The Cop's Missing Child

Wordlessly, Mac came up beside her, placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder as if he knew her thoughts.

Instantly, she jerked away. “Where’s Renee? I’d really hoped—”

“You do want to find this stalker, right?”

Emily stiffened. “Of course. It’s just—”

“I’m assigned to your case. And I’m good. I promise you that I will find this guy.”

The brief urge that had her wanting to lean against Mac appalled her. She nodded, wondering why she had such a strong, adverse reaction to him. It wasn’t as if the man had actually done anything to warrant her mistrust and suspicion—well, aside from following her into Sue’s Catfish Hut the first time they’d met. Maybe it was her persistent, instantaneous attraction to him.

Could she trust him? Did she even have a choice?

Aware both he and Ryan were watching her expectantly, she forced a pleasant, if humorless, smile. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do about this?”

Spreading her hands to encompass the total trashing of her home, she realized she was perilously close to tears. That knowledge alone was enough to cause her to shore up her shoulders, take a deep breath and lift her chin.

“We’ll find the guy,” he said simply. “I promise you that.”

“Thank you.” She hoped he didn’t notice the catch in her voice. Glancing down at her son, who now seemed engrossed in playing with the toy that had come with his Good Times meal, she sighed. “What now?”

“Take a look around and see if anything is missing,” Mac said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave of calmness.

The sick dread in the pit of her stomach refused to leave, but Emily forced herself to head toward the room she used as an office. Luckily, this was right next to her son’s bedroom.

“Mommy!” Ryan crowed, tugging his hand free and catapulting onto his bed. “They didn’t touch my toys!”

After a quick inspection of his room, including under the bed and in the closet, Emily left him happily playing with his trucks and went to check out her desk.

“They were looking for something among your files,” Mac said quietly behind her. File folders and paper were strewn all over the desk, chair, foldout couch and floor.

A manila folder sat open and empty on top of her desk. Before she even picked it up to read the label, Emily knew what it was.

“Ryan’s adoption records,” she said out loud. “They stole Ryan’s adoption records.”

Spinning, she grabbed Mac’s arm. “You’ve got to help me. Whoever broke in here is after my son. You’ve got to help me protect him.”

Mac’s sharp blue gaze searched her face. “Do you have other copies?”

“Of course.” Punching the on button, she powered up her computer. “I scanned them and saved them, both here and on CD.”

“I’d like copies.”

“Of course.” As soon as the computer booted up, Emily clicked on the folder and printed them off, handing them to him.

“Was anything else taken, besides your son’s adoption paperwork?” he asked.

“Not that I can tell.” Twisting her hands together, she tried to sound unaffected.

“Let’s check the rest of the house,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went down the hall to the next bedroom—Ryan’s room.

It, she reflected thankfully, appeared untouched. Oblivious to his mother’s chaotic thoughts, Ryan cheerfully played with a couple of his trucks, ignoring the adults.

Mac paused at the doorway, watching silently, as though the cheerfully untidy mess was more than he’d expected.

“Do you have children?” she asked softly.

He started, as if her question had brought him out of deep contemplation. “Currently, no.” His abrupt tone made it sound like the topic was both painful and closed.

“I’m sorry.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. “Please excuse the mess. Ryan’s only five, which is why—”

“No need to explain.” His back to her, he stepped into the room the way one might enter a church. Again, she cursed her overactive imagination. There was no logical reason why a man—a sheriff’s deputy and experienced police officer—would act in such a way.

Unless …

She blinked. Though she didn’t know him well enough to ask, again she wondered if he’d lost a child.

“Was anything taken from here?” he asked, directing the question to her rather than Ryan.

“No,” Ryan answered, without looking up from his trucks. “All my stuff is okay.”

“Thanks.” Flashing her son a reassuring smile, he moved close to Emily and spoke in a low voice. “Would you mind taking a quick look around and letting me know if you see anything missing? Just in case?”

“Of course.” Horrified at the thought, she took a step forward, trying to mentally catalog Ryan’s toys. After a preliminary sweep of the room, heart in her throat, she looked at Mac helplessly. “Honestly, he has so much. Do you really think someone would—”

“Probably not.” He touched her shoulder, the gentle grip meaning to reassure her. “After all, your stalker seems more concerned with you and the adoption than with your son himself. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

They were good words, but the idea of someone taking one of Ryan’s toys like some kind of trophy opened up an entirely new world of terrifying possibilities. Again, she felt the strong urge to gather her meager belongings, pick up her son and run as fast and as far as she could.

“Emily?”

Realizing Mac had been talking to her, asking her something, she forced herself to concentrate on him. “I’m sorry,” she said. To her surprise, she sounded relatively normal. “What did you say?”

“I asked you if you could walk with me to the other rooms.”

With her heart skipping a beat, she couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan. Loath to leave her son, conversely she didn’t want to alarm him.

“He’ll be fine,” Mac said. “Let him play.”

“Just a couple of bathrooms and the laundry room.”

He stepped into the hall and gestured. “Lead the way.”

Heartbeat far too rapid, she headed for the hallway and her bedroom, with Mac following. While she’d begun to think Mac Riordan might be an okay kind of guy, something about him still felt a bit off, though she’d be hard-pressed to specify exactly how.

He searched her room first. She noted how he moved with a brisk efficiency, treating her home and her belongings with respect. Appreciating that, she felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease somewhat.

When they’d finished, they wound up back at the front door. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is there anything else you need?”