Flashback. Gayle Wilson

for. They’d given the mother’s plea to bring her daughter home endless airtime. The fact that they’d apparently had a couple of slow news days had played into that, of course, but the story itself was compelling enough to demand attention.

      Where would you think a child would be safer than in her own bed?

      Banishing the memory of her mother’s voice, Eden took another bite of her sandwich. The silence that fell as they ate was companionable. And she had leaned heavily on Dean’s experience and his knowledge of the region and its people through these endless hours.

      “Anything new from the hotline?”

      Dean laughed. “Last I heard, a boatload of garbage. That’s better than nothing, I guess. Better than folks not calling. You just got to weed through it all to find something that might be helpful.”

      “And have they found that?”

      “Not that I heard.”

      Eden let it drop, concentrating on finishing her supper. More an act of refueling than anything else. After the long hours between this and breakfast, she’d needed it.

      The knock on the glass top half of her office door disturbed the silence. She motioned with one hand, giving Winton Grimes permission to enter. As it had half a dozen times today, her heart began to race a bit in anticipation of what he might have come to tell them.

      “Got something?” she asked as he opened the door and stuck his head in.

      “You said you wanted to hear anything we thought might be…significant.”

      “Yeah?”

      “Well, okay, this is a little bit… Hell,” Winton said with an embarrassed grin, “it’s a whole lot off the beaten path, but I thought since we ain’t got much of nothing else, you all might want to hear it.”

      “So tell us.” Dean’s tone suggested he’d listened to enough hemming and hawing.

      “If this wasn’t who it is, I might have just let it go, but…”

      “Damn it, Winton,” Dean exploded, “spit it out. Nobody’s got time for your pussyfooting. Not today.”

      “It’s okay, Winton,” Eden soothed. “We want to hear. Whatever it is.”

      “Jake Underwood.”

      Eden couldn’t quite identify the sound Dean made in response to the name. Laughter? An expression of disbelief? Whatever it had been, Winton stopped again, his thin lips flattening.

      “Who’s Jake Underwood?”

      Her question brought the young deputy’s eyes back to her, but it was Dean who answered.

      “His grandmother was Miz Etta Wells. The Wells that was one of the founding families. Jake spent summers here when he was a kid.”

      Eden waited, but neither man seemed inclined to go on. Finally she prodded, “And you’ve got some reason to believe he may have had something to do with the Nolan girl’s disappearance.”

      “It’s not that,” Winton said. “At least…not exactly.”

      The sound Dean made this time was clearly one of contempt. Eden couldn’t be sure, however, whether that had been directed at Jake Underwood or the deputy. “Then exactly what is it?” She tried to imbue her voice with the same authority her father’s seemed to command naturally. Apparently, it was effective.

      With another glance at the older man, Grimes began to talk. “Underwood says she’s in a cave or something underground. Says somebody’s keeping her down there. He says it’s wet and dark, and all you can hear is water dripping.”

      There was a long silence. Since she’d asked the question, Eden felt it was up to her to break it. “Is that it?”

      “Yeah. Except he said she’s scared. Terrified is the word he used.”

      Despite the fact that she had no basis for believing the validity of any of that description, it had chilled Eden. A four-year-old child kept in the dark would be terrified. Anyone would know that. How Mr. Underwood could know the Nolan child was there was another question.

      “And he knows all this how?”

      There was another hesitation, and another glance at Dean, before Grimes answered. “Says he saw it in a flashback.”

      Flashback. The term produced images of 9/11. Or of soldiers from her father’s generation who’d come back damaged mentally from a jungle hell. How the word could possibly apply to a child who’d been kidnapped this morning… “Flashback? You sure that’s what he said?”

      “Yes, ma’am. Look, I told you this is out there. And if it was anybody but him, I wouldn’t have told you.”

      “You believe him?” Dean’s tone expressed the same contempt as his earlier snort.

      The kid stood his ground. “Like I said, if this was anybody else…”

      “You keep saying that,” Eden tried to clarify. “What does it mean?”

      “It means he thinks Underwood’s a hero,” Dean answered, “and therefore exempt from the same commonsense scrutiny he’d give anybody else coming in here with that cock-and-bull story.”

      “That’s not—”

      Dean didn’t allow the deputy to finish. “God knows, I don’t want to speak ill of somebody who’s served their country. But the truth is Jake came back from his last tour a little less put together than when he left.”

      “From his last tour” and “who’s served his country” were obviously references to the military. What Eden didn’t understand was the cryptic finish. “‘Less put together’?”

      “Head injury. Along with some other stuff. It’s the brain damage, though, that would put thoughts of seeing that little girl into Jake’s head. And that’s all this is, you hear me.” The last was clearly directed at Grimes. “You go spouting this story around town, and you’re liable to get somebody hurt. Somebody who sure as hell doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

      “Then…you don’t think this man might have had something to do with the kidnapping?” Eden asked. “I mean, someone who’s brain-damaged and having visions of a missing child… Seems to me that makes him a prime candidate.”

      It didn’t make sense for Dean to dismiss the idea out of hand, although she couldn’t argue with the warning he’d just issued. If the people of this town thought one of their own had been involved in Raine’s kidnapping, emotions would definitely run high. That was something the department, its resources stretched to the limits, shouldn’t have to deal with.

      “You talk to him, Chief,” Grimes said. “See what you think. That’s all I’m asking.”

      “Oh, trust me,” Eden assured him, getting up, “I’m going to talk to him. Just forgive me if I’m a little less receptive to his story than you seem to be.”

      Her heart was actually pounding, blood rushing through her veins like thunder. Since the call had come in about the kidnapping, this seemed to be the first potentially important piece of the puzzle they were trying to solve.

      Of course, it was always possible the brain damage Dean referred to had caused this guy to hallucinate about the crime, given the second-by-second media coverage that had been going on all day. But it was equally possible, she decided, that a man deranged by the horrors of war and by injury had seen an attractive child around town—

      Eden broke the thought, determined not to speculate about this guy’s motives, or his guilt or innocence, until she had more information. “Where is he?”

      “I put him in the conference room. I thought that might offer more privacy.”

      “For him or the department?” Eden asked, as she made her way across the office.