Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection. Faye Kellerman

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      Decker cupped his hands and called out:

      “Sammy Lazarus, are you playing a game with me?”

      He waited for a response. The sounds of the woods became magnified: bird songs, the rush of water, the buzz of insects.

      “Hmm. Must have wandered off.” Decker took Jake’s hand and started to check out the immediate area. The dog followed.

      “Sammy?”

      Silence.

      “Sammy, can you hear me?” Decker frowned and patted the dog. “Know where Sammy is, Ginger?”

      The dog’s ears perked up, but her expression was blank.

      “Sammy!” Jake called out.

      “Okay,” Decker thought out loud. “Let’s take this one step at a time. He can’t be very far away.”

      He picked up Sammy’s discarded sweat jacket and held it under the dog’s nose. She immediately skipped over to the area where Sammy had been sitting and parked herself.

      The ground revealed a few bare footprints. Decker tried to follow them, but they were light and sporadic, disappearing altogether as the copse thickened with foliage.

      “Sammy?” Decker bellowed.

      Stay organized. He constructed an imaginary hundred-foot radius from the last footprint and decided to search that area meticulously, go over every single inch for a sign of a footprint, a torn piece of clothing …

      Ten minutes of hunting and shouting proved to be fruitless.

      “Where is he?” Jake asked nervously.

      “He’s somewhere around here,” Decker said. Despite his anxiety, he kept his voice steady. “We’ll find him, Jakey. Don’t worry … worry!”

      “Why doesn’t he answer?”

      “You know your brother. His head’s in the clouds.”

      Decker was not given to panic—his job required a detached mind and a cool head—but images began to form in his mind. Horrible images …

      “Sammy!” he shouted.

      “Maybe he hurt himself,” Jacob said. His bottom lip quivered.

      “I’m sure he’s fine, Kiddo,” Decker answered.

      But the grotesque images grew more vivid. The look of terror on Rina’s face—he’d seen her like that before …

      “Sammy, can you hear me!” he yelled.

      “Sammy!” Jake echoed, then turned to Decker, wild-eyed. “Peter, what are we gonna do?”

      “We’re going to find your brother, that’s what we’re going to do.” Kids, he thought. You need eyes in the back of your head. “Sammy!”

      “Peter, I’m scared.”

      “It’s going to be fine, Jakey,” Decker said.

      His responsibility. His fault.

      “Did you see or hear anything unusual while I was sleeping?” he asked Jake.

      The boy shook his head fiercely.

      “Then he’s got to be around somewhere. He’s just lost.” As opposed to kidnapped. “Sammy!”

      His voice was growing hoarse.

      All those kids. Those missing kids. He knew it all too well. Goddam dumb parents, he used to think. Yeah, they were goddam dumb. He was goddam dumb, too. Suddenly enraged, he ripped through the area like a wounded animal, trying to clear a path for himself and Jacob.

      The little boy started to cry. Decker picked him up, hugged him, and continued the search as Jake clung tightly to his neck.

      “Maybe we should head back, Peter,” Jake suggested, sniffing. “Maybe Sammy went back to where we were.”

      Decker knew otherwise. Sammy should have been able to hear their calls even if he were back at the campsite.

      “Sammy?” he tried once more.

      He needed help, the sooner the better. Lots of people … people … people was still plenty of daylight left, but no time to waste. He gave the empty woods a final once over and headed back toward camp.

      Suddenly, Ginger took off, her haunches leaping forward in a single fluid motion. The two of them raced after her and saw a small figure, shrouded by trees, standing over a thick clump of underbrush.

      Decker ran over to the shadow and grabbed it firmly by the shoulders.

      “Damn it, Sammy!” he said. “Didn’t you hear me calling you? You scared me half to death!” He clutched him to his chest. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

      The boy held himself rigid. Decker saw that his eyes were glazed.

      “What’s wrong with you? What happened?”

      “Yuck!” Jake spat out, staring into a pile of decayed foliage. Decker looked down.

      There were two charred skeletons. Except for the right shinbone, which was buried under leaves and dirt, the first skeleton was completely exposed, a blackened arm-bone and fist sticking straight up as if beckoning for a hand to hoist it to its feet. The skull and the breastbone bore holes the size of a silver dollar. Shreds of flesh were clinging to the torso, petrified and discolored from exposure.

      The second skeleton was partially buried, the ribcage and left legbone completely covered with dirt. A trail of leaves overflowed from the lower jaw, falling downward as if the dead mouth were vomiting detritus. Bits and pieces of charred skin stuck to the pelvis and limb bones, but unlike the first skeleton, the eye sockets and cracked skull retained dew-laden globs of jelly that glistened in the sunlight. Brain and eye. A cloud of flies and a mass of black beetles were feasting on the leftover morsels, unperturbed by the presence of intruders.

      Gently, Decker walked the boys away from the ghastly sight and swore to himself. Nothing like a vacation to remind him of work.

      “Are they real, Peter?” Sammy asked at last, his troubled eyes beseeching Decker.

      “Yes, they’re real.”

      “What are we gonna do?” Jake asked.

      “I think we should bentch gomel,” Sammy said quietly.

      “What’s that?” Decker asked.

      “It’s like what you say when you don’t get killed in a car crash, or like when you don’t die from the chicken pox.” Jacob looked up at Decker. “I don’t feel so good.”

      “Sit down, Jakey. Catch your breath.”

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