So the police still had plenty of legwork to do, particularly with two viable suspects. Maybe that bought him more like three days, or five. Except that with every passing hour, the chances of Sandy being discovered alive dramatically decreased. Yesterday, there’d been a chance at a happy ending. Or maybe this morning.

If it became nightfall and Sandy still hadn’t appeared …

The instant they discovered Sandy’s body, that would be that. They’d come for him at his home. They would take Ree away from him. She would become a ward of the state. His daughter. The little girl he loved more than his very own life would be stuck in foster care.

He could hear Ree again, in the interrogation room, her singsong voice, reciting: “‘Please don’t do this. I won’t tell You can believe me. I’ll never tell. I love you. I still love you….’”

His hands trembled lightly on the steering wheel. He caught the tremor, forced himself to steady. Now was not the time. Had to keep thinking. Had to keep moving. He had the media in front of him, the police behind him, and his daughter to consider. Push it away, lock it up tight. That’s what he did best.

Keep thinking, keep moving. Figure out what happened to Sandy, quick, before the police took his daughter from him.

Then, in the next second, he thought of what his daughter had said again, all of what she’d said, and it came to him, his first glimmer of hope. Grieving husband, he reminded himself. Grieving husband.

He headed for Sandy’s middle school.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Jason was fourteen years old, he had heard his parents talking late one night, when they thought he was asleep.

“Have you noticed his eyes?” his mother was saying. “Whether he’s playing with Janie, or saying thank you for a bowl of ice cream, or asking permission to turn on the TV, his eyes are exactly the same. Flat. Empty. Like he doesn’t feel a thing. I’m worried, Stephen. I mean, I’m really, really worried about him.”

You should be, Jason had thought at the time. You really, really should be.

Now, adult Jason pulled into the middle school parking lot, found a space, and killed the engine. Ree stirred in the back, blinking awake with that internal monitor kids had that registered vehicles stopping. She’d need a moment or two, so he flipped down the Volvo’s sun visor and contemplated his expression in the vanity mirror.

His sunken eyes were rimmed with dark shadows. He’d forgotten about shaving, and his thick beard was rapidly overtaking his gaunt face. He looked weary, worn around the edges. But he also looked rough, perhaps even dangerous, the kind of man who might have a hot temper and secretly beat his wife and kid.