Bred in the Bone (Widow's Island #4)(19)



Jane’s reply was immediate. Why?

We found Sam. She’s alive. She’s about to call Marsha.

HOLY SHIT! Leaving now!

She dialed Marsha’s number.

“Hello, Cate. How are you this morning?” Marsha was unaware of their trek to the mainland to find Travis Underwood. Cate hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up.

“Marsha . . .” Suddenly Cate didn’t know what to say. She stared at Tessa, who nodded encouragingly. “Marsha, I need to tell you something—and it’s a good thing—but first I want to assure you that it is absolutely true. It will sound too good to be true, but it is. Does that make sense? I don’t want you questioning it.”

Marsha was quiet for a moment. “Okay.”

“Samantha is sitting beside me. We found her on the mainland in the city of Blaine. She’s okay, Marsha. We’re bringing her home.” Cate’s voice cracked as her words rushed together. “I’m going to put her on the phone now.” She handed the phone to Sam, whose hand shook as she held it to her ear.

“Mom?” She covered her eyes and lowered her head, and her entire body shook as she sobbed.

Cate crouched beside the chair, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulders. She couldn’t make out Marsha’s words, but the tone was overjoyed and went on and on as Sam cried into the phone.

Tessa’s wet gaze met Cate’s, and happiness warmed her again.

We did it.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Sam repeated a dozen times. “I’ll tell you when you get here. Mom . . . I have a son.”

The voice on the phone grew louder.

“He’s eight. His name is Michael,” she said in a watery voice. “Yes, he’s named after Dad.”

Tessa inhaled sharply, and Cate closed her eyes. Samantha’s father had committed suicide a year after she’d vanished. He’d been thoroughly investigated by the police and tried by public opinion in the media. The loss of his daughter and the condemnation of the public had been too much.

“Cate.”

Henry had returned with Gunderson and a deputy she hadn’t met yet. She stood and followed them a few yards away from Sam’s conversation. “They found the end of the tunnel,” Henry told her in a quiet voice. “Not far from it are fresh tire tracks and some netting covered with branches. He had a vehicle hidden and ready to go.”

“We need to get Sam and Mickey out of here,” Cate told Gunderson. “Is talking to Mickey’s maternal grandmother sufficient to release him to us? I want Sam and Mickey seen at the hospital in Bellingham as soon as possible. We can fly Marsha in to pick him up there.”

Cate made a mental note to have Jane come with Marsha in case she was a little . . . spacey. She knew Jane would take responsibility for the boy and grandmother until Samantha was well enough.

“That’ll do,” Gunderson agreed. He glanced at Sam. Her expression was awestruck as she listened to her mother’s voice. “I’ll talk to the grandmother when they’re done.”

Cate smiled. “It might be a while.”





8


One week later


Cate handed Sam a cup of tea and took a seat in Marsha’s living room recliner. A Christmas tree sat in one corner, and fresh evergreen branches with lights decorated the mantel above the fireplace. Mickey and Marsha had gone to bed an hour ago, but Sam was still wide awake, so Cate stayed with her, fighting back her yawns. Nonstop Christmas music played at a low volume; Sam insisted on it. Travis had refused to provide any source of music, and she’d filled her silence by singing every song she could remember over and over, especially to put baby Mickey to sleep. When the deputy who drove them to the hospital had turned on the radio, Sam had burst into tears. “I’d forgotten what instruments sound like.”

A world without music.

Sam now looked a lot different than the woman they’d discovered in a shed. She’d been hydrated and fed nutrition-packed food for two days in the hospital before moving into her mother’s home on Widow’s. Her face was fuller, and her skin no longer looked like paper. A neighbor had trimmed her hair into a flattering shoulder-length cut, and she wore soft knit pants and warm tops that Tessa had bought in Bellingham. Cate still studied Sam nonstop; it hadn’t sunk in that she was home. And twenty years older. Sam had been frozen in her mind as a teenager even though Cate and Tessa had aged.

This new Sam was quiet.

The old Sam hadn’t been; she’d been vivacious and stubborn.

The new Sam worried Cate. But there was no getting around the fact that the woman had lived in hell for twenty years and would never forget a minute of it.

It was suspected that Travis Underwood had crossed into Canada, but the police didn’t know what kind of vehicle he drove, and they didn’t have a current photo. Finding Travis would be searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack.

Mickey was thrilled with his new living conditions. Consistent heat, water, and food, and a plush dog bed for Bishy—whose real name was Bishop, Samantha’s last name. A dozen times Cate had caught Mickey standing in front of the open refrigerator, simply staring. Ample stock of fresh food seemed like riches to him.

When Mickey had spotted two boys riding bikes, he’d begged to join, fascinated with the sight of children his age. Cate took him outside and learned the boys lived three houses away, and within five minutes, Mickey was on one of the boys’ bikes, riding in wobbly circles. And then in return he showed them how to track a squirrel who’d vanished into their yard.

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