Lost. Helen R. Myers

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      11

      4:12 a.m.

      Michaele couldn’t sit for more than a minute or two at a time. Ever since Jared had left, she’d been moving from room to room, window to window, stopping every few minutes, tempted to reach for the phone to call and ask for an update. Surely it had been long enough to do that now?

      She glanced at the kitchen clock and uttered a deep-throated groan. No wonder she ached all over; she’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours. But no way did she dare lie down at this stage; even if she could fall asleep—which she doubted—she would never be able to rouse herself again in time to reopen the garage.

      “This has to end,” she muttered. “It has to.”

      She wondered again at why Jared had cut short their conversation. Sure, she’d heard Curtis on the radio, but that didn’t mean it had been about Faith. But what other reason could he have, not to have called her back by now?

      That’s it, Ramey. You’re overdosing on self-importance—

      At the sound of a vehicle, she immediately dashed to the kitchen door. Yanking it open, she saw that it was indeed Jared’s patrol car. For one instant her heart lifted with hope—only to plunge when she saw the empty passenger seat. She felt a strange sense of disconnection, until he started up the stairs; then she noted his expression was as ominous as she’d ever seen it. Except the time…

      “What is it?” she demanded.

      He didn’t reply, not until he was inside. How she held on to her temper, she didn’t know; probably because of his appearance. He looked as though he’d been rolled in mud and again in weeds.

      “We haven’t found her,” he finally announced.

      “Then why do you look as though you did, but can’t find the stomach to tell me?”

      “Because we do have…something. Her car.”

      Once, when she was thirteen, Buck had punched her in the belly. After she lost her lunch, Michaele had knocked him cold with the empty bottle at his feet, and when he’d come to, she’d vowed that if he ever touched her again, she’d have him arrested, and she and Faith would take their chances with foster care. Jared’s announcement brought that sickening pain back. Only, this time she couldn’t afford to lose it, not in front of him.

      “We had a call from Pete Fite,” he continued. “His dogs woke him. When they refused to calm down, he figured he had another coyote or worse after his stock.”

      “That doesn’t make sense. Her car at Pete’s place?”

      “The tags and VIN number check out. Also…Hell,” he muttered, looking as though he’d prefer to be anywhere but here. “There’s no other way to do this, but say it straight out. Her purse was in there, too.”

      Her mind refused to register what he was saying. She heard the words, but their meaning somehow would not pass through the icy morass that had shut down her brain.

      “Maybe you’d better sit down,” Jared told her.

      “You’ve been searching the woods out there, haven’t you?” she said with dawning realization. “Looking for her body.”

      “There’s every reason to assume she’s alive.”

      “You searched the woods!”

      “We had to!” His equally testy reply reverberated through the house. That seemed to shake him as much as it did her, and although he placed his hands on his hips, he said more calmly, “What you need to take comfort in is knowing we found nothing. There’s no evidence of violence—not in the car, not anywhere.”

      That СКАЧАТЬ