“We haven’t found any family yet,” Hove replied with a swipe at the sweat on his forehead. “Spencer has someone looking into it, but they’re coming up empty so far.”

“Say what?” Spencer exclaimed into his cell, pulling the attention of the group. He turned to make eye contact with Hove but kept listening on the phone. “Where’d they find him?”

Spencer clenched his jaw, and his chest expanded. Michael saw his hand tighten around the cell. Every cop in the area perked up as if a strong scent had entered the air. Michael felt the hair rise on his arms. Jamie’s hand gripped his arm, and he stepped behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders, feeling her tremble, her breathing escalating.

Chris?

Spencer shoved his phone in a pocket. “A kid’s been killed. His mom found him in their garage a few minutes ago. Looks like he was shot.”

“A kid?” Jamie gasped. Michael held on tighter to her shoulders.

“A teenager. Ethan Buell.”

Michael felt Jamie deflate. Thank God. But that poor mother.

“Ethan works at the gas station. He was on duty yesterday when you two got to town.” Spencer gave Michael a hard look.

“We didn’t fill up here,” Michael said. What was Spencer getting at? Was he implying—

“Ethan’s a good kid. Friendly and outgoing. Has a tendency to talk a lot.”

Something clicked in Michael’s brain. “You think he got a good look at our suspect? Maybe asked him too many questions?”

“I’ve got two dead people in twenty-four hours in a town where no one has been murdered in almost a decade. Do I think there’s a connection? You bet your ass I do. Now I’m changing my mind on you two leaving town today. Plan to stick around a bit.” Spencer looked at Hove, who was dialing his phone. “Looks like we’ve got a murder weapon left at the Buell scene. A Ruger revolver. Damn thing’s like twelve inches long.” He paused and looked at Michael and Jamie.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t like revolvers,” Michael muttered.

“No, my officer on the scene is saying it looks like one that Chris Jacobs has used for practice on the firing range.”

“That’s bullshit!” Jamie yanked out of Michael’s grasp and stepped forward. “You can’t say it looks like someone’s gun. This is Hicksville out here. Everyone owns a gun or five. Don’t even think about Chris for that boy’s death without better evidence.”

“I didn’t say that.” Spencer stepped back, startled by Jamie’s vehemence.

“You just did!”

Michael kept his mouth shut. Spencer had just stuck his foot in his own mouth, and Jamie was efficiently taking him to town for it.

“If he was working at the gas station, shouldn’t there be video from yesterday? Can’t you see who he talked with? Maybe even see license plates?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Like you said, ma’am. This is Hicksville. And I doubt Jim Graham ever put video surveillance up at his gas station. But I will definitely find out.”

Jamie stepped back. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’m a bit protective when it comes to my brother, and I’m tired and—”

“It’s been a long morning,” added Michael.

“God, yes,” sighed Jamie.

Sheriff Spencer touched the brim of his hat at Jamie. “Not a problem. I need to get over to the Buell home. Sergeant? Can I get another evidence team? Or should I just wait on these guys?”

Hove headed into the bakery. “I’ll see how things are coming here and let you know,” he said over his shoulder.

Spencer touched his hat again and left. Jamie leaned against Michael. She was worn out. He was worn out. It was damned hot, dry, and dusty, and all he wanted to do was crawl into a cool bed with Jamie and hold her.

“Hungry, princess?”

Jamie shook her head. “I can’t believe that boy was killed. When he first said a kid, I thought—”

“I thought the same thing. I thought for sure it was Brian. Although, before he got off the phone, I thought they’d found Chris. And not found him in a good way.”

“He’s still alive. I can feel it,” said Jamie. “That man hasn’t gotten to him yet. Do you think that boy saw the tattooed man at the gas station? And told him how to find Chris?”

“I don’t know. Somehow Tattoo found Chris before us. He might have followed us from Portland, but we didn’t lead him directly to Chris. I have to think he asked somebody.”

“We have to find him first. Where do we start?”

“That’s the magic question.”

“I’m ready to go back to the hotel. Actually, I’m ready to go home and see if Chris has turned up there, but—”

“Hey, Brody.” Hove stepped out of the bakery. He had on purple nitrile gloves and held a few papers in his hands. “Can you two look at these real quick?”

Hove held a child’s drawings. Without touching them, Michael and Jamie studied the crayon pictures as Hove shuffled through them. There were pictures of animals, not certain what types of animals, but Michael guessed dogs by the ears and tails. A picture of Chris’s home, obvious by the tan paint and tall fir trees. Another picture was a man, woman, and boy all holding hands. The woman had wings.

“Oh,” gasped Jamie. “It’s his mother. Chris must tell him she’s an angel. How lovely.” Her voice cracked.