Burns.
The agent studied her with flat eyes. “What do you know about Ryder?”
“What’s that got to do with this situation?”
Burns stared at her like a hawk at a mouse.
Laney shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. “He’s a terrific school principal.”
“That’s it?”
“I’ve only been here one school term. It’s not like we hang out socially.” Not that she wouldn’t like to, but that was none of Burns’s business.
The agent twirled a paper clip between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t place any confidence in him to figure this out for you. Leave that to the professionals.”
Laney blinked at him. What in the world was he getting at?
A knock sounded at the door.
“Come!” Burns called.
A short man walked in carrying a box about the size of a microwave oven. Laney recognized the strap of Grace’s backpack sticking out the top inside a clear plastic bag.
“This is Agent Wallace,” Burns said. “One of our Evidence Recovery Technicians. I need you to take a look at the items from your sister’s backpack and tell us if you notice anything out of place or missing.”
“O-okay,” Laney quavered. Nausea churned her insides.
Wallace began taking bagged and tagged items out of the box and laying them carefully on any available surface. First, the empty pack itself. Then papers and notebooks and pencils and erasers, a ruler, an assortment of hair pins, a shriveled and barely recognizable candy bag, a smashed calculator and several school texts and workbooks.
“That’s it?” Burns grated.
“All she wrote,” Wallace confirmed.
“I see nothing out of place.” Laney walked around and forced herself to examine every object. “Even the candy is her favorite—Reese’s Pieces.” A lump crowded into her throat and tears stung her eyes. Oh, Gracie! She swallowed the lump and took a deep breath. “What’s this dark stuff staining the corner of the bag and this book? It’s not—” She didn’t finish the statement, as her brain registered the truth without needing to hear from the technician.
Her sister’s lifeblood.
Her gut heaved, and she hurried from the room. No one tried to stop her. She dodged between people in the crowded reception area. Her foot rammed something hard, and she stumbled. Righting herself, she looked down to see heavy, brown work boots. Must be steel-toed. Then she looked up into the scowling face of the custodian, Richard Hodge. His glower chilled her heated rush.
“Pardon me,” she murmured.
The man sneered and turned away.
Laney stared at his stiff, broad back. Why did the custodian dislike her? She shook her head and moved on, grief surging behind her eyes. A headache began to throb. She needed to get somewhere alone. Just for a few minutes.
She reached the exit, but a hand closed around her arm and turned her.
“Pierce. Hi. I can’t talk right now. I’m going—”
“Wherever it is, consider me your escort.” His concerned brown gaze drew a trickle from a corner of her eye. “Hey!” His thumb wiped at the tear.
She ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think you can go with me to the restroom.” She escaped out the door of the office.
In the hallway, students were rushing around, getting ready to head for home. Locker doors rattled, and juvenile voices yelled greetings and banter. Familiar sounds. Comforting sounds. Even the threat of a nameless stalker couldn’t douse the kids’ spirits on a fine day this close to summer break. Laney moved quickly between them, forcing herself to bestow smiles.
Fellow staff members called encouragement like, “We’re with you, Laney,” and shot her thumbs-up. But she read from their eyes that they didn’t know how to guarantee a good outcome any more than she did. Their sense of safety had been violated along with hers. At last she reached the ladies’ room and scurried past people to the last stall. She darted inside, closed the door, and leaned her aching head against the cool metal.
Oh, God, let this be a dream.
But it wasn’t, and she couldn’t turn back today’s clock any more than she could have turned it back eighteen years ago and made a different choice on that awful day.
THREE
Noah found Laney in her darkened classroom slumped at her desk with damp paper towels pressed to her forehead. He cleared his throat so he wouldn’t startle her as he approached. “The children are gone for the day, but Ellen has Briana. They’re playing a game.”
“I know.” She looked up, fathoms of pain in her shadowed gaze. “She’s a good friend. She’s been giving me some space to process.”
“Is it working?” He knew the answer before he asked. This woman needed an old-fashioned bawl session, but he’d leave that to Ellen Kline’s sturdy shoulder. It was not a good idea for him to put his arms around Laney Thompson. He had to maintain professional distance, even in his thoughts. Too bad that plan wasn’t working very well.
Laney wadded the paper towels and chucked the ball across the room. She made the wastebasket.
“Good arm,” he said.
“Are they still here?”
“The FBI? Yes, they’ve commandeered a meeting room. Agent Burns said to tell you he’d have someone outside your apartment all night.”
Laney snorted. “So you’re his errand boy now? I suppose he shared that information so that I won’t call the cops on his agent.”
Noah sent her a wry smile. “He plays it close to the vest.”
“A bit too close.” She told him what Briana had confessed to Agent Burns about noticing a man in a suit lurking outside the playground just before the end of second and third grade recess.
He rubbed his chin. “That fits with the timeline for the first appearance of the backpack.”
Laney pressed a hand to her chest. “I hope this is finally a break in the case, but I’m not holding my breath. Agent Burns wasn’t in charge of the team when Gracie went missing, but he was there, throwing his weight around. They didn’t find anything then. Why should I believe results will be different now?”
“A hot new lead can sometimes break a cold case.”
Laney leaned back in her chair, her gazed fixed on him. Noah shifted his stance and looked around the room. If décor was a reflection of personality, this room did Laney justice. Everything from the skipping hippos stenciled on the wall to the bright construction paper flowers edging the bulletin board spoke of warmth and energy. This was a great room for mentally and physically challenged kids to find safe stimulation, as well as hearty doses of encouragement.
“Why do I get the feeling you know a lot about criminal investigations?” She asked the question Noah wished he hadn’t invited with his careless remark.
He sent her a casual smile. “A hobby of mine.”
Her eyes widened. “You investigate crimes in your spare time?”
“I meant that it’s an interest.” Beads of moisture sprang up beneath the collar of his polo shirt. How close was that kernel of truth to telling a lie? “I’ve got a suggestion,” he hurried on. “It’s Friday tomorrow. Why don’t you and Briana take the day off? Then you’ll have the whole weekend to stay home and regroup. You probably have people to contact.”
“My parents.”
“Of course. Maybe by Monday things will have cooled down here.