Chapter 13
Thirteen
Jackson watched Mia get into her car and follow Jason’s cruiser.
His chest felt hollow. He’d wanted to push to go with her, but at the same time, he needed to be here while the search for Dylan and Reggie continued.
There was something hinky about that foundation.
It just wasn’t possible that three kids from the same camp could vanish, especially since they hadn’t all gone missing at the same time.
Not to mention, one of the men running it was a known offender.
But they had all come home from camp, and as far as he knew, none of them had said anything to raise any concerns in their homes. Dylan had raved about the camp when Jackson had taken him to lunch the day after he’d gotten back.
Please, God. Let that not be the last time. Help me find my brother. And Reggie. And any other kids who’ve gone missing.
What had the cops said? They were targeting kids no one would miss? That burned. Dylan was in foster care, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have anyone who loved him. Jackson clenched his fists and shoved them into his pockets. The posture made his side ache, but he ignored the sensation.
And Reggie’s family had issues, but Reggie was important too. All God’s children were precious.
He turned his thoughts back to the foundation—apparently the one connection to the camp the missing kids had all attended.
The lack of a website rang more alarms. What confused him was that Mia had eventually been paid.
He didn’t like that at all, but every instinct screamed that she was telling the truth.
Mia was a complicated woman, but he didn’t think she had it in her to get tangled up in anything as vile as human trafficking—no matter what she might have done, who her parents were, or what history they shared.
That was one accusation he could never believe.
Whether the police believed her or not, however, was beyond his control. She might have to prove she was innocent. Could she afford a lawyer? Probably not. After all, she’d taken the counselor position to earn money to finish her degree.
He’d never asked what degree she was going for, but it hardly felt urgent now.
He needed to be with the search and rescue team.
He stalked into the woods, following the recent footprints in the slightly damp earth.
Branches swiped at his arms and legs, grabbing at him to hold him back.
He wanted to move faster, but rocks, uneven ground, and roots posed serious tripping hazards.
The sunlight faltered. It couldn’t push through the foliage.
The temperature dropped a couple degrees.
“Jackson. Glad you could join us,” Sierra said. Her long dark hair had been secured into a tight braid. Sierra was petite, but no one who knew her made the mistake of thinking she was weak. Her boots and jeans had seen better days, but she was dressed for a long search.
He hoped it wouldn’t take long. Those boys had already been missing for seven days.
“Sierra, what are we doing?” Jackson didn’t waste time with idle chatter. They needed to move.
“We’re doing a straight sweep.” She gestured with her arms, outlining the search pattern and the parameters.
They were spread out in a line, shoulder to shoulder, each person no more than five feet from the next.
They kept a steady pace, making sure every gap between trees, fallen logs, and brush piles was searched.
At regular intervals, he called for a “mark check,” and each member responded in turn, ensuring no one had drifted from the line.
He knew they would move in one direction until they hit the far boundary, then pivot and sweep back the other way. It was time-consuming and exhausting both physically and emotionally, but it was the most effective way to ensure nothing was missed.
They’d been searching for two hours when members of the local police stations pulled in.
Jackson turned his head and saw Captain Bruce Balluff from the Southwold station stride onto the scene.
His familiar five-foot-eight frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and slightly stooped shoulders made him instantly recognizable.
Within seconds, his deep voice echoed through the woods, calling out encouragement and orders. Normally, he wore a friendly grin. Today, deep lines were carved into his face near the corners of his mouth.
Missing kids hit everyone hard.
“Dylan! Reggie!” Echoed through the air in all directions.
By the third hour, firefighters from both the city and the volunteer fire departments were helping comb the area. A few of the firefighters brought thermal imagers to scan shaded thickets and fallen trunks, while others used long poles to probe hidden hollows.
Three hours later, they had completed the sweep of the entire section of woods. Dylan’s backpack and key chain remained the only clues. Wherever the boys had been, they were no longer here.
The one gain from those grueling hours was that local law enforcement finally recognized it was possible Dylan and Reggie hadn’t run away. No one said it outright, but the signs of struggle and the personal items left behind seemed to have shifted their thinking.
Jackson returned to his house that afternoon filthy, tired, hungry, and hollow inside.
He slumped on the faded dark-blue sofa in the living room and stared at the five-shelf bookshelf he’d made by hand, nearly overflowing with paperbacks in a variety of genres.
If Dylan had been taken, he could be anywhere—maybe not even in the country.
The thought burned in his chest like acid.
So many questions. Guilt stabbed him. How much of Dylan’s disappearance was his fault? It seemed like his entire life, he’d let people down to the point where they’d abandoned him.
He wanted to collapse and give in to the grief threatening to crush him, but he couldn’t. His brother needed him.
Something Mia had said came back to him—the flyer from a teacher at school. Jackson texted Jason.
Jackson
Got a minute to talk?
A couple of minutes later, Jason called. “Hey, we still have Mia here. What do you need?”
Jackson grimaced. Jane wouldn’t be happy that Mia still wasn’t home, but Mia was a grown woman, and she had made it clear she could take care of herself.
It was hard, though, knowing that she was facing this without anyone supporting her.
She’d come to help him, and then he’d let her go off on her own.
Except, finding Dylan was critical. Mia understood that.
“I was thinking about that teacher Mia mentioned,” Jackson said, recalling the conversation. “The one who gave her the flyer about the foundation. I find it rather suspicious.”
“I’m already ahead of you,” Jason replied. “We’re investigating him. Got a warrant to search his computer and his home. That’s all I can tell you for now.”
“I guess that’s all I can expect.”
There was a pause before Jason added, “I’ve also got a warrant to search Mia’s stuff and her home. Because her being a counselor at this camp is not looking good for her.”
Jackson wanted to protest, but instead said, “I get it. You have to do what you have to do. But I’m telling you, buddy—I don’t think she’s involved. I think she’s another victim.”
“That’s quite possible,” Jason said, “but until we know for sure, she’s a suspect.”
He hung up. Jackson got up and meandered into his small, efficient kitchen. He pulled out a notebook and began to write a list of everything they’d learned so far. He’d call Mia to check on her later, then they could compare notes and see if there was anything they’d missed.
Despite what the cops believed, he trusted her. He’d seen how hard she’d taken it when she’d found out a student had disappeared.
They’d both changed in the past decade, but he was wrong about one thing: The integrity he’d once thought she’d lost had never gone away. Mia Turner was genuine, and if anyone wanted to find those kids as much as he did, it was her.
Mia’s leg bounced up and down as she sat in the hard chair at the table. She cradled the bottled water they’d given her in her hands—not because she was thirsty but because she needed to do something.
She’d never been in a room so cold and barren. Off-white walls. No pictures. The only furniture in the room was a rectangular table with a black surface and two wooden chairs on either side, and she sat facing what she was sure was a two-way window.
She bit back a sarcastic comment. Snark was her go-to attitude when she felt trapped. But she couldn’t give in. Not here.
“You have a lot of weapons, Miss Turner. I see you own several guns, a crossbow, and you’re a regular visitor to the shooting range.
” The lieutenant—Lieutenant Coleson, according to his badge—turned a page in the file he had in front of him.
She could see a printed list. On the next page, images of the weapons she owned taunted her.
“I’m a single woman. I need to be able to defend myself.” Mia forced herself to speak in a level voice. “My guns are all registered.”
Yes, sir, I follow the law. I am a responsible citizen.
“Mm-hmm. Martial arts too.”
She wouldn’t apologize for that. She wasn’t a black belt, but again, she could, and would, defend herself.
“Why did you encourage Dylan and Reggie to attend this camp? You claim you’d never heard of the foundation that sponsored it before.”
She closed her lips to hold in an explosive sigh.
She’d already been over this. Several times.
In fact, she had gone over all the events of the past few days multiple times.
She told them how she’d learned about the camp, how she and Jackson had started working together, what she had done in the past few days to try to find Dylan, and how they had been chased in the woods and found the body.
She just wanted to go home.
It didn’t look like that was going to happen anytime soon.