Secrets Never Die (Morgan Dane #5)(28)

His canoe sat amid a pile of broken branches, maybe even a small tree, that had been swept down the river and gotten jammed up at a bend. He reached for the broken paddle lying in the water at the bottom of the canoe. He poked at the branches. The canoe rocked, but the floating debris held him fast.

Evan used the paddle to shift the lighter bits of debris, not an easy task with only one good arm. He moved a fat branch and revealed the wet sheen of a large rock beneath the hull. Pushing with the paddle, he moved the canoe. The metal bottom scraped as it slid off the rock.

The boat rocked and bobbed a few times, then floated away from the logjam.

The current picked up. Evan used the paddle as a rudder to steer toward the shoreline. The glaring sun amplified his thirst, and he desperately wanted to find some clean water.

But the river had other plans. The canoe dipped and shot back into the center. The boat rounded the bend. Evan’s mouth went even drier at the sight of white water and large boulders ahead. Sliding through an eddy, the canoe wobbled and nearly tipped. Evan grabbed for the sides and tried to use his weight to balance the canoe. But this wasn’t a kayak. The canoe was made for calm water, not rapids.

He reached out with the paddle to catch the branch of an overhanging tree. The paddle caught, but the pull of the current ripped it right out of Evan’s hands. With no way to steer, he held on as the canoe slid down a short waterfall and went nose first into a deeper pool. The boat hit the water and rolled, pitching Evan over the edge.

The water closed over his head, shockingly cold after the warmth of the sun. He tumbled, out of control, striking rocks and debris. He broke the surface and spit out a mouthful of mud. Trying to suck in some air, he coughed and sputtered as he was swept along.

The water sucked him down, then tumbled him into a rock. His injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact. Pain blasted through his arm. His lungs burned as he fought for a breath when his head broke the surface. The water sucked him down again, rolling him over and over until he didn’t know which way was up.

He floated, suspended in the murky cold, considering what it would be like to simply let the river take him. Would all the pain go away?

Disoriented, Evan opened his eyes and looked for the light that would lead him to the surface.

But all he saw was darkness.





Chapter Eleven

Morgan sat in the passenger seat of the Jeep, her thoughts churning. Normally, the sheriff’s request to question Tina at the station would not set off Morgan’s alarms. But the sheriff had not been up front with them. She had sensed hostility radiating from him, like the hot wind that came before a vicious thunderstorm.

Lance drove beside her, tense. He knew something was up too. Tina sat in the back seat, shredding another cuticle. How did a parent cope with not knowing whether their child was alive or dead? Morgan couldn’t even think about being in that situation without risking a panic attack.

They parked and went inside. The sheriff met them in the hallway and escorted them into one of the nicer conference rooms. It contained a wooden table and upholstered office-type chairs. He gestured toward a small table in the corner where a pod-style coffee maker stood. “Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be right back.”

Tina sat at the table, facing the door. Lance declined coffee. Morgan went to the machine and brewed two cups. She set one on the table in front of Tina.

Without drinking, Tina cradled the Styrofoam cup in both hands. Her demeanor had changed after the scene at the morgue. She seemed less desperate and more determined. The initial shock of Paul’s death and Evan’s disappearance had settled. She looked like a woman getting her act together to take action.

Morgan sat next to Tina. Lance took the chair opposite her.

The sheriff entered the room, a manila file tucked under his arm.

Tina’s swollen eyes fixed on the file. “Have you found my son?”

“Not yet.” The sheriff settled in a chair at the head of the table. “I have dozens of law enforcement officers in the field searching for him. A K-9 unit is working the woods and shoreline all around Deer Lake. If Evan is anywhere in the vicinity, the dog will pick up his scent. A good dog is worth a hundred men when tracking a person. We have the ground search covered. The most useful thing you can do is give us more information.” The sheriff’s mouth tightened. He opened his file. “We also talked to all of Evan’s friends on the list you gave us. They all denied seeing him tonight or knowing where he is.”

Which meant nothing, Morgan thought. Sixteen-year-olds were good at keeping secrets from adults.

The sheriff’s chair squeaked as he leaned back. “At this time, we do believe Evan’s disappearance and Paul’s murder are linked.”

Linked was an interesting word choice. Lance tilted his head, one eyebrow shooting up in a no shit expression. Morgan touched his foot with hers and gave him a cool it frown. On an ordinary case, his temper could run short. His close relationship with Evan would slice his tolerance for bullshit in half.

“Did forensics find anything useful at the scene?” Lance rested his forearms on the table, his posture deceptively relaxed. His tension was all in his eyes.

“A few things, yes.” The sheriff leaned back and folded his arms across his slight paunch. “The blood on the fence, the back door, and Evan’s phone is type B negative.”

Tina stiffened. “Evan and I are both B negative.”