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 second.” 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?”