The screen door opened, and Rylee walked in. She wore a frayed denim miniskirt and a black T-shirt. Her gaze landed on Lance and Morgan. Her face drained of color, and she spun, her hand reaching for the door as if to run through it.

“Wait!” Trevor called. “Ms. Dane is a lawyer. She’s not with CPS. She’s going to help us.”

Rylee did a slow turn on the balls of her feet, her face still pale. She walked to her brother’s side. He took her hand and squeezed it.

She looked down at Trevor. “Really?”

He nodded.

“We’ll get to the bottom of the complaint,” Morgan assured them.

Now that she’d seen the siblings together, she wanted to protect them even more. Rylee showed no fear or hesitation with her bother. They had a strong bond, and she clearly trusted him. Maybe the neighbor had been convincing. The CPS worker could be trying to do her best.

Social workers were just like any other group of people—a mix of good, bad, and lazy. Some were dedicated to protecting children. Some were average and simply showed up, and a few abused their power. Unfortunately, one bully in a position of authority could do irreparable harm.

“Ms. Dane and Mr. Kruger want to ask you about a boy named Evan,” Trevor said to his sister.

She tried to move away, but he held on to her hand.

“Have you seen him?” he asked.

“No.” Rylee didn’t fidget or look away. Her posture had relaxed once she accepted that Morgan and Lance were on her side. A lock of short purple hair fell into her eyes, and she brushed it away.

“Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Trevor asked.

“He’s been arrested a few times.” Her eyes brightened with anger. “I knew you wouldn’t want me to see him.”

“That’s right!” Trevor’s voice rose. “I can’t have you dating a juvenile delinquent with all the CPS stuff going on.”

“See?” Rylee jerked her hand from his grip.

Trevor jumped to his feet. “Rylee, this kid is wanted by the police for murder.”

Her chin snapped up. “This is why I didn’t tell you about him. I knew you’d be mad.”

Trevor fought for control. “I’m not mad. I’m terrified.”

“Evan is innocent.” Rylee started to cry. “I’m sorry. I screw everything up.”

Trevor put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s OK. We’ll deal with it.”

She sobbed into his shirt.

“Rylee, I’m only trying to protect you.” Frustration underscored Trevor’s tone. “I’m trying to keep us together.”

Tears wet her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I just—” Her breath hitched. “Most of the kids around here have perfect lives. They don’t get what it’s like to have your whole life disintegrate. Evan has his own shit to deal with. He understands. Mostly, we just talk.”

“You can always talk to me.” Trevor looked hurt.

“It’s not the same.” Rylee’s purple hair swayed as she shook her head. “You act like a parent now.”

Trevor couldn’t win.

“It’s important that we find Evan,” Lance said. “He’s been hurt, and he’s in danger.”

“We want to help him,” Morgan added. “He’s in a situation he can’t manage by himself.”

“I haven’t seen him.” Rylee chewed on her lip. “But I wish I had. I’m worried about him too.” Her eyes turned angry. “The police are stupid. Evan would never have hurt Paul.”

“You sound sure,” Morgan said.

Rylee nodded. “I never met Paul, but I know that Evan liked him. His real father is a jerk. Evan knows the difference.”

“Do you have any idea where Evan might go if he wanted to hide?” Morgan asked.

“No.” Rylee shook her head.

Morgan’s years as a prosecutor had made her adept at spotting a liar, except for the occasional sociopath. Rylee seemed to be telling the truth. So no one had seen Evan. Morgan wished the kids were lying. At least that would be a lead she and Lance could follow. But now they had nothing.

They left the house and returned to the Jeep.

“Now what?” Morgan asked. “We seem to have hit a wall. Evan has to be somewhere.”

Lance’s phone beeped. He pulled it from his pocket and answered the call. “Hi, Mom. You’re on speaker. Morgan is here too.”

“Hi, Jenny,” Morgan said.

“Hello, Morgan dear,” Jenny began.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been over.” Lance set the phone on the console. “I didn’t want to give you the kids’ germs. And now we’re caught up in this case.”

“Honey, you’re doing exactly what you should be doing. I’m fine,” Jenny assured him. “Now, I have some good news and some bad news for you.”

“Tell us the bad news first,” Morgan said.

“Sam Jones, the man who filed the excessive force complaint against Deputy Springer, was a transient. One of the reasons the complaint was dismissed was because Sam disappeared. I spoke to his lawyer. He has no idea where Sam might be.”

Could Sam be holding a grudge?

“What’s the good news?” Lance asked.

“I found a piece of land at Lake George owned by Robert Springer.” Jenny gave them the details on the property.

“Thanks, Mom.” Lance pulled away from the curb. “I’ll be over to visit as soon as I can.”

“Lance, you do what you need to do. I’m not going anywhere.” Jenny ended the call.

“Could be Brian Springer’s brother.” Morgan plugged the address into the map app on her phone. “It’s about thirty minutes away.”

“Let’s go.” Lance stepped on the gas pedal, and the car accelerated.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lance pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and studied the digital map on his phone. His Jeep was a blue dot on the single road that cut through a huge swath of green. “The GPS says we’re here, but I don’t see a house or a driveway.”

Morgan turned her head to look behind the Jeep. “According to the information your mother sent, the property comprises two hundred acres and includes a stretch of waterfront. How far are we from the lake?”

Lance zoomed out on the map. The lake appeared as a huge blue area. He touched the screen. “Here.”

“It’s just on the other side of these woods.” Morgan frowned at the map. “If you own lakefront property, you build your house both with a view of the water and access to the road. Keep crawling along. There must be a driveway or private road that cuts through to the lake.”

He eased off the brake and let the Jeep roll forward. The trees were thick and green with summer foliage. Lance couldn’t see very far into the woods.

A quarter of a mile down the road, Morgan tapped his shoulder and pointed to a gap in the trees. “What’s that?”

Tree branches partially concealed a narrow dirt lane. Lance made the turn. The lane was rutted and muddy, and Lance kept the Jeep’s speed slow. The narrow road ended in a clearing. A log cabin hunkered at the rear of the cleared space. Behind it, the lake stretched out as far as he could see. The day was still, and the overcast sky had turned the water into a mirror.

He turned the Jeep to face the lane in case they needed to make a quick exit.

“There’s no vehicle here.” Morgan scanned the clearing. “But I see tire tracks that look fairly recent.”

“Someone has been here since Tuesday morning’s storm.” Lance took his flashlight and camera from the glove compartment and stuffed them into his cargo pants pockets. His phone took decent pictures, but it didn’t have optical zoom or produce the same quality images as his digital 35mm. “Are you ready?”

Morgan changed into her boots. “Yes.”

They stepped out of the Jeep. He could smell the pines and the mossy scent of the lake. Mud sucked at his feet as they crossed the clearing. He surveyed their surroundings. The storm had knocked small branches and leaves on the moss-covered ground in front of the cabin. The lot was heavily wooded, with dense foliage that would provide excellent cover should someone be watching them. A squirrel scurried up a nearby pine tree. Overhead, a hawk glided in a lazy circle.

They walked up three wooden steps to a rough porch. He stood behind the doorframe. Morgan did the same on the other side. He knocked. No one answered.

Moving to a window, Morgan cupped her hands over her eyes. “I don’t see anyone inside.”

Lance knocked again. Hearing nothing but forest sounds, he pulled a small leather case from his pocket and took out two small tools.

“You’re breaking and entering into a cop’s vacation cabin?” Morgan sighed.

“It’s his brother’s place, not his.” Lance took a pair of gloves from his pocket and tugged them on. Then he dangled a second pair in front of Morgan’s face. “If Evan’s life weren’t at stake, I wouldn’t do this.”

Probably.

“I know.” She took the gloves.

Morgan had a black-and-white, right-versus-wrong sense of justice. Breaking the law bothered her. Lance’s moral code was slightly more flexible. A simple B and E wouldn’t keep him up at night.

He tried the knob. “The door is unlocked. So technically, we’ll just be entering.”

“We’re not even sure this is the right place.” She glanced at the driveway, then waved a gnat away from her face.

“We’ll know soon.” He pushed the door open and sniffed. “I don’t smell a rotting corpse, but there’s something in the air.”

Morgan followed him in. “I smell mold, which isn’t unusual for a waterfront property, but there’s something else.” She inhaled deeper, her nose wrinkling. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s unpleasant.”

Lance sniffed. Under the must, the air smelled faintly like the locker room at the ice rink. Lance was always riding the team to clean their gear, but teenage boys being what they were . . .