I glanced back into my house. The table was set. The food was waiting. The candles were dying.
“My children were supposed to be here,” I heard myself say.
He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
I should’ve called Mark, anyway. Instead, I grabbed my cardigan, locked the door out of habit, and got into the cruiser. The back seat smelled like disinfectant and old fear. The door shut with a heavy click that made my stomach drop.
The officer got in front and started driving.
“Just tell me if my son is okay.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Not far.”
“Not far where?”
He glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Someplace safe.”
“Safe from what?” My voice rose. “Did Grant get hurt? ” Did he do something?”
