“Holy crap,” muttered Spencer. “We need to find Chris Jacobs before your tattoo man does.”

“I wouldn’t mind finding Mr. Tattoo first. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” Michael forced back the anger that tightened his throat.

“Do you think you were followed from the city? Obviously, someone found the house before you, but that’s only because I told you to wait till this morning so you had some light. Do you remember seeing anyone?” Sheriff Spencer asked.

Michael shook his head and looked to Jamie. She looked ready to puke. He knew she was thinking they’d led a killer directly to her brother and his son.

“I’ve tried to find Chris through all the usual and unusual online searches. He doesn’t exist on paper or in cyberspace. I don’t know how anyone else could have found him unless they were following us.”

“Anyone else know you were headed over here? You tell anyone your plans?” Hove asked.

Michael shook his head. “Callahan at OSP knew we were following a pretty good lead, but I didn’t give him any specifics, and he didn’t ask.” He smiled wryly. “Callahan knows I’d tell him if I had something concrete. And concrete means I’ve looked Chris in the eye and shook his hand to be certain he’s real. I don’t give out or print information unless I’ve checked and triple-checked it.”

“Print?” Hove frowned.

Michael looked the red-haired officer in the eye. “I’m a reporter for the Oregonian. I’m not looking for a story. I’m looking for personal answers; I’m looking for my own brother.”

He felt Jamie take his hand and give a small squeeze.

Hove’s expression relaxed. A bit.

Michael was going to find Chris. And Chris would tell him what’d happened to Daniel.

Jamie didn’t want to see the murdered old man. The description by the sheriff had been more than enough. She didn’t need an actual look. And she knew she was right about who’d done the murder. It had to be the same man who’d attacked her.

It could have been my death that cops were standing around and discussing.

Jamie’s chest quaked, and she concentrated on breathing evenly. She’d fought back against the tattooed man. She’d survived.

But would he be back? And did he have Chris and Brian?

She closed her eyes, tuned out the cop talk, and leaned into Michael, inhaling his scent. Male, strong, protective. She took a few deep breaths and felt his energy flow into her, calming her and giving her strength. He was a power source that she simply touched to recharge. Her phone beeped. She moved away from the discussion and saw that Detective Callahan was calling. Her heart double thumped, and her fingers clenched at the phone.

“Hello, Detective.”

“Ms. Jacobs. Sorry to be bothering you. I wanted—”

“Detective, has anyone called you about this morning? About the old man who was killed in Demming?”

“What?”

Jamie closed her eyes. “I didn’t think so. Michael just told the OSP officer that someone needed to contact you.”

“What the hell happened?” He nearly roared in her ear.

“I’ll let the police tell you everything, but the short version is we found Chris’s house and it’d been torn apart just like mine. Chris and his son were gone.” Her heart was threatening to pound its way out of her chest. “Then this morning the police discovered a friend of Chris’s in town had been murdered and t-t-tortured. It looks like Chris has been here. But I know he didn’t do it. I think the same man—”

“Our tattooed man? You think he was there?”

“Yes,” Jamie said, thankful Callahan could read her mind.

“Crap. You think he followed you guys?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t tell anyone where we were going. Neither did Michael. I asked a neighbor to watch the cat but didn’t say anything. We were in such a big hurry.”

Jamie could hear Callahan speaking to someone in the background. A second male voice rumbled in answer. He came back on the line. “Who’s there from OSP?”

She glanced at the pale officer and checked his name tag. His name had completely escaped her brain. “Hove.”

“Okay. I’ll get a hold of him. But hang on a minute. I was calling to ask you about the tattoo guy. Anything else that you remembered about him? Anything descriptive?”

Jamie’s mind was spinning at insane speeds. “I don’t know. No, I can’t think of anything new.”

Callahan paused. “I was looking back over the officer’s notes. The part about where you said you thought he dyed his hair and wore colored contacts?”

“I still feel that way,” she started to say. “I don’t know how to explain—”

“You felt his coloring was unnatural.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“What about his skin color?”

Jamie thought hard. “He was so covered up…”

“But you saw his hands. His wrists where the tattoos were.”

She could see the tattoos in her mind. She slid her view down to his fingers. Pale. Pink fingertips. Very pale hands. “Very light-skinned. Really white, I’d say.”

“Would you say unnaturally pale?” Callahan prodded.

She thought of the tattooed man’s face. “I don’t remember his face being so pale.”

“Could you see his neck?”