“And like we said earlier,” Sandavol interjected, “we’ll ping her phone every forty-five minutes, so we’ll know immediately when she turns it on.”

“We’ll be in touch every hour,” McAvoy explained. “And you be sure to call us if you hear anything.”

Whitney nodded like a robot. Once the officers were gone, she joined Natalie in the kitchen, where she was handed a piping hot cup of tea that she would probably never drink. Amelia and Natalie liked tea. Whitney preferred coffee but knew that would be a bad idea right now. So she held on to the mug, allowing it to warm her cold, shaky hands.

16

SATURDAY, 8:00 P.M.
TWENTY-SEVEN HOURS
AFTER DROP-OFF

“WHEN WAS THE last time you ate?” Natalie came up behind Whitney, who flinched, not having heard her approach. She’d been staring out the window, willing Amelia to walk up to the front door. Since the cops left, she’d checked Amelia’s location at least a dozen times. Still nothing.

In many runaway cases, the child eventually gets in touch.

God, she wanted to believe Amelia had simply run away, some stupid rebellious adventure that would be over as soon as she got bored or missed home. But that nagging feeling was back in the pit of her stomach. That sensation that something wasn’t right.

“I don’t know,” she answered distractedly, glancing toward the kitchen. “I think breakfast, maybe...”

“That’s not good.” Natalie clucked her tongue. “I’ll make you something.”

“No, really. I’m not hungry.” Shoulders slumping, Whitney walked with dragging feet to the couch and spilled into it, like a glass of dirty water toppling over. “I’m just tired.”

“Probably because you haven’t eaten anything. You need to keep your strength up. You’re not doing Amelia any favors by wasting away.”

There was no arguing with her when she got like this, so Whitney didn’t even try. Her eyes burned, her entire body aching. Was this what shock felt like? Or had she surpassed that and was now moving on to grief?

No, grief would be giving in.

And Whitney wasn’t doing that.

Cabinet doors opened and closed, Natalie’s feet shuffling on the floor. Whitney heard the suction of the refrigerator seal being broken, followed by the sound of contents hitting the counter. She was lulled by the comfort of it, her eyelids fluttering closed, her body relaxing. As she drifted into the place where her bones turned to jelly and her mind went blank, an insistent buzzing aroused her attention. Just ignore it, her body protested and there was a relief in listening to it. Then she remembered Amelia and painstakingly forced her eyelids to open.

But it was only Dan, checking in. She gave him an update, and then Natalie set a plate with a sandwich in her lap.