Tracking Justice. Shirlee McCoy

him on th—”

      “I haven’t had any contact with him since the day I told him I was pregnant. He’s not in my life. He’s not in Brady’s life. He didn’t want to be. He was married, okay? He and his wife moved to Las Vegas two months before Brady’s birth. That’s it. The whole story.” She’d been nineteen and foolish enough to believe every lie Rick had told. It didn’t hurt like it used to, but admitting it to the detective still made her blush.

      “Is there anyone else? A boyfriend? Fiancé?”

      “No. Just me and Brady. That’s all there’s ever been.” She swallowed hard and turned away. Holding back tears because crying wouldn’t solve her problems. Wouldn’t help her son.

      “When did you last see Brady?”

      “I checked on him at midnight. Right before I went to bed. He was sleeping.”

      “You went to bed after that?”

      “Yes! I went to bed. I fell asleep. I thought I heard Brady call for me, and I went to his room. He was gone. Now, will you please go find him?”

      “I will. A soon as—”

      The doorbell rang and Eva jumped, her heart soaring with wild hope.

      Brady.

      Please, God, let it be him.

      She shoved past Detective Black, not caring about niceties. Not caring about anything but getting to the door, opening it, seeing Brady’s face.

      Only it wasn’t him.

      Her heart sank as she looked into the eyes of a uniformed officer.

      “Ms. Billows? I’m Officer Desmond Cunningham. We have a report of a missing child?”

      “My son. There’s already a detective here.”

      “He’s with our K-9 Unit. He’ll start searching for your son while I interview you.”

      Thank You, God. Thank You, thank You, thank You.

      She stepped back so he could enter the house, wishing she’d had time to straighten up the living room, put the sofa cover over her threadbare couch. A twenty-dollar Goodwill find that worked fine for her and Brady but wasn’t great for company.

      Such a silly thing to think about.

      Such a stupid thing when her son was missing.

      She pressed a hand to her stomach, sick with dread and fear.

      “He’s been gone for twenty minutes already,” she said, the horror of the words filling her mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

      “It takes a little time to get a search team mobilized, ma’am, but we’ll have plenty of people out here before you know it.” Officer Cunningham offered a reassuring smile, his dark eyes filled with sympathy.

      Seeing it there in the depth of his gaze was too difficult, made the tears she’d been holding back too tempting. She turned away, met Detective Black’s steady gaze.

      Deep blue. Bottomless. Unreadable.

      “Were you home this afternoon, Eva?” he asked, and she shook her head because she wasn’t sure she could speak without tears rolling down her cheeks.

      “Was Brady?”

      “He was with his babysitter. Mrs. Daphne lives two doors down,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat.

      “Is that close to Slade McNeal’s place?” he asked.

      And odd question, but she’d answer whatever he asked if it meant getting him outside searching for Brady.

      “Yes.”

      Detective Black and Officer Cunningham exchanged a look she couldn’t read. One that excluded her, made her even more terrified than she already was.

      “What’s going on?”

      “Captain McNeal’s father was attacked today. His dog, Rio, was stolen. The person responsible is still on the loose.”

      “What does that have to do with Brady?” she asked, but she knew, the cold icy feeling in her heart making her shake.

      “It’s going to be okay.” Detective Black walked across the room and opened the front door. “I’m going to get Justice. Eva, if you want to get a photo of your son and an article of his clothing. Something that he wore today, preferably. I’ll be back in a minute.”

      She ran into Brady’s room, trying not to think about Slade’s father, his missing K-9 partner. Trying not to think about how pale and quiet Brady had been when she’d picked him up from Mrs. Daphne’s house.

      He hadn’t eaten much for dinner.

      Maybe he’d just been sick. A stomach virus. Kids got those all the time.

      She wanted to believe that accounted for his silence at the dinner table, his desire to go to bed early.

      Check the window again, Momma. Did you check it?

      The words seemed to echo in Brady’s empty room.

      She should have asked him why he was worried about the window lock. Should have pressed him about his day, asked just one more time if everything was okay.

      If she had—

      “Did you find something?” Detective Black walked into the room, a bloodhound padding along beside him. Orange vest and droopy ears, a wet nose and big, dark eyes. Brady would have loved to see him.

      The thought burned behind Eva’s eyes, and she ran to the closet, yanked out the T-shirt Brady had worn to school.

      Blue today. Orange tomorrow!

      “This is the shirt he wore today.” She handed the detective Brady’s T-shirt before she gave into temptation and pressed it to her face, inhaled her son’s little-boy scent.

      Please, God. Please.

      “He asked me to check the window lock twice. He seemed quiet at dinner. I thought he might be getting sick, but maybe...” Her guilt spilled out, and she had to stop the words so that the tears didn’t spill out, too.

      “Your son’s disappearance might not have anything to do with what happened at Slade’s house.”

      “But you think that it does?”

      “Do you have a recent photo?” He didn’t respond to her comment, and she knew that he did.

      She hadn’t realized she could be any more petrified than she’d been when she’d walked into Brady’s room and seen his open window.

      She could be.

      She was.

      Cold air blew in, carrying a hint of rain or snow.

      And, somewhere out in the darkness, Brady was scared and probably calling for her.

      A tear dripped down her cheek.

      “Eva, I need that photo,” Detective Black said gently, and she ran from the room, ran into hers.

      So close to Brady’s.

      She’d planned it that way when she’d decided which of the three bedrooms she’d take and which Brady would have.

      So close, but she hadn’t heard a sound until he’d cried for her.

      She grabbed the framed school photo from her nightstand, pressed it to her chest.

      “Got it?” Detective Black walked into the room with his bloodhound, and Eva didn’t care that she’d left her waitressing uniform in a stack on a chair. She didn’t care that a pile of college books and papers lay beside her bed. She didn’t care about anything but handing him the photo and watching him walk out the door to find her son.

      “This was taken a few months ago.” She handed him