Driftwood Bay

by Irene Hannon

  “I’d like to be on one of them.” Jeannette wasn’t going to sit around and wait for news, either.

  “The more hands the better. I’ll see you in town.” Lexie didn’t wait for a response.

  “Are you certain you want to do this, Jeannette?” The twin creases above Logan’s nose deepened. “I know you’re trying to keep your distance.”

  “This is an emergency. I’m suspending my rules until we find Molly and bring her home.”

  He scrutinized her . . . and nodded. “I appreciate that. Would you like to ride with me?”

  Yes, she would—but if she wanted to maintain the ability to preserve some distance, that wasn’t the wisest course.

  “If I take my own car, we can both come and go as needed. Why don’t I meet you at the high school?”

  “Okay. I’ll see you there. And thank you.” He squeezed her hand—and for one fleeting instant he seemed to be fighting the temptation to express his appreciation in a more personal way—but then he released her fingers and reentered the house.

  Once she lost sight of him, she clattered down the steps and ran toward her own house.

  She might not have any personal experience with runaways or missing children, but she knew one thing.

  Speed was of the essence.

  “Good job today, Thomma. Thank you.”

  As he finished tying off the last bowline to the cleat on the dock, Thomma looked over at Roark, who’d interrupted his conversation with today’s customers to toss him that accolade.

  His boss didn’t say much, but he never failed to offer a few kind words at the end of a workday.

  Thomma dipped his head in acknowledgment.

  While Roark went back to conversing with the four men who’d chartered the boat for the day—with disappointing results—Thomma pulled out his cell phone, keeping one eye on the group in case Roark summoned him.

  Not that there was much for him to do, other than clean the two fish the men had caught. An easy end to the day.

  At least the customers didn’t appear to be upset by the poor return, despite the hefty fee they’d shelled out for the privilege of a private fishing guide. Nor should they be. Roark couldn’t make the fish bite—although some of their customers seemed to think he could coax them to do so at will and made no attempt to hide their displeasure if they returned without a large catch.

  How could people worry about the number of fish they caught when that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things?

  He shook his head in bewilderment and refocused on the screen.

  There were four messages—all in the past hour. All from Logan’s home phone number.

  He frowned.

  His mother must be trying to contact him.

  But she rarely bothered him at work.

  Why today?

  And why with such urgency?

  Pulse accelerating, he swiveled away from the group on the boat and returned her call.

  “Thomma?” The tear-laced, frantic voice that answered a mere half ring in bore only a faint resemblance to his mother’s usual in-control tone.

  “What’s wrong?” His fingers tightened on the phone, and he gripped the railing beside him.

  “Elisa is gone. She ran away with M-Molly.”

  It took him a few moments to digest his mother’s news—and to work through the implications.

  When they sank in, his lungs locked.

  In Syria, he’d lost his whole family, except for his daughter and mother.

  And now Elisa was gone too.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  “Thomma?”

  “I’m here.” He managed to choke out the response. “What happened?”

  He listened as she told him the story in halting phrases punctuated with sobs.

  “The police chief is organizing search parties now. They’re meeting at the high school in town. I’m s-sorry, Thomma.”

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “I was supposed to be taking care of them.”

  “You were.” He watched a happy family stroll down the wharf side of Dockside Drive, the little girl’s hand tucked into her father’s, her laughter ringing across the water as the man bent low and made a comment that tickled her.

  That was the kind of relationship a parent and child should have—and the vignette in front of him underscored his epic failure as a father.

  “Not well enough.”

  As his mother spoke again, he turned away from the family and looked toward the vast open sea that appeared empty but teemed with life below the surface. Life that would never see the light unless you fished deep and hauled it up.

  Perhaps he should do the same with his emotions.

  If he got another chance.

  “The fault is mine, ’Ami.” His voice broke. “If I’d listened to you, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe . . . maybe God is punishing me by taking away the child he spared, who needed my love.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” His mother’s pitch sharpened. “We will find them. You will get another chance.”

  Would he?

  “Thomma.” The weight of a hand rested on his shoulder.

  “I’ll call you back after I get to the high school.” He ended the call and angled toward Roark.

  “Is there a problem?”

  His boss always used simple English with him and knew how to phrase questions and instructions so he would understand.

  “My Elisa—she run away.”

  Roark’s forehead wrinkled. “Go home. Now. Find her.”

  “Yes. Police look too. People also come to look.” He motioned in the direction of the high school. “They meet at school. I go there.”

  “I’ll come too after these people are gone.” He nodded toward the customers.

  Thomma’s vision misted. He barely knew this man, and yet Roark was willing to step in and help after putting in a long day on the boat.

  His mother would call this a blessing—and indeed it was.

  One of many he’d failed to appreciate over these past few weeks.

  “Thank you.”

  The man squeezed his shoulder. “This is what we do in Hope Harbor for our friends.”

  Thomma didn’t understand every word, but friend came through loud and clear.

  And as he turned to go . . . as he tried to psych himself up for whatever the rest of this day held . . . he prayed that despite his many lapses and lack of gratitude for the blessings that had been bestowed on them in the midst of tragedy, God would give him an opportunity to make things right with Elisa.

  Yes, she would always remind him of the sweet, gentle woman he’d loved.

  Yes, he would always mourn the loss of his beloved wife.

  But while Elisa was part of Raca, she was also her own person.

  And from this day forward, he would keep that front and center in his mind and do everything he could to cherish the sweet daughter God had entrusted to him.

  If he was lucky enough to get a second chance.

  25

  They were getting nowhere.

  And in less than an hour, it would be dark.

  Logan retraced the beam of his flashlight around the inside of the large drainage pipe that emptied into the field his team was searching and straightened up, fighting back a wave of panic.

  After three hours, none of the teams Lexie had assigned to grids radiating outward from his house had found a trace of the girls.

  Yet Molly and Elisa couldn’t have traveled on foot much beyond the perimeter of the area already searched. Not while lugging a suitcase and backpack.

  Meaning that if they didn’t find them soon, they’d have to consider other scenarios.

  Like a runaway that had turned into an abduction.

  He fisted his hands and took a deep breath.

  Lexie had already mentioned the possibility of issuing an Amber Alert if evidence began to suggest that outcome—and they were getting closer to that step with every passing minute.

 
; His phone vibrated against his hip, and he pulled it off his belt. The chief.

  Pulse surging, he pressed it to his ear. “Any news?”

  “Nothing yet—but the handler and dog from Medford are here. How close are you to finishing your grid?”

  He gave the partially wooded terrain his team had been searching a sweep. Thomma was at the far end, Jeannette a few hundred feet away, and Steven Roark was in the opposite corner, visible through the trees. They were all close to being done.

  “Ten minutes.”

  “Perfect. Since Thomma is on your team, why don’t the two of you meet me and the handler at your house as soon as you’re finished? We’ll give the dog the scent and see where he takes us.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  He pressed the end button and completed his quadrant of the grid at warp speed, scrutinizing the ground for any evidence that could suggest the girls had come this way—a lost hair ribbon, a dropped piece of clothing, small footprints.

  Nothing.

  It was almost as if they’d vanished off the face of the earth.

  Suppressing that gut-clenching thought, he jogged over to Jeannette.

  She gave him a hopeful look. “Anything?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.”

  “The dog and handler are here. Lexie wants Thomma and me to meet them at my house as soon as we’re done.”

  “I’m finished.”

  “I think we all are.” He indicated the other two men, who were walking their direction, and angled sideways so only she could see his face. “Thank you for helping today.”

  “It’s what any good Samaritan would do—and Hope Harbor is full of those, based on the number of people who showed up at the high school.”

  He wanted to ask her if Christian charity was the only reason she’d volunteered, but Thomma and Roark joined them before he had the chance.

  “Any sign of the girls?” A senseless question. One of the men would have given a shout-out if they’d unearthed some evidence of the youngsters’ passage through the area.

  “No.” Roark shook his head.

  So did Thomma.

  Elisa’s father looked as bad as Logan felt—complexion pale, eyes haunted, cheeks hollow, features taut.

  Logan explained the latest development, and Roark added a few Arabic words to clarify for Thomma.

  He extended his hand to Thomma’s boss. “Thank you for volunteering.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll go back to town and sign on for another grid. Hang in.”

  “Thank you.” Thomma too offered his hand to the man.

  Roark took it and said a few more Arabic words that brought a shimmer to Thomma’s eyes.

  “I’ll sign on for another grid too.” Jeannette pulled her keys out of her pocket.

  “Would you like to come back to the house with us instead?” Logan retrieved his own keys.

  She hesitated but in the end declined. “I’ll be of more use on a search team.”

  Logan wasn’t certain of that.

  He’d rather have her close by, where he could feel her presence and take her hand if this day got any tougher.

  But from a practical standpoint, it was better to have her out looking for the girls.

  “Okay.”

  A brief flash of—disappointment?—zipped through her eyes, gone so fast it was possible he’d imagined it.

  “You’ll stay in touch?” She fell in beside him as they walked toward their cars on the side of the road.

  “I’ll call if there are any breakthroughs at our end.”

  They formed a small convoy on 101 for a couple of miles, until he and Thomma peeled off onto the secondary road that ended at the undeveloped property beyond the lavender farm.

  A Hope Harbor patrol car was already parked in front of his house, along with an SUV, when they arrived. A trim older man was talking to Lexie in the front yard, a large dog on a leash sitting by his side.

  Logan swung into the driveway, Thomma behind him, and parked in back.

  As he got out of the car, Mariam appeared on the porch, twisting her hands.

  The woman looked as if she’d aged ten years in the past few hours.

  “News?” She asked the question in English, switching to Arabic as Thomma slid out of the car behind him.

  “No.” Her son responded in English but continued his response in Arabic.

  Lexie appeared around the side of the house, the handler behind her.

  “Any updates from the other teams?” Logan doubted it. She’d have called him if there’d been a development—unless it had happened within the past few minutes.

  She dashed that hope with a quick shake of her head. “No. We’re expanding the grid. Jim’s coordinating that while we focus on this approach.” She motioned toward the man with silver-flecked brown hair, who appeared to be in his late fifties. “Logan and Thomma, Mark Roberts and his canine friend, Sherlock.”

  The man shifted the harness he was holding to his other hand and gave him a firm shake. Did the same with Thomma.

  “I’m going to let Mark tell you what he needs and how this works.” Lexie turned the floor over to the handler.

  “Let me get Susan on the phone and put her on speaker. She can listen in and pass the information on to Thomma and Mariam.” Logan pulled out his cell, connected with the translator, and set the phone on the trunk of Thomma’s car as he motioned Mariam closer. “Whenever you’re ready, Mark.”

  “Lexie filled me in on the particulars. I know we’re searching for two girls, but we have to concentrate on one at a time or we’ll confuse Sherlock. What do you think the odds are they’ve stayed together?”

  “High.” Logan didn’t hesitate. Unless they’d been forcibly separated, the two friends would stick close.

  “Let’s track the girl who lives here. That would be your niece, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything in the house that would contain mostly her scent? Bedding, for example?”

  “That would also have Elisa’s scent. The girls take a nap together every day. But they each have their own pillow. Would that work?”

  “Yes. The case would be fine. Do you know which exit the girls would have used?”

  Logan leaned closer to the cell. “Susan, would you translate that for Mariam?”

  The woman complied, and Mariam responded.

  “She said it would have to be the front door,” Susan relayed. “She was working in the garden by the back door the entire time she was outside.”

  “We’ll start there. Why don’t you bring the pillowcase out and we’ll meet you in front?” Mark said.

  Logan furrowed his brow. “Won’t my scent confuse Sherlock if I touch it?”

  Mark smiled. “He’s smarter than that. Once I let him sniff you, he’ll know you’re not the person he’s tracking and home in on your niece’s scent.”

  “Got it. Give me three minutes.”

  Logan took the back porch steps two at a time, retrieved the pillowcase, and rejoined the group in front. Mark had unwound the long leash, and the dog was nosing around the area.

  “Hang on to that for a minute.” Mark reined in the dog and put the harness on him. “Okay. Set it on the ground and let Sherlock sniff you.”

  He did so, then backed off.

  Sherlock gave the case his full attention.

  Within seconds, the dog touched his nose to the cotton rectangle, laid down beside it, and made eye contact with Mark.

  “We’re set.” Mark hooked the leash to the harness, and gave Sherlock a treat. “As I understand it, the adjacent lavender farm has been thoroughly searched, and you have a team on the beach. So while your niece has been to those places, there’s no reason for us to track in that area. Correct?”

  “Yes.” Lexie pulled out her phone. “Any other direction, however, is fair game.”

  “Got it. Sherlock—search now.”

  The dog didn’t wait for a second invitation.

  He was of
f like a shot, nose to the ground, barreling straight down the driveway, tugging at the long tracking line.

  “Susan—tell Mariam to wait here. Thomma and I are going to follow the handler.”

  Once the woman complied, Logan ended the call and set off at a jog after Mark, Thomma on his heels.

  Lexie was ahead of them, staying a dozen yards behind the man and dog.

  Sherlock paused at the bottom of the driveway to sniff the entire area, then started around the hedge toward Jeannette’s.

  At a command from Mark, he sniffed some more . . . and took off down the road that led to 101, staying on the shoulder.

  Yes!

  He had the trail!

  Logan’s spirits took an uptick.

  Since he’d never walked this direction with Molly, Sherlock had to be picking up the route the girls had taken after they’d left the house together.

  And despite the fact they’d been gone close to six hours, how far could they get with a suitcase and backpack in tow? Yes, teams had searched this area—but it was possible the girls had made it a short distance past the farthest grid that had been combed.

  Wherever they were, though, Sherlock would find them.

  Unless the dog somehow lost their trail.

  Not likely, based on everything he’d ever read about bloodhounds—but a terrifying possibility nonetheless, regardless how remote.

  In the distance, a rumble of thunder reverberated through the air, and a chilly breeze sent a shiver rippling through him.

  Stormy weather appeared to be in store.

  And as the small group followed the dog into the deepening dusk, Logan prayed that Molly and Elisa had taken refuge somewhere safe and warm and dry.

  Molly wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled.

  It was getting really cold . . . and her socks were wet from crossing the creek . . . and the sandwiches were soggy ’cause Elisa had dropped them in the water . . . and it was getting dark . . . and they were lost.

  A tear rolled down her cheek.

  If only she could go home.

  But home was with Nana—and Nana was gone.

  A rumble of thunder shook the ground.

  “I s-scared, Molly.” Elisa took her hand and moved closer in the shadowy space.

  “Me too.”

  “We go home?”