asked, but Hunt had no answer. He watched the grief take her down. It broke her at the waist. She splayed her hands on the ground, dug her fingers into soft earth. “Make it stop,” she whispered.

Hunt’s duty was clear. She needed help. Joh

“Please make it stop.”

“Katherine…”

“My babies…”

Hunt sat back on his heels, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Trust me,” he said. When she looked up, eyes tortured and lost, he said her name again, then took her arm to help her stand.

Twenty minutes later, the rain had stopped. A marked car turned into the drive, and Hunt saw a flash of blond as the dome light winked on and Officer Laura Taylor made for the porch. She was in her late twenties, broad-bodied but with a narrow face. She’d had a thing for Hunt once upon a time, but that was ancient history. Now she was in love with a NASCAR driver out of Charlotte. The driver had no idea who she was, but that didn’t bother her. Persistence, according to Officer Taylor, was a virtue.

She clumped up the steps and frowned as she spoke. “You’re looking sharp, Hunt.”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured at his clothes. “Wet clothes. Mud on your suit.” The gesture rose to include his head. “What are you, a surfer now?”

“A surfer?” Hunt touched his hair. Soaking wet, it hung below his collar.

“I can cut that for you.”

“That’s okay.”

“Suit yourself.” She pushed past him to glance through the open door. “You were pretty vague on the phone.”

Taylor was a stickler for the rules, but Hunt chose her for a reason. Underneath it all, the cop, the regulations, and the ball-breaking attitude, Taylor was a soft touch. Hunt trusted her to do what was right. “I just need you to keep an eye on her,” he said. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“How bad is it?”

“She’s in bed, calm for the moment; but she’s on something, pills probably. She’s lost it once. Could pop again. But she’s a good person and tomorrow’s another day. I think she deserves a chance.”

When Taylor leaned back, she looked unimpressed. “Word around town is that she’s pretty messed up.”

“Messed up, how?”

“Don’t get defensive.”

“I’m not.”

A smile under glittering eyes. “Bullshit. Look at you. White lips, those ropes in your neck. You look like I’m talking about your mother. Or your wife.”

Hunt lowered his voice, forced himself to relax. “Messed up how?”

Taylor shrugged without sympathy and tilted her head toward the house. “She showed up at school once to pick up her daughter. That was four months after the girl got snatched. When they told her that Alyssa wasn’t there, she refused to leave. Demanded to see her. Started screaming when they tried to explain. It got so out of control that the resource officer escorted her off the school grounds. She sat in her car for three hours, crying. And you know Officer Daniels?”

“The new guy?”

“He responded to a breaking and entering call about six weeks ago and found her asleep in her old house, just curled up on the sofa. Fetal, he said.” Taylor looked around at the dilapidated house. “Messed up.”

Hunt held his words for long seconds, and when he spoke, he tried hard to make her understand. “Do you have children, Laura?”

“You know I don’t.” She showed small teeth. “Children would interfere with the job.”

“Then trust me on this. She deserves a break.” Taylor held Hunt’s gaze, and he knew she was doing the math. Taylor was a street cop, not a babysitter; and Hunt’s request was not about cha