Nine children from the elite, private Condon Academy. Returning from a field trip to the state capitol building. The bus never made it back to the school. No kids. No driver. No bus.

Until thirteen-year-old Chris Jacobs walked out of the forest two years later on the other side of the Cascade Mountain Range. Emaciated. Near death. No memory.

“You think this is the place,” Michael stated.

Lusco’s phone beeped, and he stepped away to answer.

Michael held Callahan’s gaze and saw something briefly soften in the cop’s face. “We don’t know,” Callahan repeated carefully. “What my gut says and what the facts are might be two different things.”

“Callahan.” Lusco was staring at the screen of his phone. He looked up, amazement crossing his face. “They just found a decrepit bus in the woods a quarter mile south of here.”

Michael looked at Callahan. “What’s your gut say now?”

“I don’t understand. If that is the place…where is…Daniel?” Michael’s mother whispered.

Michael hadn’t wanted to tell her. She didn’t look good. She hadn’t looked good for months, and Michael still hadn’t come to grips with the fact that Cecilia Brody might die. The Senator sat beside her on the huge bed, gripping her hand. He was never “Dad” or “Father.” He was “Sir” or “The Senator.” Michael had always pictured the title with capital letters, and he’d often written it that way as a child.

The frail woman in the bed couldn’t be his mother. Michael closed his eyes. His mother was head of surgery at the prestigious teaching hospital on the hill overlooking Portland. She had been the head, he reminded himself. She’d stepped down since her diagnosis. For the past three months, The Senator had been in Oregon more than Michael could ever remember. He’d often wondered what it’d take to keep his father out of Washington DC for an extended period of time. Cecilia had refused to give up her important position at the hospital when her husband was elected, so Maxwell Brody had continuously flown back and forth across the country for twenty-five years.

A tough woman, Cecilia had devoted her energy to her hospital, relying on nannies and private schools to raise her two boys. Working long hours and flying to DC when her husband needed her to make a social appearance. Now she spent ninety percent of her time in her bedroom; a room where Michael had always felt like he’d stepped into an overpriced hotel and shouldn’t stand on the expensive area rugs. He glanced down and shifted his feet onto the hardwood.

“They’re still looking, right?” The Senator barked. “They haven’t finished yet?”

Michael nodded. “Once they found the bus yesterday, they expanded the search area. They’re still looking for one more set of remains…Daniel.”

Cecilia leaned back against the pale peach pillows and closed her eyes. The Senator glared daggers at Michael, and Michael steadily held his gaze. The Senator had a habit of blaming the messenger, but Michael had learned to ignore it. If anything, the glare showed The Senator’s devotion to his wife. That was good. Devotion was good.

Too bad there wasn’t enough for anyone else.

Finding the missing bus outside the farm had been a coup. Michael had seen some cops giving high fives and others relating the old story to the younger cops. Callahan and Lusco had practically run to the site. Far back in the woods to the south, an ancient outbuilding had hidden a secret for twenty years. The school bus was one of the short ones, not the giant long buses most kids ride. Michael had hated riding the bus on field trips because outsiders assumed the kids on board were handicapped. It was the only bus the small academy had owned; it didn’t offer bus service. All the children had been driven to and picked up from school. Some in limousines. Michael and Daniel were usually dropped off by the housekeeper or gardener.

The frail outbuilding had collapsed onto the bus. A mass of moss, bushes, and overgrown trees hid the building from a casual passerby. Not that anyone ever passed it by. The misshapen building was completely isolated. The narrow access road probably hadn’t been used since the bus had been abandoned. Hidden.

No children were in the bus.

The Senator rubbed at his wife’s hand, and her eyes opened, meeting her husband’s gaze. She gave him a faint smile, reassurance. The intimate moment stretched, and Michael felt like they’d completely forgotten he existed. It wasn’t a foreign sensation.

Michael had been told a million times his parents were a handsome couple. They still were. His father was tall, silver, and imposing with a direct green gaze that mirrored Michael’s. Cecilia was elegant and slender, always perfectly dressed, frequently surprising strangers with the iron will that hid beneath the soft surface. Successful. Wealthy. Perfect.

The only flaw in their perfect lives had been the disappearance of their second son, Daniel. He’d been eleven years old to Michael’s thirteen when he’d vanished with a group of schoolmates. Michael’s memories of that time were a blur. Police, news cameras, reporters, more police. The kidnapping of the son of Oregon’s junior senator had made national headlines for weeks. Then faded away as no sightings of the children or their bus driver emerged. No confirmed sightings. Unconfirmed sightings had placed the bus in Mexico, Canada, and Brazil.

Chris Jacobs had appeared two years later, and the story flared up again. The boy had been no help. He’d spent months in the hospital, part of the time in a coma, and more months in therapy for head injuries. His parents had kept the cameras and reporters away, defending their privacy.