Miles said, “When I put Keely to bed while you were drying my clothes, she still had that blanket Hilda gave her at the hospital. She didn’t want to give it up.”
“She didn’t mention Oscar? That’s her rabbit. They’ve been inseparable since she was six months old.”
“She sleeps with her rabbit?”
“Oh, sure. Does Sam have a favorite animal he sleeps with?”
“Yes,” Miles said. “A big stuffed frog named Ollie. It’s really ratty, but Sam refuses to let it go.”
“Wait just a second.” Katie left the living room only to return a few seconds later, a big green frog under her arm. “Would you look at this sitting in her closet—her grandmother, my mother, gave it to her for Christmas last year. Maybe Sam would let it be a stand-in for Ollie.”
He smiled, the first one Katie had seen. “You have a name for the critter?”
“Oh yeah, she’s Marie.”
“Sam might not want a girl.”
“Trust me. Green isn’t girly. And you’ll make it Martin.”
She watched him close his eyes again, saw the tension flooding back over him, and waited. After a minute or so, he said, “Best I can tell, Sam was taken out of his own bed close to dawn, early Friday morning. It’s been like an unending nightmare.” He swallowed convulsively. Katie just let him talk.
“I went to get him up for school, and he wasn’t in his bed. I thought he was in the bathroom and I went yelling for him to hurry up. It took at least five minutes before I realized he was gone, that someone had taken him. My first thought was a sexual predator, and believe me, the FBI checked that out immediately. Then we all wondered if it was some sort of revenge—after all, I’d been in the FBI myself and captured some bad guys. Since I own a good-sized company, it could have been ransom. They spoke to my sister-in-law, to some of my employees, even a couple of friends. It all takes time, so they’d really just gotten started. But no matter what the agents said, no matter what they did, all I could think about was some child molester had gotten him.”
His voice broke. He opened his eyes. “I wanted to hope, to believe that the FBI would get him back, but there have been so many kidnappings, and the kids either disappear forever or they’re found dead. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“I’ll bet. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if it were Keely.” She shook her head. “Did Sam tell you that his mama got him moving when Beau and Clancy had him at the cabin?”
“No, he hasn’t had time to tell me everything yet.”
“I hope your wife is all right.”
“His mother has been dead for two years now, a car accident.”
“Oh, I’m so very sorry; Sam never told me.”
He smiled wearily. “It’s all right. He doesn’t talk about it yet. His mom speaks to him every so often; funny thing is, sometimes she talks to me, too. Of course it’s just in my head, when I’m stressed out or something, and I have a problem that’s all muddled in my mind, but if she spoke to Sam to help him get away, good for her.” He shrugged. “Maybe, somehow, he needed her to help him help himself. And so he did. Can you tell me what happened, Sheriff?”
“Sure. Let me tell you about Sam’s great escape.” She spoke for maybe two minutes, then realized her audience had nodded off. She leaned down and lightly shook his shoulder. He came awake instantly, a flash of fear, then relief that Sam was okay.
“It’s time for bed, Miles. I don’t think my sweats would work for you as well as they do for Sam. We can go shopping tomorrow for both of you. There’s a bathroom right beside Sam’s room. When my dad was alive he used to visit, so you’ll find guy stuff in there.”
“Thank you, Katie.” She watched him walk from the living room. He was a big man, fit and runner-lean, dark-haired and dark-eyed, looking rather silly with a green frog tucked under his right arm. He looked like exhaustion walking. And the oddest thing was, she felt like she’d known him for a good long time, and it felt good.
After a long hot shower, Katie checked Keely’s room. Her daughter was smiling in her sleep, Oscar lying tightly squeezed to her chest, one floppy ear showing above the blanket Hilda had given her.
Katie climbed into bed with one more thing to do before she let her brain go. She opened her laptop and went to the NCIC, the National Crime Information Center, the FBI’s national criminal database that could be accessed by local law enforcement. The late Beauregard Jones was a career hood who hailed from Denton, Texas, a three-time loser, with warrants that could have put him in jail for the rest of his miserable life, if it weren’t over already. She couldn’t find anything about kidnapping or about any family in or near Tennessee.