by Sharon Kay
“Me too. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Shane pressed the end button. Getting called up for a search was rare for them, but not unheard of. Denver was the only official police dog in Redemption County, and while other local dogs had reputations for being good trackers, Denver and Shane were called in first.
The fleeting thought fired through Shane’s head that this was only their second date, and he was going to miss it. Becca’s concern was clear. The last thing he wanted was for her to sit for hours worried about him. He had double respect for all the married officers’ wives for that reason.
He shoved his phone into a pocket and called Denver, who already knew something was up. All it took was Shane changing into work clothes and Denver was pacing the small front room, ready for whatever waited.
They loaded into the SUV and headed south. Boone City was at the southern edge of Redemption County, riddled with dozens of creeks and streams that fed into the Illinois River on its way to the mighty Mississippi. Shane hoped like hell the child hadn’t fallen into water.
He sped down the two-lane highway, flipping on the lights only when he needed to pass someone. In fifteen minutes, he was at the picnic area. Several squad cars were in the lot, and some lined the highway shoulder. Handfuls of civilians gathered in worried looking groups to stop and stare, heads turning one by one as they read the lettering on his car.
He got it. Denver amped up the situation. People were right to grasp the seriousness of this. He hoped to avoid a media circus, but it didn’t really matter as long as they found the child. Other cops could ignore the clicking cameras easier than he could.
Shane blocked it all out except for Sheriff Morris, who waved him to a parking spot at one end of the lot. Shane exited, summoning Denver out after him.
He ignored the chatter over his shoulder. The grim expression on the sheriff’s face told Shane nothing had changed since their phone call.
The sheriff leaned in. “The family’s been posting on social media. They want as many people to either help search or pray that their son be found.”
Shane nodded, unable to fault them. “We’re ready.”
“This way.” His boss led him to a small group of adults and kids. Two women with tear-streaked faces and two men with haggard, grim expressions attempted to watch six kids sitting at a picnic table. When one of the women spotted Denver, she burst into a fresh round of tears. Shane couldn’t tell if they were from relief or a greater fear that a canine nose was needed where human wits had failed.
Sheriff Morris paused at the group, and one of the men approached. “Mr. Clark, this is Officer Marlow and his dog, Denver.” The sheriff swung his gaze to Shane. “Mr. Clark is the father of the boy.”
The anguish in the man’s face tugged at Shane. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your son,” Shane said in his calmest cop voice.
“Appreciate it, Officer.” He shot a pained glance at one of the women. “Honey?”
A dark-haired woman stood, clutching a wad of Kleenex and a tiny red sweatshirt. Rivulets trickled down her cheeks as she leaned on her husband. “Please find our son.”
“Mrs. Clark, may we hold onto that article of clothing for just a minute?” Sheriff Morris asked gently.
“Sure.” She held out the little hoodie with the St. Louis Cardinals emblem on it.
The sheriff took it. “Thank you, ma’am. We’ll let our canine officer get the scent from it, and then their team’ll head out.”
“Y-You can k-keep it while you’re out there,” she said in a broken voice. “H-He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a big number seventy-five on it, and jeans and s-sneakers. It got warm, so I took the hoodie off him, but what if he’s chilly now?” She stopped, covering her face with her hands.
Mr. Clark looked over his wife’s head at Shane. “Go ahead. You can take it with you. Do you need anything else?”
“No, sir. That should be sufficient.” Shane accepted the sweatshirt from the sheriff and walked a few feet away. “Thank you.”
Morris nodded at the Clarks. “We’re going to head to the spot where y’all were having lunch.”
“Please find him.” Mr. Clark’s voice cracked through the words, and he set beseeching eyes on Shane.
“His name is Andrew,” Mrs. Clark whispered.
Shane fought the pain that simmered on a back burner of his mind. He’d seen the eyes of parents who had lost their sons. It was a haunting, raw agony laced with a depth of enduring pain that most people couldn’t truly grasp unless they had experienced it for themselves. It was burned into his soul, mirrored by his own grief at losing his band of brothers on one blazing-hot, godforsaken day. If there was any way he could prevent that hell from coming into another person’s eyes, he’d do everything in his power to make it happen. “We won’t stop until we find him,” he said solemnly.
Turning away, he drew a deep breath and fell into step with Morris. Shane pushed the emotion down. It didn’t belong here today. He drew on years of methodically working a scene, eyes and ears alert, and Denver’s nose detecting the subtle traces that were unnoticeable to humans.
“The boy is eighteen months,” the sheriff said. “Not sure how much you been around kids, but that’s pretty damn small. Only weighs about twenty-five pounds, his mom says. So he could have gotten himself into a tiny space.”
Hell. All kids looked similar to Shane. He’d never spent much time around any until recently, when his sister and brother-in-law had adopted a baby girl. The little thing was so tiny and helpless that he couldn’t imagine her lost in these woods. Thank the lord the temperature was decent.
“Got it,” Shane said.
The family’s picnic table wasn’t far. It had been cleared of all belongings, and the surrounding area was dotted with cops. The sheriff set his hands on his hips. “I’ll let you two do your thing. Call us if you need anything.”
“Will do.” Shane led Denver to the scratched-up wooden table and stopped. He held up the hoodie for Denver to inspect.
Denver’s nostrils flared as he leaned in, one hundred percent alert and curious, then sniffed every seam and pocket. Shane spoke quietly to him, relaying the command to search. Denver turned his intelligent brown eyes on Shane as if to say “I’m ready.”
Shane led Denver around the table. He was such a damn good animal that he ignored the cookie and cracker crumbs lying under the benches. Despite the temptation, he knew that wasn’t what they were in the woods for.
Denver moved away from the table, nose to ground. He trotted along the grass, investigating. Shane watched him for the telltale sign, the change in behavior that would show a handler his dog had gotten the scent they were searching for. The child’s scent had to be here, and they’d work each patch of fallen leaves until Denver found it.
They worked in segments all around the picnic area. Shane was betting those kids had been running around every which way, and Andrew’s scent was likely everywhere. He was about to move Denver out to a wider perimeter when the dog gave a sudden tug on his lead. The muscles in his shoulders bunched.
“All right, boy,” Shane murmured, giving him more lead and lengthening his own strides.
Denver moved purposefully, heading deeper into the woods. Shane followed but kept his senses on alert. Every bush and tiny dip in the terrain represented a potential hiding spot.
Farther and farther they went. Shane guessed they’d gone a mile, maybe more. Still, Denver hadn’t paused.
They came to a thick cluster of pines, and Denver stopped. He picked his head up and scanned the woods, tongue lolling, ears perked. Shane stood still, ears straining for any nuance of sound.
All that came back to him was birds singing, Denver panting, and… gurgling water. Shit.
There were two narrow creeks back here. Shane didn’t even know if they had names, they w
ere so small. But any water was a warning in his mind.
He walked Denver in a wide circle. The dog sniffed each tree and fallen log, but Shane could tell he was back in search for the scent mode. The scent had led them this far… then where had the boy gone?
Shane moved his dog in wide swaths, certain that Andrew had passed through this area. They worked in bigger sections, moving out from the pines. The gurgling grew louder.
Through the maple trees ahead, Shane glimpsed a bright flash. The creek was reflecting the afternoon sun. Shit.
Denver gave a short bark and lunged toward a bush. Shane let him run and followed closely. The ground was uneven around it, with roots and vines making the ground treacherous.
A tiny navy-blue sneaker lay half covered by fallen leaves.
Denver sat in front of it, indicating he’d found the object of his search.
“Good boy,” Shane praised him. “But we’re not done.” He grabbed the sneaker and held up the red sweatshirt for Denver again, repeating the command to search. He moved Denver in a circle around the bush.
This time, the dog picked up a scent immediately. He trotted away from the bush and toward the creek. Though Shane hadn’t taken him to this section of the county very often, Denver knew exactly where he wanted to go.
He led Shane on a trail parallel to the water, tugging at the lead. Shane jogged behind him, ears alert for any tiny cries. Hell, he hoped for a tiny cry rather than silence.
Abruptly Denver stopped at what appeared to be nothing but a dip in the forest floor. He parked his furry butt and stared intently at the ground.
“Whatcha got, boy?” Shane crouched next to him. The “dip” had one edge higher than the others. The two-foot-wide little dip was carpeted with multicolored leaves. He brushed them aside, revealing soft dry dirt, a smattering of pebbles… and a hole in the higher side.
It was bigger than a rabbit hole. Who knew what critter used it, but Shane hoped they were long gone. He got low enough to peer inside.
It was dark, but he could see enough to spot a tiny blue sneaker that matched the one they’d found. “Andrew,” he called softy. “Hey, buddy.” He had no idea if kids that age could talk.
He couldn’t get in there, so he was going to have to get the boy out. He knelt in front of the hole and started digging with his hands, widening the opening while trying not to let the roof collapse.
After a few minutes of careful scooping, short, jean-clad legs came into view. Next, a blue T-shirt with a seventy-five on it. Then, wide blue eyes stared at him as the boy lay in the forgotten burrow, sucking his thumb.
“Hey, Andrew,” Shane said, examining him. The child’s clothes were grubby, and he had a scratch on one arm, but otherwise looked like he was just chilling.
Shane reached for the boy with both hands, gently maneuvering him up and out, watching for any signs of pain. But there were none. Shane breathed a sigh of relief and propped the little guy on his butt on the dirt. He gently picked up each chubby leg and arm, seeing if anything was amiss.
But the boy only spotted his other shoe in Shane’s pocket, removed his thumb from his mouth, and pointed. “Ooo.”
Shane dropped his head back and breathed a second, bigger sigh of relief. Then he patted Denver’s neck. “Good boy, Denver.” He withdrew Denver’s beloved tennis ball from his pocket and tossed it a short distance away, his reward for a job well done.
Denver bounded after his prize, and Shane regarded the little boy, who was intent on Denver’s disappearing form. Shane removed a leaf from the sandy blond hair as the child focused back on him.
“Ooo.” A tiny finger pointed again to his shoe.
Shane glanced down at the tiny sneaker, undid the single Velcro strap, and tugged the fabric wide. He’d never put a shoe on a child, or anyone else, for that matter. But Andrew thumped his sock-clad foot on the leaves.
Shane grinned. “You want your shoe. Okay, you got it.” He eased the shoe onto the boy’s foot and refastened the Velcro.
Denver returned, tail wagging furiously as he dropped the slobbery tennis ball next to Shane. “Good boy.” Shane scratched his ears and gave the command to sit. Denver was probably triple this boy’s weight. Would Andrew be scared?
But he only stared at Denver with big eyes, definitely more interested than afraid. Shane sent up a silent thank you and grabbed his radio to call the sheriff.
“Tell me good news, Marlow.” Morris’s voice crackled through the plastic speaker.
“Found him. Seems fine except for a scratch on one arm.”
“Thank the lord,” Morris said. “Where are you?”
Shane scanned the area. “More than a mile west of the picnic area where we started. Maybe a mile and a half. Not sure. I’ll start walking back toward you.”
“Copy that. See you soon.”
Shane hooked his radio back onto his utility belt and scooped Andrew up, a move that was in no way familiar—yet the boy nestled against him as if they did this all the time. Shane let Denver pad alongside them off leash, and Andrew hooked a chubby arm over Shane’s bicep, his tiny fist clutching Shane’s shirt sleeve.
Shane idly wondered if the boy was always this calm, or if he was exhausted from toddling so damn far on his own. Maybe a little of both. He strode back the way they had come.
Andrew stared at Shane’s shirt, at the yellow star embroidered on one chest pocket, with Redemption County stitched above it, and at the metal name badge affixed to his other pocket.
“Ba,” Andy said and reached for the gold-colored rectangle. He ended up grabbing the top edge of Shane’s pocket instead, and apparently decided to hang on. He seemed content, with one hand on Shane’s pocket and one holding his sleeve.
Shane glanced at him, unsure what to make of this tiny person who trusted him implicitly. He supposed the child was cute, though his own niece was clearly the cutest baby ever created in the history of mankind.
Out of nowhere, unbidden, he thought of Becca and the losses she’d endured. Her ex was an asshole, but what she’d gone through wasn’t fair—
A sudden crunch of leaves had him on alert. Denver heard it too, and stared toward the source of the noise.
“Is someone there?” Shane called out.
Silence. Shane stopped, and so did Denver, who stood laser-focused, ready to take off toward to the sound like a rocket.
Could just be an animal, but Denver’s behavior indicated otherwise. A human was hiding in the foliage. “Come out, or I’m sending in my dog.”
Leaves rustled, and from behind a copse of trees fifteen feet away, a blond woman emerged. She carried a cell phone and was dressed nicer than he’d expect from someone trudging around the woods. “Is this the missing child?” she asked.
“Who are you?” Shane’s irritation rose. She hadn’t used the boy’s name, which was an instant red flag.
“I’m Chelsea Kuzinski. I write for the St. Louis newspaper,” she said way too cheerfully. “So is this him? Are you the officer that found him?”
“No comment,” Shane growled. He had little patience for reporters unless they were the ones sweating it out in harsh conditions along with the nation’s military. Unless they were the ones unwilling to sugarcoat the hell of war.
“Did your dog help you locate—”
“No comment, and I’m going to ask you to put that phone away. No pictures.”
She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue. Damn pushy reporter.
“This boy’s parents should be the first ones to see him safe and sound,” he continued. “Not whoever you wanna email a photo to. Do you agree?”
“Of course.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket, quickly covering a frown. “Can I walk back with you?”
“No.” Shane picked up Denver’s lead from the ground and kept walking.
He could care less if she followed be
hind him. He doubted she knew how to navigate woods, and he wasn’t sure how she’d found them in the first place. Maybe dumb luck. He had no patience for the media. The sheriff would hold a press conference later. The family could give a statement if they wanted to. It was their place to do so, not his.
After a few more minutes, Denver gave an alert chuff. A second later, Shane spotted blue-uniformed officers way ahead. “Almost there,” he murmured. One of the officers waved in recognition. Shane waved back and quickened his pace. Andrew’s parents had to be just beyond the group of cops.
The next few minutes were a blur of blue-uniformed motion as officers surrounded him and Denver, offering congratulations. Shane handed the boy to his grateful, sobbing mother and stood back.
He kept Denver close as the happy reunion unfolded. Thank god this impromptu mission had turned out well.
If only he’d been as useful to his team.
Days like today eased that void a little. It had been almost seven damn years ago, but sometimes it felt like yesterday.
A beefy hand landed on his shoulder. “Nice work, son,” the sheriff said.
Shane nodded. “It was all this guy.” He patted Denver’s strong shoulders. The dog observed the activity with intelligent eyes, and Shane knew he could tell the urgency had passed. Denver had done something miraculous, yet all he wanted was to play with his tennis ball. If only people were more like dogs sometimes.
Chapter 13
Becca opened her fridge, hungry. It was dinnertime, and the sandwiches she had made for her and Shane looked delicious all lined up on the shelf. So did the pasta salad and chicken salad. Maybe they’d still get a chance to eat them together. She reached for a container of leftover lasagna and popped it into the microwave.
Shane had been on her mind all day. She tried to keep busy with cleaning, reading, and organizing, but hadn’t been able to stop wondering if he was okay. He’d said a “pending investigation.” Was there a crime? Was he walking into a dangerous situation?
The microwave beeped when it finished. At the same time, Becca’s phone rang. Shane. Thank goodness. “Hello?”
