A murmur of agreement went through the group. They were still smarting from the fake ransom note.

“Are there cameras here?” Mason asked.

“No,” said Sanford.

Too bad.

Sanford was studying him intently. Mason raised a brow at him.

“You surviving away from the job?” Sanford asked.

Mason froze. Was that an insult or a genuine question? “Not an issue.”

“There are a lot of rumors out there,” Sanford probed a bit more. The other agents looked at Mason with interest. Beside him, Ava stiffened, and Mason felt her annoyance zero in on Sanford.

ASAC Duncan had stepped out of the group to talk to the local police. Duncan knew everything that was going on with Mason’s work situation. Apparently Sanford had heard some side talk, or Duncan had brought him up to date. Either way, he was being a deliberate dick.

“There’s always rumors,” Mason said. Don’t let him know that he’s irritating you.

“Any idiot could see that the fingerprint evidence is pretty strong,” pushed Sanford.

“An idiot did,” answered Mason with a touch to the brim of his hat. Ava quivered as she swallowed a laugh.

Sanford had the grace to smile.

A chorus of shouts from the edge of the field grabbed the group’s attention. As one, the agents and Mason moved in the direction of the noise. As they drew closer, Mason saw a field investigator with two small white objects in her hands.

Mason squinted. Socks. Someone had found a pair of small white socks. Exactly what Robin had written on Henley’s clothing list from the day she vanished. Drawing closer, he could see the brown splotches on the white. Dirt or blood?

“Oh no,” Ava breathed.

20

72 HOURS MISSING

“What happened? How long have we been gone?” Ava asked as she eased down the street in front of the Fairbanks home. The media presence had tripled. Vans, people, cameras. It was nearly eight in the morning, and Ava was feeling the lack of sleep and the exhausting effects of standing at a crime scene for four hours and then riding downtown to retrieve her car.

Beside her Mason stared out the windshield. “Holy cow. Did they find out about the rest stop?” By some miracle, no media had turned up at the rest stop. For once, everyone who was supposed to keep their mouth shut did.

Ava honked her horn at the cameramen blocking the drive. They parted but turned their lenses their way. Some of the reporters started to shout and moved their microphones closer to her car. But they weren’t looking at her. They were looking at Mason.

“Detective Callahan!” Ava heard the shouts through the window.

Oh no. They found out he’s been put on administrative leave.

She stole a look at Mason. His lips were pressed together, and he tugged his hat down an eighth of an inch closer to his eyes. He said nothing. She saw his Adam’s apple move in his throat as he swallowed hard, and her stomach tied in knots. Nothing was worse than hungry reporters wanting a bite of you.

She pressed on the gas and the car surged, scattering the reporters. She drove to the far side of the home and parked out of sight of the vultures. She turned off the car and sat quietly.

“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag,” Mason stated.

“It doesn’t change anything,” said Ava.

“Yes, it does. It applies pressure to my department to take some action. They may have placed me on administrative leave, but the public will want something bigger. Like my beheading.”

“You haven’t been charged with anything. And you won’t be.”

Mason nodded. “I know. I didn’t kill anyone this time.”

His words stung, and she wanted to ease his pain. He’d offered her an intimate look at his soul last night in a way she suspected hadn’t happened in a decade or two. He was human. He’d buried his mistakes and moved on, but current events had ripped them out of the dirt and brought them up to the surface, their pain as fresh as the day they’d happened.

His ex-wife, his son, his career.

“We need to go in,” she said. Henley had been missing for just over seventy-two hours. Her window of survivability was shrinking exponentially. “Are you ready to talk to them?”

Mason had called and warned the family a half hour ago, letting them know new evidence had been found at the rest stop, but that nothing had led them to Henley. Yet.

“Yes, this is what’s important.”

She took his hand. “You’re important. You’re a good man and a good cop. You give a crap about what happens to people. It’s a tragedy that your hands are tied when you could be helping more people. I’m glad you’re here to help me.”

Brown eyes studied her. “We make a pretty good team. Too bad you’re a fed.”

She smiled. “Does that affect anything?” she asked lightly, holding her breath for his answer. Sometimes men couldn’t deal with her title and position. Especially cops. They felt like they had to prove their jobs were as important as hers.

“Not at all.”

She believed him. “Good.”

He got out of the car, and she followed him into the home. Lilian, Robin, Lucas, and Jake were in the breakfast nook of the kitchen. The house was warm and smelled of spices. Robin pulled a tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven as Ava and Mason joined them. The only people who looked interested in the food were the two cops hovering in the background. The family was tired of sweets.

Ava pulled the eight-by-ten photos out of a folder and set them on the table. Lucas spread them out. Images of the front and back of the pink sweatshirt and the socks. To Ava, the bloodstains glowed. Lilian caught her breath. “Yes, that’s the same sweatshirt as Henley’s.”