Secret Refuge. Dana Mentink

his family’s property in the mountains. Oblivious to the fact that he’d vouched for a would-be killer and had Tucker’s tracking bracelet removed, a device that might have saved LeeAnn’s life that day. She wanted to hate Mick Hudson, but something about the way he’d stared at her inexplicably twisted her feelings. The big brute of a man was intimately familiar with grief. It was carved into the lines of his face.

      The road out of town smoothed out, straight and empty. Big Pines was larger and more populated, with easy access to doctors, therapists and a very special preschool. A glimmer of movement caught her eye in the rearview mirror. Her heart dropped for a moment as she imagined Tucker’s motorcycle behind her.

      “No, you ninny,” she told herself. “Just the regular ebb and flow of lunchtime traffic heading to and from Big Pines.” A black SUV with tinted windows pulled up closer and passed. Fingers tight on the wheel, her gut began the “what if” game.

      If Tucker had eluded the police and stolen a car...

      If he was determined to snatch the one thing, the only thing left of LeeAnn...

      If he found out about Aunt Viv and where she lived...

      She fought down the stampeding thoughts and pressed the gas pedal a little harder.

      Arriving some forty minutes later, Keeley parked a block from the house and sat, watching the cars drive by. Nothing unusual, no sign of anything out of the ordinary for a sleepy suburb.

      Walking faster with each step, she made it to Aunt Viv’s, knocked once and let herself inside, calling out a greeting.

      Four toddlers looked up from their snack of apple slices and milk, which Aunt Viv was busily dispensing.

      One little face with round cheeks and heavy-lidded eyes made her heart skip.

      “Where’s my June?” she called.

      The little girl wriggled her short legs and flung an apple slice into the air in her excitement. She did not speak, but Keeley saw it all in her eyes.

      “Hello, Mama,” those luminous blue eyes seemed to say. The copper Brushfield spots in her irises, a hallmark of Down syndrome, twinkled like stars in a sapphire sky.

      With a heart full of both joy and sorrow, Keeley went to embrace her.

       THREE

      Mick did his afternoon chores at the sanctuary in spite of the pain. His body was tired, arms throbbing, ribs creaking, when he found himself at the kitchen table, sitting in front of a roast-beef sandwich for which he had no appetite. His father, Perry, joined him, wearing an old pair of sweats. Mick was glad his jacket hid the cut on his biceps. His father had endured a boatload of worry that started some twenty years ago when a child was abducted on their property. His sister, Ruby, had recently found evidence about the case that had nearly got her killed and Mick thrown in jail. But now Ruby was happily married to Cooper Stokes, and Perry was enjoying some well-deserved peace.

      “Got the brush cleared?”

      Mick nodded.

      “Must be tired after your trip.” Perry raised an inquiring eyebrow as he sat down at the sturdy kitchen table.

      “Drove into Silver Creek to take care of some old business.”

      “Old business? Like Tucker Rivendale?”

      Mick couldn’t imagine how his father knew, but the man had been a competent private eye in his day. Old habits died hard, and sometimes not at all. “Yeah. He’s still at large.”

      “Did you find him?”

      “Got away, but LeeAnn’s sister is safe.” It hurt to say her name. “Cops are all over it. They want me out of the way.”

      Perry sipped some water he’d poured for himself. “Think he’ll come back?”

      “He’d be a fool to do that. Cops don’t think he will.”

      “What does your gut tell you?”

      Mick sighed. “Can’t trust my gut anymore, Dad.”

      “You made a mistake.”

      Mick got up and stalked to the window, bracing his palms on the kitchen sink. Justice and judgment, two of the most critical leadership traits drilled in as he was molded into a marine. He’d failed at both.

      And at being a husband, to complete the list.

      “It was more than a small error in judgment. I believed that Tucker was on the straight and narrow, that his days of jacking cars and conning people were over. I knew deep down he wasn’t prone to violence. My gut told me I could trust him, and I convinced the parole board to release him from house arrest. I was wrong. Dead wrong.”

      “Too much blame for one man.” His father walked over and put his glass in the sink. He gripped his son’s shoulder. “Things are quiet around here for the next month. If you need to get away, do it.”

      “I’m okay.” He sighed. “What’s the smart thing to do, Dad?”

      “Stay out of it, just like the cops said.”

      They locked gazes. But it won’t bring you peace, his father’s eyes added.

      Perry gave Mick a final pat. When had his father’s hands gotten so old and gnarled? Perhaps twenty years of repressed fear about what had happened to the child abducted from their property had accelerated the aging process. Mick would swallow glass before he added any more grief to his father’s plate.

      “And if you need my help in any way, ask.”

      “I will.”

      When he’d gone, Mick stared out at the forest that pressed in all around the old house. He wanted to run outside, deep into the woods, and lose himself in the pungent scent of pine and the comforting presence of birds overhead, but he forced himself to remain.

      It took him an hour of pacing to make the decision. He scrawled a note on a torn piece of paper and put it under the coffeepot.

       Be away for a few days. I’ll call you tonight. Kiss Ruby for me.

      He tossed a bag in the bed of the pickup and started the long drive back to Silver Creek. When he stopped for gas, he listened to a message on his phone.

      “You’re not answering, which means you’re driving back to Silver Creek. I decided to take a couple of days off and do a little fishing. I’m staying at a buddy’s cabin about six miles out of town on Wexler Road. Got a couch for you if you want it. Stay out of trouble.”

      Mick chuckled as he drove to the cabin. A little fishing? Reggie Donaldson was a near-professional bowler and an excellent marksman, but an outdoorsy type he wasn’t. Mick knew that Reggie was also a guy who didn’t let things go, and Tucker Rivendale had made a mistake attacking Reggie when he’d tried to arrest him. Mick was grateful. With Reggie’s connections, they might be able to help the police lay their hands on the kid before he did any more harm.

      Mick still wondered why Tucker had come back and what he’d said to Keeley that she refused to tell the police. Thoughts tumbled around in his mind until he arrived at the small wood-sided cabin. Reggie opened the door, soda and pepperoni-pizza slice in hand.

      “’Bout time. What’d you do, crawl?”

      Mick stepped inside. He almost let a surprised grunt escape his mouth when he saw his friend.

      From under the ragged fringe of black bangs, where Reggie’s left eye had been there was now a sunken spot, the eyelid shriveled around the gap. He saw Mick’s expression and pulled the patch down over his eye. “Gets hot under there. Got to let it air sometimes.”

      Mick recovered his composure. “I knew Tucker injured you when you tried to collar him. I didn’t realize...”

      “Me,