Sara wasn’t sure this was necessary, but Will didn’t give her a chance to disagree. He headed toward the house. She saw him take one of the candies out of his pocket. Instead of peeling away the wrapper, he bit it off with his teeth.
Again, Sara followed Will. He was back in top form—back in charge. Even in that awful maintenance uniform, he seemed like his old self. She watched him walk, the easy, athletic gait, the muscular line of his broad shoulders. Her big, tough cop. If Sara was trim, at least she was the kind of trim who didn’t settle.
Faith walked beside Sara. She was silent as they trudged across the yard. The tension crackled between them like static electricity.
Sara said, “You are a fantastic liar.”
Faith grinned. “I really am.”
Sara couldn’t stop herself from smiling back.
Faith asked, “Did Will fill you in?”
“He told me everything.”
Faith raised an eyebrow.
“Everything that’s happened in Macon,” Sara amended. Will had started talking the minute they’d left the hotel room. She’d never heard him speak for such an extended period of time. He’d told her about Lena’s emailed tip, the rednecks, the boy found in the basement and Denise Branson’s part in protecting him. The only detail Sara could’ve done without was the fact that Will had been riding a motorcycle, but even her shocked gasp did not stop him from talking. She’d actually slowed the car at one point, relishing his sudden candor, wishing he would extend it to the rest of his life. His childhood. His family. His bad marriage.
There weren’t enough miles in the road.
Faith said, “Remember when you told me a while ago that you had to be on Will’s side?”
Sara remembered the conversation well. Faith had asked her for details about Will’s background. Sara hadn’t felt right about sharing what little she knew. “I get it. You need to be on his side, too.”
Faith smiled, obviously relieved.
Sara asked, “Did the doctor give you any treatment information?”
“The first few days, he gave the boy fluids, a round of antibiotics, but that was it. He’s mostly been dropping by to give him a sense of routine and make sure nothing new pops up.”
“That probably helped more than anything else. Kids always need structure.”
“He’s still in survival mode. Denise thinks his food might’ve been drugged while they held him. He won’t drink Coke, but he’ll drink bottled water. He tears everything apart like he’s looking for a pill. He’ll eat a bite, then wait to see if it makes him sick or sleepy, then he’ll eat another bite. They’ve tried feeding him stuff that isn’t easily tampered with, like fruit roll-ups and deli meats. He still breaks it apart before he eats it.”
Sara nodded because there was nothing to say. She felt overwhelmed by the knowledge of the terrible things that happened to children. Faith must’ve been feeling the same. She was quiet until they reached the house.
The door opened and a petite African American woman came out. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but she had a gun on her hip and looked capable of using it. Her toned arms indicated she was no stranger to farm work. She spoke in a surprisingly soft voice. “Are you the doctor?”
“Yes,” Sara told her.
The woman rested her hand on the butt of her gun as she stepped aside, letting them enter the house.
The kitchen was warm and cheerful. Obviously, the owner wasn’t into decorating, but she’d managed to create a welcoming space with lots of soft wood tones. Sara guessed Denise Branson was the woman sitting at the table. She had the look of someone who’d lost everything that mattered. She slumped at the table. A mug of tea was in front of her. Rather than drink it, she aimlessly stirred the tea bag around by the string.
Faith said, “Denise?”
Denise looked up, managing a strained smile. “Dr. Linton?”
“Sara.” She offered her hand to the woman. “I hear you’ve been taking good care of my patient.”
Denise gave a wary look, as if she wondered whether or not Sara was making a cruel joke.
Faith covered the awkward moment. She opened the kitchen door. “I’m going to head over to dispatch. Just call me when you’re ready. Will, keep your phone on you at all times.”
He nodded before she left. Sara didn’t like the look that passed between them.
The deputy locked the deadbolt with a key that she put in her pocket. “I’m Lila, by the way. Jasmine’s in the back with the boy. You’re Will?”
“Yes,” Will answered. He put Sara’s medical bag on the counter and shook Lila’s hand.
The deputy had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I already said this to your partner, but thank you for doing this. We’ve been going it alone for a while.”
“You’re not alone anymore,” Will told her. And then his eyes lit up when he noticed the box of Pop-Tarts by the stove. “Do you mind?”
She retrieved the box for him. “Help yourself.”
Will swallowed the candy in his mouth. He coughed several times, but that didn’t stop him from ripping open the packet.
Lila told Sara, “The boy’s still asleep. I haven’t fed him yet. I was going to make crepes. He wouldn’t eat the pancakes yesterday. I think they were too thick.”
Sara asked, “Do you eat with him, or just serve him?”
Lila was at the open refrigerator. She seemed disappointed in herself. “Damn. If he sees us eating the food, he knows it’s safe.” She shook her head as she took out a carton of eggs and a jug of milk. “I just served him a tray the same as his captors probably did.”
Sara tried to take away some of the guilt. “You guys have been here all along. It’s easy for me to come in with a fresh eye.”
Lila said, “He won’t leave the room. I put a television in there for him. He keeps the sound off, reads the captions. Denise got him some books, but he won’t touch them. They can read at that age, right?”
“Yes,” Sara answered. “He’s probably used to having to read aloud, though.”
“He read to his mom,” Denise said, more to herself.
Will had finished one packet of Pop-Tarts. He opened another. “Did you try video games?”
Lila’s face fell again. “Video games.” She asked Denise, “Why didn’t we think of that?” She scraped a pat of butter into the frying pan. “I should’ve taken my brother’s Xbox. He’s too old to play it, anyway.”
Denise said, “We should’ve left him to the experts all along.”
“You kept him safe,” Sara said. “That’s all that matters.”
Denise stared down at her tea again. Lila started cracking eggs into a bowl.
Sara wondered what would become of these women. Denise Branson was looking at disciplinary actions, possibly criminal charges, but her fate rested with Lonnie Gray. From what Sara knew about the man, he was fair, but he also believed in swift justice. She hoped that Lila was safe. Unless someone told the sheriff, the deputy’s part in this enterprise would remain anonymous.
“He’s awake.” Sara guessed from the paramedic’s uniform that the woman in the doorway was Jasmine. Like her friends, she was petite, but there was something about her that indicated she wasn’t going to be messed with. Faith had the same bearing. Sara guessed that knowing you could take down a two-hundred-pound ex-marine like Paul Vickery with a steel baton engendered a certain amount of confidence.
Sara said, “I’d like to go ahead and see him now.”
Lila moved the skillet off the burner. “We’ll go with you.”
“Maybe not all of you.” Sara chose her words carefully. “You’ve been so good to him. You’ve taken care of him. Denise, you literally rescued him.” She paused. “He might feel that you won’t like him anymore if he tells you what happened.”
Again, Lila was quick to find fault with her own actions.
“We’ve been reinforcing his silence by walking on eggshells.”
Sara corrected, “You provided a safe
environment for him to heal.”
Lila turned back to her cooking. She didn’t seem mollified.
Sara told Will, “You come, too.”
They all seemed to recoil at the idea.
Sara said, “I know it seems counterintuitive, but sometimes victims feel safer with men around. They think that brute strength can protect them.”
Lila acknowledged, “I’ve had rape victims ask for a male detective. Sometimes, not always.”
Will seemed more hesitant than any of them. “Are you sure?”
Sara advised, “Just sit down when you get in the room. Let him get used to you first. Seven-year-olds are highly adaptable. They’re also extremely inquisitive. He’ll want to know details about what’s going on, what’s happening next.”
“We didn’t tell him anything,” Lila said. “We just kept saying he was safe.”
Jasmine offered, “That’s what he needed, Lila. You heard the doctor. He needed to feel safe and we made him safe.” She looked at Will. “I don’t know about you, though. I’m sorry, but he’s just a little boy, and the people who hurt him looked a hell of a lot like you.”
Sara didn’t want to force it, but she said, “I’d really like him in the room. I think it would help.”
The tension seemed to ramp up. Lila was the first one to break the silence. “She’s been right about the other stuff. I say we give it a shot. If the boy freaks out, then Will can always leave, right?”
Will readily agreed. “Right.”
Denise and Jasmine exchanged a look. Sara could tell they were used to acting by consensus.
Lila said, “Dee, if something ain’t working, then you stop doing it and try something else.”
Denise said, “The boy’s already broken.”
Lila pointed at her with the spatula. “Maybe it’s time we let the professionals help put him back together.”
Denise cupped her hands around her mug. She looked at the dark tea. Finally, she said, “All right. But the minute he even starts to look upset, you have to promise to leave.”
“I promise,” Will said, though he still seemed to be the most reluctant person in the room.
Denise stood up from the table. “I’ll be right outside the door so he knows I’m there.”
“Thank you.” Sara retrieved her medical bag from the counter.
Denise preceded them down the hallway. Sara could tell the woman wanted to stop this, to push both Will and Sara out of the house and do what she’d been doing from the moment she’d rescued the boy from that dark basement. They had been protecting the child for more than a week. They had tended him, fed him, looked over him like guardian angels. Letting a six-foot-three man waltz into the room seemed like the last thing the boy needed.
At first, it looked as if the boy agreed. His eyes went wide when he saw Will. He shot up in bed, his back pressed against the headboard.
Denise gently soothed, “It’s okay, baby. These people are friends of ours. They’re here to help you.”
The boy pulled up the sheet around his chest. They had dressed him in Spider-Man pajamas and put matching linens on the bed. There were toys on every available surface—Matchbox cars, a giant Transformer, enough Legos to build a small town. Picture books were stacked on the dresser. Nothing looked as if it had been touched. Someone had obviously gone to the local children’s store and asked the clerk exactly what to buy for a seven-year-old boy, but this particular seven-year-old wasn’t interested.
“Good morning.” Sara entered the room, keeping her tone as even as possible. She’d always made it a practice to never talk down to children. “I’m Dr. Linton. This is Agent Trent. He’s a police officer, but he works for the state, which is why they call him an agent instead of a detective.” She indicated for Will to enter the room. “Dr. Thomas isn’t going to be here this morning. He told me to say hello to you. I’m going to look after you if that’s okay.”
The boy didn’t move, but he didn’t protest, either.
Sara did a quick visual exam. Dr. Thomas had done a good job. For all intents and purposes, the boy looked like any healthy seven-year-old. His color was good. His weight appeared to be on the low-normal side. There were no indications of dehydration or neglect. The wounds on his face were healing well. Except for his fearful, cowering demeanor, she would never have guessed that the boy had been abducted.
Sara motioned Will toward the chair in the corner. “Agent Trent’s been in a fight with some very bad men. That’s why his face is bruised. You can see the red marks on his neck. They’re going to heal in a few weeks. Have you ever been bruised before?”
The boy stared at Will. He gripped the sheets up around his neck.
Sara continued, “In about two days, Agent Trent’s bruises will look dark purple or maybe even black.” She opened her medical bag. “Around ten days from now, they’ll start to turn green, then they’ll turn brown, then after about two and a half weeks, they’ll just disappear.” She asked the boy, “You’ve been bruised before, right?”
He still didn’t answer, but he looked at Sara now instead of Will.
“I’m going to put my fingers on your wrist, okay?” The boy didn’t flinch when Sara took his pulse. By seven years, he’d probably been to a doctor’s office dozens of times. He was used to the routine of examination.
Sara asked, “Do you know what causes a bruise?”
The boy didn’t respond, but she could tell he was listening.
“It’s blood trapped underneath the skin. That’s kind of gross, isn’t it?”
He stared at Sara.
“Well, I think it’s gross, and I’m a doctor.”
The boy’s gaze went back to Will, but he was studying him now rather than staring.
Sara pulled out her stethoscope. It was an old one she kept as a spare. Her parents had bought it for her when she first entered medical school. Sara held the chestpiece to her mouth and warmed it with her breath. The boy didn’t need to be told what to do. He leaned forward in the bed so Sara could listen to his lungs.
She pulled up the back of his shirt. There were burns on his skin. Sara pretended to ignore them.
“Deep breath,” she said, then listened longer than necessary. Dr. Thomas had treated the burns, but left them uncovered to prevent infection. There would be scars—scars similar to the ones Sara had seen on Will.
“Wow,” she finally said. “Your lungs are very strong.” The boy leaned back so she could listen to his heart. He gripped the sheets at his waist now, but his head kept turning in a triangle pattern. He looked at Denise, who stood in the doorway, then back at Will, then up at Sara. He was constantly checking his surroundings. His fingers worked the hem of the sheets as if he wanted to be ready at any minute to hide under the covers.
Sara told the boy, “You know you’re in the state of Georgia, right? That’s right above Florida.”
The boy didn’t answer, though there was something in his expression that told Sara that she was telling him things he already knew.
Sara said, “In a few minutes, we’re going to ride in an ambulance like you did before. Only this time, we’re taking you to Atlanta.” She paused. He was paying close attention now. “The trip will take about an hour and a half. When we get there, you’ll be at a hospital. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
The boy looked at Denise.
She told him, “Jasmine and Vivica will drive you. I’ll be in the car behind the ambulance. Lila will come up later to check on you.” She smiled as if they both shared a secret. “I told you we’re not going anywhere.”
Sara guessed Vivica was the other paramedic. She told the boy, “We won’t have the siren on because this isn’t an emergency. You’re not sick. You’re probably just tired and very scared. And you’re not talking, so I need to look inside your mouth and make sure nothing’s stopping you. Okay?”
The boy’s eyes snapped back to Sara. He knew she wouldn’t find a medical explanation for his silence.
“Just give me one s
econd.” Sara dug around in her bag the same way Nell did when she wanted to look busy. “I don’t have a tongue depressor,” she lied. She turned to Denise. “Do you have any Popsicles?”
Denise obviously didn’t understand. “Popsicles?”
“I can use the wooden stick for a tongue depressor. Maybe there’s some in the freezer?” She stared her meaning into Denise. “Could you go look?”
Denise obviously didn’t want to. Still, she told the boy, “I’ll be in the kitchen. Okay?”
The boy didn’t nod, but there was some sort of unspoken language between him and Denise. She understood that his permission to leave was granted.
Sara rummaged around in her bag again. She said, “I like Denise a lot. Don’t you, Agent Trent?”
Will had to clear his throat before he could answer. “Yes. They’re all very good people.”
She told the boy, “Agent Trent sounds funny because his throat is sore.”
The boy looked at Will again, probably taking in the bruises ringing his neck.
She said, “Agent Trent doesn’t like to brag, but he knows some good jokes. Don’t you?”
Will looked stunned, then slightly panicked.
She tried not to use the same tone as she had with the boy. “Why don’t you tell him a joke?”
Will seemed at a loss for words. He was always telling her silly jokes. She had no idea why he couldn’t think of any now.
Sara prompted. “How about SpongeBob? Didn’t he get into some trouble lately?”
Will took a candy out of his pocket. He fumbled with the wrapper. Sara was about to let him off the hook when he said, “Butterflies taste with their feet.”
The boy just stared at him. Sara did, too. She had no idea what he was talking about.
Will popped the candy into his mouth. “Butterflies don’t have mouths that can chew or bite, but they’ve got these straw things that they use to suck nectar. That’s how they eat.” He cleared his throat. “But how do they know what to eat? They land on leaves and things with their feet, and that’s how they taste whether or not it’s good. Their taste buds are in their feet.”
The boy’s eyes narrowed. He was skeptical, but intrigued.
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