Tracking Justice. Shirlee McCoyЧитать онлайн книгу.
He pulled into the driveway of a small, bungalow-style house, its white porch gleaming in exterior lights that glowed on either side of the door. Just four houses down from the scene of a violent crime and the theft of a trained police dog the previous afternoon. An odd coincidence.
Or maybe not.
Two calls to the same street within nine hours? Not something that happened often in a place like Sagebrush, Texas.
Justice whined, his dark nose pressed against the grate that separated him from the SUV’s backseat. A three-year-old bloodhound, he was trained in search and rescue and knew when it was time to work. Knew and was ready, even after the eight-hour search they’d been on earlier.
Austin jumped out of the vehicle and started up the driveway, filing away information as he went. Lights on in the front of the house. An old station wagon parked on the curb. Windows closed. Locked?
A woman darted out the front door, pale hair flowing behind her, a loose robe flapping in the cold night air as she ran toward him. “Thank God you got here so quickly. I don’t know where he could have gone.”
“You called about a missing child?”
“Yes. My son.”
“The dispatcher said that you don’t know how long he’s been gone?” Austin had heard the call go out shortly after he’d left his captain’s place. Hours of searching for Slade’s stolen police dog, Rio, had turned up nothing but a dead-end scent trail and mounting frustration. Austin had been exhausted and ready to go home. Now he felt wired and ready to hit the trail again.
“I thought that I heard Brady call for me, and when I walked into his room, he was gone. That was about ten minutes ago.”
“Has he ever run away?”
“No.”
“Ever talked about it?”
“No! Now, please, can you help me find him?” She ran back up the porch stairs, her bare feet padding on the whitewashed wood.
Austin jogged after her, stepping into a small living room. Neat as a pin except for a small pile of Legos on a light oak coffee table and a college textbook abandoned on a threadbare sofa. No sign of the woman.
“Ma’am?” he called, moving toward a narrow hallway that led toward the back of the house.
“Here.” She waved from a doorway at the end of the hall. “This is my son’s room.”
Austin followed her into the tiny room. Blue walls. Blue bedding tangled and dripping over the side of the twin mattress. Crisp white curtains. A blanket lay on the floor near the open window, the frayed edges ruffled by the wind.
“How old is your son, Ms...?”
“Billows. Eva. He’s seven.”
Billows?
The name sparked a memory, but Austin couldn’t quite grab hold of it. “Did you and your son have an argument about something? Maybe a missed curfew or—”
“He’s seven. He’s not even allowed to be outside by himself.” Her voice broke, but her eyes were dry, her face pale and pinched with worry. A pretty face. A young one, too. Maybe twenty-three or four. Too young, it seemed, to have a seven-year-old.
“Did you argue about homework? Grades?”
“We didn’t argue about anything, Officer—?”
“Detective Austin Black. I’m with Sagebrush Police Department’s Special Operations K-9 Unit.”
“You have a search-and-rescue dog with you?” Her face brightened, hope gleaming in her emerald eyes. “I can give you something of his. A shirt or—”
“Hold on.” He grabbed her arm as she tried to move past. “I need to get a little more information first.”
“Find my son. Then I’ll give you whatever information you want.”
“Unfortunately, without the information, I won’t know where to begin searching for your son.”
“How about you start out there?” She gestured out the window.
“Was it open when you came in the room?”
“Yes. And the curtains were just like that. One hanging outside. Like, maybe...” She pressed her lips together.
“What?”
“It looks like someone carried Brady out the window, and Brady grabbed the curtain to try to keep from being taken. But I don’t know how anyone could have gotten into his room. The window was locked. All the doors and windows were locked.”
He nodded. He could see the scenario she’d outlined playing out. The little boy woken from a sound sleep, dragged from his bed and out the window, grabbing on to whatever he could to keep from being kidnapped.
He could see it, but that didn’t mean it had happened that way. Most children were abducted by family or friends, and most didn’t even know they were being abducted when it happened.
“You’re sure everything was locked?”
“Of course.” She frowned. “I always double-check. I have ever since...”
“What?”
“Nothing that matters. I just need to find my son.”
Hiding something?
Maybe. She seemed more terrified than nervous, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know something about what had happened to her son.
“Everything matters when a child is missing, Eva.”
Missing.
Gone.
Disappeared.
The words just kept coming. Kept filling Eva’s head and her heart and her lungs until she wasn’t sure she could breathe.
“Do you need to sit down?” Detective Black touched her elbow, his dark blue eyes staring straight into hers.
“I need to find my son.” The words stuck in her throat, caught on the roof of her mouth, and she didn’t know if they even made a sound when they escaped through her lips.
“I’m going to help you do that. I promise. But I need to know if there’s some reason why you were careful to keep your doors and windows locked. Someone you were afraid of.” His voice was warm and smooth as honey straight from the hive, and Eva might actually believe every word he was saying if she weren’t so terrified.
“My parents were killed two years ago, but it had nothing to do with me or my son.”
“The killer was caught?”
“No.”
“Is it possible—”
“It’s not possible!” She nearly shouted, and Detective Black frowned. “I was estranged from my father when the murders occurred. There’s no connection between my life now and what happened to my parents.” She tried again. Tried to sound reasonable and responsible because she was afraid if she didn’t, the detective would linger in Brady’s room for hours instead of going to look for him.
“Is Brady’s father around?” He leaned out the window without touching it, eyeing the packed earth beneath.
Did he see anything there?
She wanted to ask, wanted to beg him to get his dog and go after her son, wanted to go after Brady herself, run into the darkness and scream his name over and over again until she found him.
“No,” she answered a little too sharply, and Detective Black raised a raven-black eyebrow.
“You’re not on good terms?”
“We’re not on any terms.”
“When