Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(62)

“Oh,” gasped Jamie. “It’s his mother. Chris must tell him she’s an angel. How lovely.” Her voice cracked.

Hove flipped over the family drawing. On the back, in faint pencil, was another drawing. But it was a quick sketch by an adult. A woman’s face. A woman with dark hair and dark eyes.

Jamie sucked in her breath. “Elena.”

Michael’s chest tightened. Chris had sketched the boy’s mother for him. The lines were sure and true and smooth. A drawing that had probably been done many times in the past. It conveyed a gentle personality, a calmness in the woman’s eyes. Chris had talent or else he’d drawn the same sketch a million times and could do it perfectly. Michael figured it was both.

“Turn them all over,” Jamie begged. Michael knew she was hoping for a sketch of Brian or perhaps Chris. The back sides of the papers were blank. Disappointment rippled across Jamie’s face.

“I want them,” Jamie said. “When you’re done with them, I want them.”

Hove nodded. “I’ll make sure you get them.”



Chris continued to dial Jamie’s phone numbers every hour. Her cell wouldn’t even ring. It kept going straight to voice mail, which told him her phone was dead, off, or out of range. Scenarios kept dancing through his head, and none of them were pleasant. Several times, he’d pushed his old truck past the speed limit on his return toward Portland but then brought it back down. The last thing he needed was a ticket. He was a firm believer in staying off of the radar. Everyone’s radar.

But how had the Ghostman found him?

Please let his sister be okay.

“Dad, I need to go to the bathroom,” Brian spoke up.

Chris glanced at his watch. It was past lunchtime, and they needed to grab a bite to eat. “Okay. Next exit that has food.”

“McDonald’s?” Brian’s eyes lit up. “Please?”

“We’ll see.” Every parent’s fallback; every kid’s most hated reply. “Depends what we find.” Chris tried to stretch his legs in the truck. He was tired of driving. A place where he could sit back and relax for a bit would be nice. Preferably not McDonald’s. He took the next exit, which promised Food, Gas, and Lodging.

“McDonald’s!” Every kid’s reaction to spotting the golden arches.

“Umm.” Chris eyed the brick diner next to the fast-food restaurant. It looked cozy, like someone’s grandma was the owner. “How about that place next door? It looks like the type of place that has grilled cheese on the menu.” Brian’s all-time favorite.

And beer.

“You think so?” Brian twisted up his mouth in deep consideration.

“Let’s check their menu.” If not, Chris would beg them to make one. Surely they’d throw one together for a kid.

They parked. Brian cast one wistful glance at the golden M and pushed open the door to the diner. Cool air rushed by them from the nearly empty dining room. Chris sighed. Perfect. A waitress with a coffeepot in one hand and two cups in the other scooted by them.

“Seat yourself. I’ll be right with ya.”

Chris steered Brian toward a large booth in the back, near the bar, and plopped down on the overstuffed bench. The other five people in the restaurant barely glanced their way, and the only sound came from the television screen behind the bar. Menus were on the table. Brian immediately found the kids’ selections.

“Grilled cheese. And fries,” he announced. He pulled crayons and a coloring book out of his backpack and focused on Iron Man, his current obsession.

Thank you, God.

Chris scanned the menu and stopped at a bacon and bleu cheeseburger. He set the menu down, leaned his head back, and briefly closed his eyes. Parenting was a twenty-four-hour job. A job he was thankful for, but he often wished he had help. After Elena’s death, focusing on Brian had helped him get through her loss. At times, he’d considered moving back to Portland and enlisting Jamie’s help with his son. But that would mean placing his son where he could be easily found.

Wasn’t going to happen.

They were safest away from everyone. Away from society, crowds, reporters, sick men.

“What can I get for ya?”

Chris’s head came up, his eyes flew open, and he double blinked. The waitress was darn cute. She couldn’t have been much over twenty years old. She tilted her head and repeated her question, with a knowing smile that said she was used to second looks from men.

Chris pointed at Brian. “Grilled cheese, fries, and milk. I’ll take the bleu burger and a Coors Light.”

“Gotcha. Be right back.” She bounced away, stopped behind the bar, poured his beer, grabbed Brian’s milk, and was back to them in under a minute with a cheery smile. He sipped at the cold beer and appreciated the iciness on the back of his throat. Brian kept his head down, concentrating on his coloring. His son didn’t talk continually like some kids. Like Chris had…before. He’d been one of those kids who gave a running commentary on everything he saw to anyone around him. After he came back, he spoke as little as possible. He still watched his surroundings closely but kept his words to himself.

“Bathroom?”

Brian was staring at his father, his hazel eyes confused, and Chris had the impression Brian had asked the question twice. Chris spotted the bathroom sign past the bar and stood up.