Callahan nodded, disappointment briefly touching his eyes.

Michael understood. He’d hoped the detective had been wrong, too.

“Anything to offer an explanation for those adult remains?” Lusco broke the silence.

Callahan’s face told nothing. “Possibly.”

Michael wanted to grab the detective and shake him, yell at him to spill every word about what he’d seen in that underground prison. Instead, he held tight to Lacey’s tiny hand. The diamond on her engagement ring dug into his palm.

“Do the other backpacks appear to belong to the other children we…found?” Lacey’s soft voice cracked.

Callahan nodded. “Each one is labeled with the child’s name. Clearly marked on the outside in black marker.”

“Wait a minute.” Michael shook his head. “No. They weren’t marked. It’s unsafe to have a kid’s name plastered across his backpack where anyone could learn his name. The school wouldn’t allow that. Sane parents wouldn’t allow that.” Lacey nodded her head in agreement.

A look of distaste crossed Callahan’s face. “Someone wrote on the packs. The print seemed the same on each one. I assumed it’d been done at their school.”

Michael felt Lacey’s hand give an abrupt quiver.

“He did it. He wrote on them. Why would he do that?” she whispered. “Did he want us to find them? Know we’d found the right place? Or was it for a reason back then? A way to tell them apart.”

Michael briefly closed his eyes. “I don’t know, Lace.”

“Those children. All those children.” Tears sounded in the back of her throat.

Lusco spoke slowly. “Looks like we’ve got our definitive connection. This is a single investigation.”

Michael met Lusco’s gaze and then Callahan’s. “We…you could use a witness. Did you ask Jamie Jacobs where her brother is?”

Lusco looked surprised, but Callahan didn’t blink. “Leave the Jacobs woman alone. We’ll find Chris Jacobs and question him again. You don’t need to go hunting for him.”

Michael should have known Callahan was keeping an eye on him. “No problem. I’ll stay away from her brother.”

Jamie Jacobs was another matter.

The man stared at the Yahoo! news stories.

Adults? They were finding the bodies of adults? What the hell?

He stood and crossed over to the bottle of single malt he kept handy to impress guests. He poured a generous drink and swore at his shaking hand. He threw back the scotch and relished the smooth burn on his throat. Inhaling deep and meeting his gaze in the mirror, he waited for the calm to flow through him.

He’d interfered with several people’s lives so long ago, but he’d never felt bad. Not at all. If he hadn’t acted, what would have happened? Sometimes a few need to suffer for the greater good. He’d done the right thing.

Twenty years.

Secrets had been hidden for twenty years. And now they were exploding out of the ground like land mines. One small trip wire had set off a chain reaction.

The chain would never connect to him. He flicked a speck off his jacket shoulder and straightened his tie, lifting his chin. Never. He’d prepared too well. He’d taken every precaution, and the chain would end right where he wanted it to. He’d picked the perfect scapegoat.

Empowered, he stepped over to his desk and hit a button on the phone.

“Sir?” The voice was tinny through the speaker.

“In my office, please. We’ve got a situation.”

“Right away, sir.”

The old man gazed at Chris with shrewd eyes that nearly glowed in the dark of the evening. “This the real thing or another practice run?”

Chris shook his head. “Don’t know,” he lied. “Doesn’t matter. Same rules apply.”

Dark eyes held his for a second and then looked to the boy wrestling with the rangy yellow dog in the feeble light from a single light bulb. “The room’s ready.”

Chris nodded. “I appreciate it.” He sucked in a deep breath, gaze automatically checking the shadows of the shop. Juan’s bakery was ancient. The equipment had been old when Juan’s father opened up shop. He kept the place spotless. No dust dared spend any time on his floor or shelves. This time of night the single room was still, but the smell of fresh bread lingered heavily in the air. His mouth watered.

A cackle answered him. “You’ve paid me well. Wouldn’t be able to keep the shop open without your rent.” He snorted. “Rent for a room that you never use.”

“We’ve been there a time or two.” Chris handed over some bills. The money didn’t matter to him. It was like payment on an insurance policy. He was purchasing peace of mind.

He could watch the cameras positioned around his home from his computer. And wait. See who would come looking for him. See whom the stories shook out of the brush, moved to action. No one knew he rented the room. Juan lived alone and had been sworn to secrecy. Chris had noticed the window above the shop four years ago and had convinced the old man to let him borrow the space. It was a win-win situation. Juan kept his shop, and Chris felt safe.

The question was, how hard would he be looked for? If he put the old man in danger, he’d never forgive himself. The dog splayed his front legs and bent low to the ground, giving a playful growl. His son gave a high-pitched giggle and growled back. Chris silently watched.

He’d die before danger touched his son.