His stomach swirled, a deep dread emerging. No, not now. “How long ago?”

Lacey shook her head. “I don’t know when they died. Long enough. They’ve been underground long enough to leave nothing but brown bones.” Her chocolate eyes filled, and she wiped a dusty wrist under her nose. “So far we’ve found seven. They’re so small…” Her voice faded.

His hands were on her shoulders, squeezing. “Any boys?” he asked hoarsely. He could feel his marrow quake. Several children…something in his gut told him this was the place. This was the place.

“Well, yes. Two, for certain. It’s hard to tell on some of the youngest. For now we’re sort of going by what’s left of the hair and their shoes…” She grabbed at his arms as her eyes widened. “Oh God, Michael. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think…you don’t think…”

“I always think about it, Lace. Every time I hear about child remains, I think about it.”

She stepped forward and pressed her cheek against his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. Michael bent his head and wished her cap wasn’t in the way. Right now he’d like to sink his nose into her hair, get lost in her female scent, and simply forget. She had the power to do that for him, but he no longer had the right to take it.

Daniel. His brain screamed with his brother’s name, images of the boy ricocheting through his skull. Images that had slowly faded over twenty years. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing the images to sharpen, come alive.

“The ME’s office already has Daniel’s dental records, right?” Lacey sniffed as she stepped back to look him in the eye.

He could only nod.

“I’ll check them first thing, Michael.” She slipped her phone out of her pocket and turned it on. “I’ll have Sara scan them and send them to me right now. That way I can at least try to rule them out against what we’ve found.” She froze mid-dial. “I don’t know how many bodies there will be…my gut tells me there are more children out there.”

“There’ll be eight,” he whispered.

Michael couldn’t relax. Sitting still while others were working their butts off was making him antsy. He wanted to jump in and help. But he had no role in the excavation.

“Why don’t you go home?” Lacey asked Michael for the tenth time. “I’ll call you if something comes up. There’s no point for you to be sitting here waiting and waiting. It’s not going to speed things up.” Hands on her hips, she glared at Michael as he petted the German shepherd in the shade of one of the little tents.

He shook his head, avoided her eyes, and buried his hand in Queenie’s soft fur. The dog’s tongue lolled in joy. Rule one in an argument with Lacey: Keep your mouth shut. Drove her crazy.

He’d watched her fiancé slowly learn the trick over the last few months. At first the poor sap had actually tried to win arguments with the woman. Impossible.

She huffed at him and turned her attention back to the tiny mandible a tech had placed in her hands moments before. “Too young,” she muttered, and Michael’s spine relaxed. Barely.

But the happy cadaver dog under his fingers had hit on another spot thirty minutes ago, and that Amazon of a woman, Dr. Peres, was supervising the beginning of the unearthing. Fucking amazing dog. Michael had witnessed a lot of things in his life, but watching the dog scent death below the dirt had blown his mind.

The handler, a graying, earthy woman who talked a mile a minute, had been working a grid pattern when the dog abruptly sat and refused to move. A hit. Sherrine had rubbed the dog’s head and given her a hug, gently backing her away from the place of the hit. Sherrine had nodded at a uniform, and he drove a pole a foot into the dirt at the spot three times, leaving small openings over the area.

Michael wondered how many times Sherrine and the cop had gone through the morbid routine. She’d led Queenie by the holes again, where the dog took one sniff, promptly sat, and wouldn’t budge.

No question.

“The holes let out more of the scent,” Lacey had whispered at his side. The cop had promptly whipped out stakes and tape and cordoned off another sad square. Crime scene techs covered the dusty farm like ants. Oregon State Police had thrown everything they had at the site. Skeletons of multiple children motivated everyone.

Now Michael restlessly patted Queenie and waited for the results of the current find. Sherrine returned with three bottled waters. “Thirsty?”

Michael took one of the bottles with a nod. Lacey took the other and ground her heel into his shoe. “Wha—thanks for the water, Sherrine,” he muttered.

The woman chortled and winked at Lacey. Sherrine pulled a collapsible dish out of her backpack and poured half her bottle into the dish for the dog.

“You don’t work for the state police, do you?” Michael asked.

Sherrine shook her head. “Private contractor. Queenie and I have helped out dozens of times. State police, counties all over the state, and at least ten other states.” The talkative woman paused to count silently on her fingers. “Thirteen other states, actually. We had a fascinating case last month in Washington. I’d never officially tried Queenie over water. We’d trained for it, but never had needed to use the skill. She found a missing boater trapped between rocks below twenty feet of water.” The woman frowned. “Too late, of course. He’d been missing for three days. We’ve done searches in Idaho, Nevada—”