She still remembered that panicked drive to the hospital the night Matt was born. Brooke had been doubled over in the front seat, panting and crying. Her mother had been speeding down a back road when Greene of all people had pulled her mother over. He had clocked her going eighty in a fifty-five. He had realized what was happening, immediately escorted them to the hospital, and hadn’t left until Matt came screaming into the world twenty minutes later.

Brooke had spent the next four years commuting to school, taking classes, and then racing home to her baby boy. With her mother’s help, she had earned her college degree and landed a job in the sheriff’s office as a deputy. She was loyal to Greene and would have had his back if only he had sent those damn kits off for testing.

“You could use a break,” her mother said.

The idea of a warm sandy beach was almost too tempting to consider. She took another long pull on the beer and thought about the teenager sleeping upstairs. “I received a call from Matt at school today. He forgot his computer and lunch money. Couldn’t get you on the phone.”

“I was on the floor with a critical patient and couldn’t take the call. I told him to plan better. This is the third time he forgot his lunch money.”

“I ran both by the school.”

“You do too much for him, Brooke. He has to feel the consequences on the smaller things, so he doesn’t fail when it really matters.”

“So he doesn’t end up like me?”

“I would never wish that boy away. I love him. But you know I wanted a different life for you.”

Slightly irritated with her mother and herself, Brooke took another swallow. “Cindy Shaw’s name came up today.”

“Cindy? Why?”

Brooke dug her fingernail into the label on the side of the bottle. “She vanished the same year as Tobi. The FBI agent thinks there might be a connection.”

Worry deepened the lines on her mother’s face as she leaned against the counter. “Cindy caused a lot of trouble.”

Brooke was more like Tobi Turner, a band geek without a cool bone in her body. When Cindy had paid attention to Brooke in high school, the incident with the bees had been forgotten. And if only for a little while, she had felt cooler. But Cindy had never really cared about Brooke or Tobi or perhaps herself.

“As an adult I look back and recognize Cindy’s awful homelife and her substance abuse problems led her to make a lot of poor choices. If I met her today, I’d like to think I’d be a bigger person and show her more compassion.”

“I don’t know if I could ever have charity for that girl.” Her mother dunked a chamomile tea bag into her mug, and when the kettle whistled, she poured hot water into the cup. “You mentioned the FBI. Is that the person who drives the black sedan parked in front of the station?”

“Yes, her name is Special Agent Macy Crow.”

“But isn’t it your job to investigate the cases now?”

“Sheriff Nevada feels like we need the big guns for this one.”

“You’re smart enough to figure it out.”

Brooke wasn’t so sure about that. Her experience ended at the county line. “A fresh set of eyes won’t hurt.”

Floorboards squeaked upstairs and she realized her son, a light sleeper, was awake. He was smart, clever, and the spitting image of her.

Brooke poured the last of her beer down. “I want to check in on Matt.”

As she turned to leave, her mother said, “I’m proud of you.”

Brooke closed her eyes, absorbing the words before she kissed her mother lightly on the cheek and then climbed the stairs. She walked down the narrow hallway she’d traveled so many times that a light wasn’t necessary. She opened her son’s bedroom door. Hints of the fresh coat of blue paint she had rolled on the walls a couple of weeks ago lingered in the air. His clothes were piled on the floor next to a set of size-eleven sneakers she’d given him for his birthday last summer. He was already fourteen and in four years would be off to college himself. When he was born, she’d thought her life was over. Now she wondered what she would do when he was gone.

“Mom.”

Brooke sat on the end of his bed and rubbed her son’s back. “You should be asleep, baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Mom.” Matt rolled over and sat up, pushing his thick dark hair out of his eyes.

“You’ll always be my baby.” Which was one of the reasons she’d brought him the computer today. It felt good to be needed.

“Mom. Stop.”

“Got it.”

“Are you coming or going?”

“Passing through. I need a quick shower, maybe a little sleep, and a change of clothes before I head back to work.” She traced her hand over the star shapes on the coverlet. “Did the front office give you your computer and the lunch money?”

“Yeah. Thanks for bringing it. Where was Grandma?”

“With a patient.”

Matt was silent, but she knew the wheels were turning in his head. “Any word how the girl found in the Wyatt barn died?”

“Not yet.” Her heart wanted to ache for the man’s loss, but she knew grief would only cloud her thoughts and inhibit her from truly helping Turner.

“Are Tyler and the football players having bonfires out there?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t know, Mom. I just know they’re obsessed with the place now.”

“It’s a crime scene.”

“I know.” He took her hand in his, just like he had when he was little. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m not going out there.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She smiled and kissed her son on his forehead. “You need sleep.”

Matt yawned. “So do you.”

“I will.”

“Did you know the dead girl?” Matt asked.

Brooke was quiet as she smoothed her hand over the light-gray coverlet. “I remember her from school. I remember when she vanished. It was a scary time.”

The truth was she barely remembered those weeks. She had been consumed by morning sickness and preoccupied with hiding her pregnancy from her mother.

“You’ll solve the case,” Matt said. “You’re a badass cop.”

She squeezed his hand. “I hope so, for the sake of that girl.”

“I saw Hank Greene on television today.”

“What was he talking about?” Greene wasn’t the type to keep his mouth shut.

“He hinted that he’s going to challenge Sheriff Nevada during the next election and win his seat back.”

“Well, then he’s in for a real fight, isn’t he? Nevada is no pushover.”

Matt drew in a breath. “Whoever killed that girl could still be in town. You need to be careful, Mom.”

“I’ll be fine. You just make sure you stay away from those bonfires.”

“Jeez, Mom. I got it.”

Brooke brushed a strand of hair from her son’s eyes. If only she could make him understand that monsters were real and they could steal his life if given the chance.

Through most of the late evening, Nevada asked around a few of the bars, but it took him an hour before he tracked down Paul Decker at a trailer located in a mobile home park twenty miles west of town. When he pulled up, a light glowed from inside the small residence. Out of the car, he kept his jacket unbuttoned and his weapon accessible. Rock music pulsed out of the trailer, accompanied by the heavy scent of cigarette smoke.

The steady beat of a bass guitar riff stretched on as Nevada waited and listened. He pounded his fist against the trailer’s thin metal door before he stepped to the side. “Decker. Sheriff Nevada.”

The music stopped, and fleeting silence broke with the steady thud of footsteps approaching the door. Mustard-yellow curtains flickered, and the door opened to Paul Decker. He’d been the wide receiver on the Dream Team, but the lean frame that had earned him the name Lightning now carried an extra twenty pounds of weight, while hunched shoulders, a scraggly beard, and thinning black hair added a decade to his appearance.

Nevada rested his hand on the grip of his weapon. “Decker, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Would you step outside, please?”

Paul raised a cigarette to his lips. “What kind of questions?”

“Step outside. I won’t ask again.” He smiled, but Nevada knew his smiles tended to look more feral than friendly.

Smoke trailed around Paul’s head before he flicked the cigarette to the ground and stepped outside. “Sure.”

Nevada looked beyond Paul into the trailer. “Anyone else in the trailer?”

“No, it’s just me. What’s this about?”

After he’d dropped Macy off, Nevada had pulled Paul’s arrest record. Though he knew Paul’s DNA did not match the man he was hunting, the former football player might have information about the other members of the Dream Team, as well as about the bonfires Tobi might have attended.

“You were arrested for sexual assault ten years ago,” Nevada said.

Paul shook his head. “And I did my time, and now I’m out on parole. I’ve stayed out of trouble since I came back to Deep Run.”

Nevada had reviewed Paul’s case file and seen some of the pictures taken of the woman who’d filed the charges against him. Her left eye had been black and blue and swollen. And her right wrist had also been badly sprained. “You hurt her pretty bad.”

Paul sniffed as he kicked the dirt with the tip of his booted foot. “My jail time is old news. Why are you here?”

Of all the members of the Dream Team, Paul had shown the most promise and would have had a lot to lose if he were tangled up in the rapes or disappearances of 2004. “Do you remember Tobi Turner?”

“Tobi. Shit. She’s the one that went missing.”