CHAPTER FIVE

      SAWYER SAT ON his sofa, head back, eyes shut. He’d closed the shades. He didn’t want to see sunshine, nor did he care what time of day it was.

      He’d never felt so helpless, or so distraught, in his life.

      He wanted to rage. He wanted to lash out.

      He wanted to give in and break down.

      But his lethargy prevented all of it. And what purpose would any of those reactions serve?

      They wouldn’t bring his son home.

      Not knowing where Dylan was... Maybe injured...

      No, he refused to think about that.

      As a father, he’d sense if harm had befallen his son. Wouldn’t he?

      His parents. Meghan. They’d all wanted to stay with him.

      He couldn’t handle company. He couldn’t bear their pain. The weight of his own was intolerable.

      He just wanted to be alone.

      And he hated being alone, in his own head, with his own thoughts. It was a dangerous place for him right now.

      He wanted to be with Dylan, but that was impossible.

      The sudden jangle of his phone startled him.

      He kept his cell phone within reach at all times. Wishing. Praying. Hoping beyond hope that it would be the police. Calling to say they’d found Dylan. Safe and unharmed.

      But whenever the phone had rung, it’d been his mother or father, his sister or a friend.

      He picked it up and checked the call display.

      It was his office.

      He couldn’t imagine what they’d want. He’d advised the dean he’d be off until further notice. When he’d told her why, there’d been no further questions.

      So why was Miranda calling?

      He nearly put the phone back down, but curiosity got the better of him.

      “Sawyer, how are you?” Miranda asked as soon as he answered.

      Sawyer leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. How did she think he was, with his son missing for almost two days?

      “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “That was a stupid question.”

      There was nothing to be gained by making Miranda feel bad. She was a smart, well-intentioned young woman. He understood why no one knew what to say to him. “It’s okay, Miranda. Why are you calling?”

      “I have a message for you that I thought you’d want.”

      “Yeah?” He had no interest in messages. Unless it had to do with Dylan. “Who’s it from?”

      “San Diego Police Officer Shannon Clemens.”

      Sawyer leaped off the sofa. “When did she call? What did she want?”

      “Um...”

      He softened his tone. “Sorry, Miranda. Go ahead.”

      “Uh, she didn’t call. She stopped by. She left her cell phone number.”

      Sawyer wrote it down. “Thanks, Miranda. I appreciate you letting me know.”

      “Sawyer, I’m so very sorry. We’re all thinking of you and praying for Dylan’s safe return.”

      “Thanks.”

      Sawyer hung up almost before she’d finished. Shannon Clemens was the officer with the dog. He’d immediately trusted her. She seemed to truly care. She’d given him hope...

      With unsteady fingers, he dialed the number Miranda had provided.

      Please, God...please, God, he chanted in his head as the phone rang once. Twice.

      On the third ring, she answered.

      “Ah, Officer. It’s Sawyer Evans returning your call.”

      “Oh, Mr. Evans... Sawyer, um, thank you for calling me back.”

      “Yeah. Sure. Do you have news about Dylan?” He recognized the sound of desperation in his own voice but couldn’t help it.

      “No... I’m sorry, I don’t.”

      “But...but...” Now he was stammering. If she didn’t have information, why had she contacted him? “I don’t understand.”

      “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Dylan, and that I couldn’t find him for you.”

      Sawyer brought back the image of the police officer. Youngish. Twenty-eight or nine. She was maybe five-five or five-six, slim, and she’d looked competent and steady. She had short blond hair in an edgy cut that, under different circumstances, he might’ve thought of as sexy. Well-defined features and a full, expressive mouth. And her eyes had caught him. They were a vivid sky blue, he remembered, and they’d had an intensity. Her eyes had told him that what she did was more than a job to her. And when she’d promised she’d do her best, the sincerity in those eyes had made him believe it. But even her best hadn’t been enough to bring Dylan back to him. “You’re calling to apologize?” He realized he hadn’t been getting any sleep and his mind was a mess, but her call made no sense to him.

      “Well, yes.”

      Her voice was soft. Somehow it dulled the sharpest edges of his despair.

      “The department is doing everything possible. The FBI is involved, as you know. I wanted to tell you that I understand what you’re going through and—”

      “You understand?” Sawyer tightened his grip on the phone until his knuckles ached. “How can you possibly understand what it’s like to have your child go missing?”

      “Not my child. No. But my brother went missing. He was the same age then as Dylan is now. I saw what my parents went through. I was very close to my brother,” she added.

      Sawyer squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been harsh and was sorry about it. He couldn’t imagine anyone understanding what he was experiencing, but she probably could, more than most people. “How much time had passed before your brother was found?”

      “A day.”

      Dylan had been missing