“I already talked to the paramedics,” Wendy said flatly.

Officer Smith stepped forward. His handcuffs glinted from his belt. “Yeah, well, we have a few more questions.”

Angry defiance sparked in Wendy. “Shouldn’t you guys be out looking for those missing kids instead of bugging me?” She regretted saying it almost as soon as it left her lips.

“Yes, we should, Wendy.” She glanced up at his rough tone. Officer Smith scowled deeply, his fists propped on his hips. The other cop—young, with even, short-cropped hair—looked uneasy.

The name on his uniform read CECCO. Wendy knew it. She went to high school with a girl whose last name was Cecco. This must be her older brother.

Officer Cecco’s eyes shifted between Wendy and Smith.

“Which is why you should cooperate with us so we can determine if this boy was a victim,” Officer Smith added.

Wendy swallowed hard but raised an eyebrow expectantly. “Well?”

Cecco cleared his throat. “You said something fell onto the hood of your car?”

“Yes.”

“Like a tree branch?” he prompted.

“No—not a tree branch, it was like…” Wendy thought about the strange black thing she had seen. It hadn’t been solid enough to be a branch. It was murky and whatever it was made of swirled and shifted, like if you tried to touch it, it would just slip through your fingers.

But how on earth could she describe that to the police? “It dented my hood and scratched my windshield.”

“Like a tree branch,” Smith insisted, shifting moodily.

Wendy lifted her chin and tried to sound firm. “No.” Of course he didn’t believe her. “I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t a branch.”

“The medics said there were no signs that the victim”—Wendy grimaced at the word—“was hit by a car,” Cecco continued. “And you said he talked to you. Did he say what had happened?”

“No.”

“You said he knew your name.” His voice went all soft again. “Do you know him?”

She opened her mouth to say no, but the word lodged in her throat. She hesitated.

Wendy’s eyes shifted to the nurse’s desk.

Nurse Judy was watching the two officers talk to Wendy, startled. Her face was splotchy red, and for a moment, Wendy thought she was going to stomp over and tell the officers off. Instead, she marched quickly in the direction of the break room.

Wendy’s grip around her legs tightened. Her breathing quickened. She hoped Smith and Cecco didn’t notice. “No.” But she didn’t sound nearly as confident as before. She couldn’t tell them that she thought she had almost run her truck over a boy she only knew from make-believe stories.

Wendy’s head gave a painful throb.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Smith’s cold gray eyes narrowed. “How did he end up in the middle of the street?” he asked. “Did he come from the logging roads?”