25
They were getting nowhere.
And in less than an hour, it would be dark.
Logan retraced the beam of his flashlight around the inside of the large drainage pipe that emptied into the field his team was searching and straightened up, fighting back a wave of panic.
After three hours, none of the teams Lexie had assigned to grids radiating outward from his house had found a trace of the girls.
Yet Molly and Elisa couldn’t have traveled on foot much beyond the perimeter of the area already searched. Not while lugging a suitcase and backpack.
Meaning that if they didn’t find them soon, they’d have to consider other scenarios.
Like a runaway that had turned into an abduction.
He fisted his hands and took a deep breath.
Lexie had already mentioned the possibility of issuing an Amber Alert if evidence began to suggest that outcome—and they were getting closer to that step with every passing minute.
His phone vibrated against his hip, and he pulled it off his belt. The chief.
Pulse surging, he pressed it to his ear. “Any news?”
“Nothing yet—but the handler and dog from Medford are here. How close are you to finishing your grid?”
He gave the partially wooded terrain his team had been searching a sweep. Thomma was at the far end, Jeannette a few hundred feet away, and Steven Roark was in the opposite corner, visible through the trees. They were all close to being done.
“Ten minutes.”
“Perfect. Since Thomma is on your team, why don’t the two of you meet me and the handler at your house as soon as you’re finished? We’ll give the dog the scent and see where he takes us.”
“We’ll be there.”
He pressed the end button and completed his quadrant of the grid at warp speed, scrutinizing the ground for any evidence that could suggest the girls had come this way—a lost hair ribbon, a dropped piece of clothing, small footprints.
Nothing.
It was almost as if they’d vanished off the face of the earth.
Suppressing that gut-clenching thought, he jogged over to Jeannette.
She gave him a hopeful look. “Anything?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
“The dog and handler are here. Lexie wants Thomma and me to meet them at my house as soon as we’re done.”
“I’m finished.”
“I think we all are.” He indicated the other two men, who were walking their direction, and angled sideways so only she could see his face. “Thank you for helping today.”
“It’s what any good Samaritan would do—and Hope Harbor is full of those, based on the number of people who showed up at the high school.”
He wanted to ask her if Christian charity was the only reason she’d volunteered, but Thomma and Roark joined them before he had the chance.
“Any sign of the girls?” A senseless question. One of the men would have given a shout-out if they’d unearthed some evidence of the youngsters’ passage through the area.
“No.” Roark shook his head.
So did Thomma.
Elisa’s father looked as bad as Logan felt—complexion pale, eyes haunted, cheeks hollow, features taut.
Logan explained the latest development, and Roark added a few Arabic words to clarify for Thomma.
He extended his hand to Thomma’s boss. “Thank you for volunteering.”
“Not a problem. I’ll go back to town and sign on for another grid. Hang in.”
“Thank you.” Thomma too offered his hand to the man.
Roark took it and said a few more Arabic words that brought a shimmer to Thomma’s eyes.
“I’ll sign on for another grid too.” Jeannette pulled her keys out of her pocket.
“Would you like to come back to the house with us instead?” Logan retrieved his own keys.
She hesitated but in the end declined. “I’ll be of more use on a search team.”
Logan wasn’t certain of that.
He’d rather have her close by, where he could feel her presence and take her hand if this day got any tougher.
But from a practical standpoint, it was better to have her out looking for the girls.
“Okay.”
A brief flash of—disappointment?—zipped through her eyes, gone so fast it was possible he’d imagined it.
“You’ll stay in touch?” She fell in beside him as they walked toward their cars on the side of the road.
“I’ll call if there are any breakthroughs at our end.”
They formed a small convoy on 101 for a couple of miles, until he and Thomma peeled off onto the secondary road that ended at the undeveloped property beyond the lavender farm.
A Hope Harbor patrol car was already parked in front of his house, along with an SUV, when they arrived. A trim older man was talking to Lexie in the front yard, a large dog on a leash sitting by his side.
Logan swung into the driveway, Thomma behind him, and parked in back.
As he got out of the car, Mariam appeared on the porch, twisting her hands.
The woman looked as if she’d aged ten years in the past few hours.
“News?” She asked the question in English, switching to Arabic as Thomma slid out of the car behind him.
“No.” Her son responded in English but continued his response in Arabic.
Lexie appeared around the side of the house, the handler behind her.
“Any updates from the other teams?” Logan doubted it. She’d have called him if there’d been a development—unless it had happened within the past few minutes.
She dashed that hope with a quick shake of her head. “No. We’re expanding the grid. Jim’s coordinating that while we focus on this approach.” She motioned toward the man with silver-flecked brown hair, who appeared to be in his late fifties. “Logan and Thomma, Mark Roberts and his canine friend, Sherlock.”
The man shifted the harness he was holding to his other hand and gave him a firm shake. Did the same with Thomma.
“I’m going to let Mark tell you what he needs and how this works.” Lexie turned the floor over to the handler.
“Let me get Susan on the phone and put her on speaker. She can listen in and pass the information on to Thomma and Mariam.” Logan pulled out his cell, connected with the translator, and set the phone on the trunk of Thomma’s car as he motioned Mariam closer. “Whenever you’re ready, Mark.”
“Lexie filled me in on the particulars. I know we’re searching for two girls, but we have to concentrate on one at a time or we’ll confuse Sherlock. What do you think the odds are they’ve stayed together?”
“High.” Logan didn’t hesitate. Unless they’d been forcibly separated, the two friends would stick close.
“Let’s track the girl who lives here. That would be your niece, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything in the house that would contain mostly her scent? Bedding, for example?”
“That would also have Elisa’s scent. The girls take a nap together every day. But they each have their own pillow. Would that work?”
“Yes. The case would be fine. Do you know which exit the girls would have used?”
Logan leaned closer to the cell. “Susan, would you translate that for Mariam?”