Home To Stay. Kate James
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lost. In Torrey Pines State Park.”
Also a forested area with wildlife. Yeah, there were similarities. Sitting back down on the sofa, he took a long drink of the beer that had gone warm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” He laughed bleakly. “I’m not myself right now.”
“How could you be?”
Again, her voice soothed him. “The police found Charlie?”
“Yes.”
The tone of her voice said more than the single word. “Was he hurt?” Sawyer wasn’t sure he was prepared for the answer, but he had to ask.
“Charlie... He drowned in a creek.”
Sawyer pressed a hand over his eyes. He remembered the terror he’d felt standing at the edge of the lake by their campground, and praying that nothing like that had happened to Dylan. “I’m very sorry.”
“It was a long time ago...”
Her voice was sorrowful. Maybe this wasn’t the same, but here finally was someone who could understand what he was going through, without amplifying his personal pain. Being a police officer, she might be able to give him details he needed. Maybe she could keep him from going completely crazy. All of a sudden, Sawyer wanted to talk to her.
He glanced at his watch. No, not today. “Officer Clemens...”
“Shannon,” she corrected him.
“Shannon, can I buy you a coffee? Tomorrow sometime, if you’re free?”
There was a brief hesitation. “It’s my day off. I could meet you anytime.”
“Good. How about the Starbucks on East Harbor Drive? Do you know where it is?”
“Yes.”
“Two thirty?”
“That works for me.”
* * *
SHANNON ARRIVED AT the coffee shop ten minutes early. She ordered a latte and sat at a table with a clear view of the entrance.
Since she’d spoken to Sawyer, she’d incessantly questioned the wisdom of what she was doing. Why was she having coffee with a man whose son was missing? What could it lead to, if not heartache? He expected information from her; she was bound to disappoint him. He’d know as much or more from Detective Bigelow and FBI Special Agent Leary than she did from Logan and the departmental briefings.
The last thing Sawyer needed was another complication.
The last thing she needed was another complication.
Sawyer hadn’t been cleared yet as a possible suspect in his son’s abduction, although she was certain he would be, in due course.
And his wife’s? She knew that Bigelow and Leary were taking another look at that. But she didn’t believe he would’ve done anything to harm his wife, either. Still, seeing him today was a bad idea and maybe she should leave before he showed up.
Too late for that. Shannon noticed Sawyer the moment he walked in.
He wore faded jeans. Not the designer type a lot of men were wearing these days. He’d paired the jeans with a blue-and-white striped button-down, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. His hair, a deep brown with chestnut streaks, looked only slightly more orderly than it had the day his son went missing. She was struck again by the strength of character evident in his face. The strong jawline, straight nose and sensitive eyes made him very appealing.
He’d lost weight. Was it possible to lose enough weight in two days for it to be noticeable? He was tall, but his build was lanky. He couldn’t afford to lose much more.
She knew him to be thirty-six. She’d read the file. He’d looked his age when she’d first met him. Today? He appeared older than his years. There were deep lines etched across his forehead and bracketing the sides of his mouth. His eye sockets were hollow and had dark circles beneath them, but his eyes warmed briefly as they connected with hers.
No, he didn’t seem like a man who’d harm his own son. Departmental procedures or not, if she could help ease his pain or be a sounding board for him to release some of it...
He raised an arm in a halfhearted greeting and walked toward her. She rose and held out her hand.
His grip conveyed hesitation, despite its strength.
“Can I get you a coffee?” she offered.
“No. No, that’s fine. I’ll buy my own.”
He was back a few minutes later and slid onto the chair opposite her.
“I’d like to clear up one thing, if that’s okay?” Sawyer asked.
Her nerves hummed. “Sure.”
“You’re not here on police business, are you?”
She felt like squirming in her seat, but resisted. She shook her head slowly. “No, I’m not.”
He nodded. “I just want to be clear on that. Can I call you Shannon?”
“Yes. Of course.”
He closed his eyes. With an unsteady hand, he rubbed his forehead. “This is all surreal. I have moments when I convince myself that it’s a nightmare and I’ll wake up any minute. Then I realize I am awake, and Dylan isn’t with me.”
He opened his eyes, and what she saw in their depths tore at her heart.
“I don’t know how to cope. How I can go on one more minute, never mind an hour. But then I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Shannon could see by the tensing of his jaw and the pulse jumping at his temples that the effort to contain his emotions was costing him.
“Is there anything at all that you can tell me that I haven’t already heard?”
She wished... Oh, God, she wished there was. Anything that would in any way ease his pain. “I’m sorry. I’m not involved in the investigation.”
“Okay.” He looked away abruptly. Even in profile, she could see the sheen of his eyes, the tension in his features. When he glanced back at her, he seemed more controlled. “I want to ask why you contacted me, but I can’t help thinking that would be rude. So, I’ll ask you another question, if that’s okay.”
She nodded once more.
“How are your parents?”
“Excuse me?” She didn’t understand the relevance of the question.
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did your parents deal with the loss of a child?”
Shannon went with her instincts. She placed her hand on top of Sawyer’s. “You can’t think about that.” Maybe there was something she could say to ease his mind. “We—the SDPD and the FBI—have no evidence to suggest that any harm has come to Dylan. You have to stay positive.”
She saw him swallow, then clear his throat. “I’m grateful to hear that. Thank you.” He groped for his coffee mug and took a drink. “I suppose you know about my wife?”
“Yes. It was mentioned in a briefing.”
“Dylan hadn’t celebrated his first birthday when she went missing. For the police it’s a cold case, but under the circumstances, they think she died...as do I.” He rubbed the bottom of his nose with a finger. “You probably know all this, but in law, there’s an assumption that a person is alive until there’s reason to believe otherwise. Seven years is the usual amount of time. Then, legally, she’ll be presumed dead, but for all intents and purposes, the evidence—or lack thereof—points to her having died.
“I’ve lived with it. Never knowing with one hundred percent certainty if she was still living or not. Hoping month after month, then year after year that the police were wrong. That one day she’d come back