“It’s me,” Will told her. “I’m at Cayla’s house.”

“Will?” Faith’s voice trilled up. “We’ve got sixty cops combing the woods for you. We can’t pinpoint your phone.”

“You need to put an APB on Sara’s car. Tony Dell and Cayla Martin stole it. They’re headed toward the Atlanta airport, taking the back roads. International terminal. She’s going to Germany.”

Faith didn’t bother to cover the phone as she shouted orders to her team. As soon as she finished, she asked Will, “What about Benjamin?”

“He’s safe.” Will looked at Paul Vickery. He still didn’t trust the man. “What about the other thing?”

“They’re at Grady. Sara called over an hour ago. They’re both fine.”

Will felt relief flood his senses.

Faith said, “The boy started talking in the ambulance. His name is Aaron Winser. Amanda was right. His parents live in Newfoundland. They were going through a bad custody battle. The father was on a fishing trip. The mom thought he’d abducted the boys. The police were about to arrest him.” Faith seemed to realize she was talking too fast. She slowed down her words. “The parents are on their way to Atlanta right now. Jesus, Will. You had me scared to death.”

“Hold on.” Will couldn’t stay on his knees any longer. He didn’t want to sit down, so he pushed himself up against the wall. Vickery’s eyes tracked his every movement. They both heard sirens in the distance.

Will asked, “How far out are the cruisers?”

Faith said, “Five minutes, tops. Call Sara.”

“She’s probably busy.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Will heard a click as she hung up the phone. He glanced at Paul Vickery. The man was still on his back, his elbows and knees bent at an uncomfortable angle.

Vickery asked, “You gonna help me here? This hurts like a bitch.”

“It certainly looks painful.” Will felt some give in the twine that was digging into his ankles. After a few unsuccessful shuffles, he hopped toward the kitchen.

“Where’re you going?” Vickery shouted. “Come back here!”

Will didn’t stop until the saloon doors flapped behind him. He leaned against the counter to catch his breath. And also to catch himself, because hopping around was harder than it looked.

DeShawn Franklin’s phone had gone back to screensaver mode. The picture showed two little girls dressed in Mickey Mouse ears. Will didn’t want to think about someone telling the man’s nieces what had happened. He swiped the screen and dialed Sara’s number.

She was used to getting strange calls on her hospital phone. Still, her tone was strained when she answered, “Dr. Linton.”

Will said, “I’m okay,” in a voice that sounded exactly the opposite.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Now that he had her on the line, Will felt it all start to catch up to him. Sara had literally saved him by the short hairs.

“Will?”

“Everything’s fine.” He made his voice stronger. “I’m just a little tied up at the moment.” He stopped himself from laughing at his own joke, mostly because he was pretty sure Sara wouldn’t find it that funny. “I don’t know about your car, though.”

“Sweetheart, do you think I give a damn about my car?”

Will hoped she still felt the same when she turned on the news and saw her BMW being tracked up I-75. “Are you at the hospital?”

“I’m at home. Denise gave me a lift while Amanda interviewed the boy. She’s going back to Grady to stay with Aaron until his parents are there. Did Faith tell you?”

“Yes.” Will closed his eyes. He liked thinking about Sara being safe at home. “What are you doing?”

“Lying on the couch. I was going to take a shower, but I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. I’m too sore to move.”

Will thought about the night before. “Sore from me?”

“A little,” she allowed. “When do you think you’ll be back in Atlanta?”

“I’m driving back tonight.” Will decided at that moment that he would quit his job if that was the only way to make it happen. “I’ll call you when I’m ten minutes out.” He covered the bottom part of the phone with his hand, an easy task considering there was no daylight between his wrists. Still, he lowered his voice, telling Sara, “I want you to fill the bathtub when I call.”

She sounded surprised, but said, “Okay.”

“When I get there, I want you to get in the tub with me.”

Her “Okay” was very different this time.

“Then we’re going to talk.”

Her voice changed again. “Just talk?”

“I’m going to answer every question you ask me.”

“Every question?” she repeated. “The water will go cold.”

“We’ll keep it warm,” he told her. “I mean it, Sara. No more secrets.” Will looked out the kitchen window. He saw a police cruiser kicking up dust in the distance. His resolve started to slip. Will felt like he was stepping out onto a tightrope. His hands were so slick he could barely hold the phone.

Still, he managed to say the one thing he should’ve told her in the first place. “I trust you.”

Sara didn’t speak, but he could hear her breath through the phone.

Will felt his throat start to tighten. He should probably hang up. He wanted to hang up. But he asked, “What do you think? Does that sound good?”

“Baby.” She sighed out the word. “I think that sounds like the perfect way to start the rest of our lives.”

17.

MACON, GEORGIA

FIVE DAYS LATER

Lena sat across the table from yet another Internal Affairs investigator. Brock Patterson’s black-and-white ensemble reminded her of the woman who’d investigated her the week before. Lena wondered whether there was a departmental dress code or if they all secretly worked night shifts at Olive Garden. If their pay was commensurate with Lena’s, it wasn’t a stretch.

“Detective Adams?” Patterson said. He’d obviously asked a question. Lena had stopped paying attention when she’d figured out the repetitive code to his interrogation. Every twenty minutes, he reset, asking the same questions he’d asked before, but using different inflections, different phrasing.

When did you find the boy?

You found the boy when?

Where was the boy when you found him?

The boy. Aaron Winser. He was safe now, but they were all too terrified to say his name on the record.

If Lena was being honest, she never wanted to think about the boy again. Not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. She’d spent four days rehashing every horrible detail of the shooting gallery—the dead bodies, the cold fear that sat in the pit of her belly when she stared down Sid Waller. And then the worst part, the part that she’d left out during the first investigation—finding the boy.

Lena still had nightmares about pulling back that panel in the basement, seeing those two terrified eyes staring back at her. Aaron’s pupils had been black as coal, set in a field of reddish white. He hadn’t said a word when Lena lifted him out of the hole. He’d felt so light. Like a blanket. Lena had cradled him in her arms, cooing to him. She’d never had a maternal bone in her body, but with Aaron, it came naturally. She stroked his hair. Kissed her lips to his dry forehead. Her hand on his back felt the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart, and she thought of her little bean, forever captured on that ultrasound file she kept on her computer at the office.