New Year Heroes: The Sheriff's Secretary / Veiled Intentions / Juror No. 7. Delores Fossen

her.

      How was she going to get through another day … another minute of the tormenting fear? How was she going to survive her next breath not knowing where her son was or if he were alive or—

      She gasped, not wanting to even think that she might never see Billy’s smile again, would never hear that silly giggle of his.

      Drawing a deep breath, she took in the scent of him that lingered in his room, the faint Billy fragrance that clung to his little pajamas. How long before that Billy smell went away? Would he be gone so long that there would be nothing left of him?

      Needing to escape her own thoughts, she hurried into the bathroom where she washed her face, brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back with a ponytail holder at the nape of her neck.

      She looked tired despite the sleep she’d gotten. Of course, much of her sleep had been haunted by dreams of Billy crying for her, needing her, and she’d been unable to go to him.

      She was living every mother’s nightmare. She’d read the tragic news stories of missing children, had seen parents on the television years after the disappearance still seeking answers. She didn’t want to be one of those parents. She didn’t want to think that Billy might be a statistic.

      Shoving away the horrible thoughts, she went in search of Lucas.

      She found him stretched out on his back on her sofa. He was sound asleep. He wore a pair of worn jeans and a white T-shirt and she realized it was the first time she’d seen him out of his khaki uniform.

      He looked good in jeans, and the T-shirt pulled across the width of his chest. She had always been attracted to Lucas. From the first time he’d strode into the office demanding to speak to the mayor, she’d felt a magnetic spark.

      But he scared her more than a little bit. He reminded her of the husband she’d fled. She’d already made one major mistake in her life, and she had the feeling that following through on her attraction to Lucas Jamison would simply be another monumental mistake.

      He must have been exhausted, for the lamp on the end table closest to his head burned bright but didn’t seem to bother him.

      She moved into the kitchen and quietly began to make a pot of coffee. That was all she seemed to be good for. She couldn’t find her son. She couldn’t figure out who might have taken him. She didn’t like feeling so useless, so utterly powerless. She’d had years of feeling that way with Frank and had sworn she’d never allow herself to feel that way again.

      Only the first stir of dawn’s light brightened the eastern skies and she turned on the small light over the oven, then poured herself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee.

      As she sipped, she realized she was hungry, and that sent a stabbing guilt through her. How could she sleep? How could she even think about food when Billy had been kidnapped? Was he being fed? Was he warm? The questions tormented her.

      “Good morning.” Lucas’s deep voice came from behind her and he flipped on the overhead light.

      “It can’t be good if Billy and Jenny aren’t here,” she replied.

      She heard him open a cabinet and knew he was getting a cup for coffee. A minute later he joined her at the table. His sleep-tousled hair did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. She waited for him to tell her that he’d get them back, that everything was going to be okay. When he didn’t, her heart clenched so tight she felt as if she were suffocating.

      “At least we both got some sleep,” he finally said.

      She set her cup down. “I feel horrible, that I could sleep and not know if my son is being fed or being allowed to sleep. And you know what makes me feel even more guilty? The fact that at the moment I’m thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast because I’m starving.”

      He reached across the table and captured her hand in his. “You can’t feel guilty about the things your body requires to live. You have to eat and you have to sleep.”

      His hand was big and strong and warm around hers, and she welcomed the warmth, the touch. Maybe the old adage was true, that misery loved company.

      “Are they coming home, Lucas?” The question was a mere whisper and until the words left her lips she hadn’t realized she was going to ask it.

      His gaze held hers. “I don’t know.” He squeezed her hand more tightly. “I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I don’t think you’d appreciate me lying to you.”

      “Absolutely not,” she agreed. “I want to know every piece of information you know, every feeling you have. I need to know what’s going on every minute.”

      He nodded, released her hand and leaned back in his chair. “Now I have a very important question to ask you.”

      She sat up straighter, steeling herself for whatever he might need to know. “What?”

      The corners of his lips turned up in a smile that momentarily erased the stress lines of his face. “Are you making the eggs or do you want me to? I have to confess I make a mean omelet.”

      Her burst of laughter surprised her, not only with its unexpectedness but also in the fact that it eased some of the knot of tension in her stomach. She sobered almost immediately and pointed to the stove. “Knock yourself out. I don’t think a man has ever cooked me breakfast before.”

      “Then sit back and relax and let me do the driving,” he replied as he stood.

      She watched as he began to pull items out of the refrigerator. “You like that, don’t you? Being in the driver’s seat.”

      He frowned thoughtfully as he set a carton of mushrooms on the counter. “I’ve never thought about whether I like it or not, it’s just something I’ve always had to do.”

      “Why’d you decide to run for sheriff? It’s no secret that you have enough money that if you didn’t want to, you wouldn’t have to work for the rest of your life.”

      He grabbed a knife from the drawer and began to cut up a green pepper. “When I was young I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. There was a group of young men here in town. We were all friends and we spent most of our high school days acting like rich jackasses. We were overindulged, full of ourselves and good for nothing. Then the five of us decided to all go to the same college in Missouri.”

      He stopped talking long enough to get the skillet from the cabinet and the carton of eggs from the refrigerator, then continued. “Anyway, while we were there we all developed a social conscience. We called ourselves the Brotherhood and we all made a pact that we would choose careers that gave something back to our community. We were not going to be the kind of wealthy young men who got our names in the tabloids.”

      “So you became sheriff. What about the others in the Brotherhood?” She welcomed the conversation to keep her mind from dark places.

      “You know Sawyer. He became an architect. Then there’s Jackson Burdeaux, who is a criminal defense attorney, Clay Jefferson, who became a psychiatrist and Beau Reveneau, who joined the army.”

      “I’ve met all of them but Beau. Does he still live in Conja Creek?”

      Lucas poured the egg concoction into the awaiting skillet before replying. “We don’t know where Beau is. His family moved from Conja Creek about eight years ago, and none of us have heard from him for several years.”

      “So you were all close friends?”

      “The best.” He took a sip of his coffee, his expression reflective. “We swore that we’d always have each other’s backs, that we’d support each other for the rest of our lives.” He shook his head ruefully. “We were very young and idealistic.”

      “Must have been tough on you last month when you thought Sawyer had killed his wife,” Mariah replied. The crime had been shocking. Sawyer’s wife, Erica Bennett, had been stabbed and pushed off the dock and into the swamp water behind the Bennett home. Erica