Home to Stay
Autor:in
Kate James
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Chapter One
SAWYER EVANS WAS in that languid state of semi-consciousness, waking from a restful sleep. It must have been the insistent chirping of a bird outside that had drawn him from his dreams. The muted glow of the early-morning light filtering in through the tent infused him with a sense of serenity.
As a single father and a professor of law, serenity wasnât something Sawyer experienced frequently. He smiled as he remembered that heâd categorically rejected the idea of a weeklong camping trip at Cuyamaca Rancho State Park with his sister, Meghan, and their parents when Meg had first suggested it. He wasnât the rugged, outdoorsy type, not by any stretch of the imagination. He thought of himself as the nerdy academic, more comfortable with his head in a law book than plodding up a mountain trail. Heâd felt that way even before heâd left the San Diego County District Attorneyâs office to teach, which heâd done to give him more time with Dylan after Jeannette abandoned them.
Three days in, and whoâd have guessed heâd enjoy the experience so much?
And Dylan? He worried about his son becoming a bookish geek like him, and constantly encouraged him to play sports and spend time outdoors. But the apple hadnât fallen far from the tree with his kid. Dylan had to be the most studious four-year-old on the planet. Yet Dylan loved it here. He seemed to be in his element, despite this being his first camping trip. Dylan had been full of energy and enthusiasm ever since theyâd arrived. And the exercise was doing him good. The fact that he was sleeping in, and without the nightmares that had plagued him the last couple of years, made Sawyer immensely glad heâd let Meg cajole himâmaybe bully was a better wordâinto coming along.
Dylan was his life. Heâd do anything for his son.
Sawyer rolled onto his side and tucked an arm under his head. He considered drifting back to sleep for a few more minutes as he listened to the sounds of nature and the gentle flapping of canvas...
Flapping of canvas?
That wasnât right.
He bolted up and stared at the tent flap, unzipped and fluttering in the light breeze. He immediately shifted his gaze to Dylanâs cot. From this angle, and with Dylanâs form as slight as it was, he couldnât tell if his son was in his sleeping bag. Sawyer wasnât taking any chances. He scrambled out of his own bedroll and hurried over to Dylanâs.
The adrenaline rush had him gasping for air.
The sleeping bag was empty.
Sawyer burst out of the tent and glanced frantically around.
No Dylan. Anywhere.
It must have been just past dawn. The sky was tinged with the first weak rays of sunlight, and a hazy mist shimmered across the waterâs surface. Meg and his mom, both early risers, werenât up yet.
Where was Dylan?
Sawyerâs heart pounded so hard, he was surprised it didnât slam right through his rib cage.
âDylaaan!â he bellowed. âDylaaan!â
His gaze was drawn to the small lake that their campsite edged, and his heart stopped.
âNo. Please God...no,â he mumbled as he ran toward the water. Heâd been teaching Dylan to swim, but that didnât mean he couldnât have wandered into the lake and... No! He wouldnât think about that.
âDylan!â Sawyer shouted again as he waded in.
A hand latched on to his arm and tugged him back. Too big a hand to be Dylanâs.
He turned and stared into Megâs huge eyes.
âSawyer, what are you doing? Whereâs Dylan?â
âI...I donât know where he is.â He noticed his parents standing a few feet back at the edge of the lake. âDylan wasnât in his sleeping bag...â His voice cracked, and he willed himself to stay calm.
âDad, dial 911!â Meg, obviously thinking more coherently than Sawyer, called to their father. âAnd the park ranger.â
As his father hurried to his parentsâ tent, Sawyer shook off Megâs grasp and took a few more unsteady steps into the lake. Other than the ripples he and Meg had created, the waterâs surface was smooth as glass. No disturbance...no air bubbles. He turned and brushed by Meg, hurrying toward his mother. She, too, was looking anxiously about, concern furrowing her brow.
Sawyer yelled Dylanâs name several more times, then he, his mother and Meg stood motionless and quiet, hoping for a response. Only birdsong filled the silence until his father returned. âThe park rangerâs on his way. The San Diego Police Department is also sending someone,â he said.
âOkay. Okay,â Sawyer murmured, trying desperately to think coherently. âMom, you stay here. Wait for the ranger and the cops. Iâm going over there.â He gestured vaguely toward the left. He pointed again. âMeg, you look in that direction. Dad, can you search back there, behind the camp?â
Not waiting for replies, Sawyer raced back to his tent, pulled on his running shoes, then took off at a run.
He had to find Dylan. The thought of his son alone in the woods, frightened, maybe injured, terrified him. He didnât know how long Dylan had been gone.
Animals, including coyotes and mountain lions, inhabited the forest. He remembered reading in the guide book that the California mountain king snake lived in the park, too. He couldnât recall if the book said the snake was venomous.
âDylaaan!â
His voice was hoarse from shouting his sonâs name. Occasionally, he heard Meg or his father calling out, too, but without response.
Never a response.
They had to find Dylan.
Tripping over an exposed tree root, Sawyer landed hard on his hands and knees. He pushed back up to his feet, absently brushed at the grime and the blood, and moved on.
He hadnât bothered with his watch when he left, and he had no idea how long heâd been stumbling around in the forest. He was barely aware of the cuts and scrapes heâd sustained running through dense growth and falling a couple of more times.
An incongruous sound caught his attention. Was it a rustling in the brush?
He paused to listen and began to wonder if heâd imagined it.
Then he heard it again. It was his name.
His mother was calling him. Her voice was faint but distinct.
Elation surged through him. Dylan mustâve found his way back to the campsite.
âIâm coming, Mom!â he shouted and thrashed through the forest, running as fast as he could.
The thorns and branches clawing at his arms and legs didnât slow him. He ran full speed in the direction of his motherâs voice. His muscles screamed and each breath was agony, but the thought of Dylan, safe and sound in his motherâs arms, propelled him forward.
What seemed like an eternity later, he hurtled through the brushwood bordering their campsite.
His energy gone, he bent over. Panting, trying to control his nausea, his eyes landed on his mother sitting at a picnic table. He swept his gaze around, searching for Dylan.
He saw his father and Meg talking to a couple of park rangers, but he didnât see his son. Limping over to his mother, his voice gravelly, he asked, âWhereâs Dylan?â But he knew the answer. Her tear-streaked face, swollen eyes and red nose said it all.
Dylan hadnât returned.
His mother rose, took a couple of halting steps toward him and collapsed in his arms. He held her while she wept.
When had his mother become so frail? Bird bones, he thought, as she shuddered in his embrace. Over the top of her head, Sawyer met his fatherâs eyes. The torment in them was a reflection of what he felt himself.
One of the park rangers walked over. âMr. Evans, we need to speak with you.â
* * *
SHANNON CLEMENSâS DREAM had finally come true. She was now officially a member of the San Diego Police Departmentâs K-9 Unit. Not on probation anymore, but a full-fledged K-9 officer, with her own specialization. It hadnât come easy. Sheâd worked diligently for it.
The K-9 Unit was one of the toughest in the department to get into.
And sheâd done it! For the last few months, sheâd been conferring with the unitâs captain, Logan OâConnor, to identify the appropriate specialization for her and her police-service dog, Darwin. Well, now she was formally assigned to do search and rescue. Sheâd thought she might want to do explosives detection, but the incident at the San Diego International Airport half a year ago had helped her decide against it. Search and rescue presented its own challenges for her, but maybe it was destined that was where sheâd end up.
She shifted her head on the pillow and watched the beautiful brown-and-black German shepherd lying on his own bed in a corner of her room. Darwin was only two years old, and was already showing exemplary skills and high detection accuracy. He was born in the Czech Republic, bred to be a service dog and had joined the SDPD K-9 Unit about the same time Shannon had. He was trained in tracking, building and area searches, article search, suspect apprehension and, like all dogs in the unit, handler protection and obedience. She was proud of Darwin, not just because she loved him, but because sheâd been instrumental in his training.
Darwin moaned in his sleep and curled into a tighter ball. Shannon grinned at the way heâd tucked his snout under his tail.
She couldnât believe that Darwin was assigned to her and she had her dream job. Here they were...partners!
When her cell phone rang, Darwin immediately looked up. Shannon glanced at her bedside clock as she reached for the phone on her nightstand. It was just after six.
âClemens,â she said.
âOfficer Clemens, this is Dispatch. Iâm sorry to call you on your day off, but we have an incident at Cuyamaca Rancho State Park. Usually weâd send Officer Palmer and Scout for this, but heâs not available at present.â
Shannon swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Since Darwin had strolled over, she rubbed him behind the ears. She knew that Cal Palmer, the only other SDPD K-9âUnit officer who specialized in search and rescue, was enjoying a well-deserved vacation. He and his wife, Jessica, were due to have a baby soon, and theyâd decided to take their two girls on a Disney cruise before the arrival of their new addition. They were on a ship, and there was no way to summon Cal back, even if the SDPD had wanted to.
âNo problem,â Shannon said. âWhatâs the situation?â
âWe have a missing child. Four years old. He reportedly wandered away from his familyâs campsite. We donât know how long heâs been gone, but the State Park Rangers donât want to take any chances. Theyâve asked for our assistance in finding the boy. They need all the help they can get to cover the twenty-six thousand acres of forest, should it come to that.â
Shannon was familiar with the park, roughly forty miles east of San Diego in the Laguna Mountains. Sheâd frequented it with her family and her childhood friend, Kenny, when she was younger, and now she liked to go hiking there. In fact, sheâd run training exercises in the park with Darwin.
But a missing child...that was not what she wouldâve wanted for her first solo search assignment.
She tried to ignore the cold dread that slithered along her spine and wrote down the particulars.
The missing boy was four-year-old Dylan Evans. His father, a professor at Thomas Jefferson School of Law. Shannonâs heart went out to the man. She was certain the last thing he wouldâve expected when he went camping with his family was that heâd wake up in the early hours of the morning to discover that his son had somehow gotten out of their tent and disappeared. Dylan was potentially alone in a wilderness that was home to mountain lions and other creatures that posed a threat to a young boyâs survival.
Oh, she was well aware of the hazards a child could face in the park on his own. Time was very much of the essence.
âIâm on it,â she said and glanced at her clock again. âI should be there in under an hour.â
She didnât bother to shower. While Darwin ate his breakfast, she had a toasted bagel, then dressed quickly. To get her chin-length blond hair in some semblance of order, she ran a wet brush through it. She retrieved her equipment duffel from the bottom of her closet and rushed down the stairs.
Ten minutes after sheâd received the call from Dispatch, she and Darwin were in her SDPD-issue Ford Explorer heading to Cuyamaca Park. The adrenaline was pumping, a good thing, since it was blocking out the dread.
She could do this. She would do this.
A childâs life depended on it.
As she merged onto I-5 San Diego Freeway South, a moment of guilt had her wondering if she shouldâve told her captain about Charlie. Would that have made a difference? Would it have kept Logan from assigning her to search and rescue? It was too late for second-guessing. Sheâd simply have to do the best she could.
When her phone rang, she answered it.
âShannon, itâs Logan.â
Speak of the devil. âIâm on my way,â she assured her captain.
âGood. I knew you would be. I wanted to tell you that youâre up for this. Youâre skilled and so is Darwin. Two of the best rookies Iâve worked with.â
She could hear the sincerity in his voice. The pep talk bolstered her confidence. âThanks, Jagger,â she said, calling Logan by his alias. âI appreciate your belief in me.â
âItâs earned. Give me an update when you have something.â
âRoger that.â
She focused on her driving and soon she was passing through the entrance to the park. She checked in at the ranger station and was escorted to the Evansesâ campground.
Her stomach tensed as the site came into view.
A tall, rangy man, dressed in plaid shorts, a white T-shirt and wearing black-and-white high-top running shoes, sat at a picnic table. He had his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. She couldnât see his face, but his dark brown hair was standing on end. His arms and legs were scraped and bleeding in places, and his T-shirt had a long tear on one side.
A woman, roughly the same age and with nearly the same color hair, sat huddled against him, an arm around his shoulders. Shannon wondered, as she climbed out of her SUV and released Darwin, why his wifeâassuming that was who the woman wasâseemed to be holding up much better than the man.
Shannon turned her attention to the elderly couple on the other side of the table. The man was holding the woman, who was crying silently. Obviously the grandparents. Shannon waved to a ranger when he noticed her arrival. He walked briskly toward her and quickly briefed her on the situation. Theyâd been searching for over an hour, and had found no trace of the boy.
Shannon knewâand not just because of her police trainingâthat wasnât good news.
The ranger pointed out the boyâs father and signaled for her to follow him.
âMr. Evans?â Shannon said softly when theyâd reached the picnic table. The woman looked up but the man didnât. âMr. Evans,â she repeated, more loudly this time.
When his head jerked up, his forest green eyesâan unusual blend of green and brownâbored into hers. Their intensity triggered an involuntary urge to step back.
He had a strong jaw, straight nose. Good features. He mightâve been attractive under normal circumstances. But right now, his skin was splotchy, his hair even more disheveled from this angle, his eyes red-rimmed and his lips compressed so firmly they were edged with white. He had an angry scratch on his left cheek, just below his eye. The desperation she saw in his eyes evoked memories of Charlie and nearly destroyed her composure.
Everyoneâs attention was now on her and she had to maintain control.
âMr. Evans, Iâm Officer Shannon Clemens with the San Diego Police Department. Iâm here to help find Dylan.â She had to give him hope. She could see he was barely hanging on. âWeâll locate him,â she promised. She prayed they could.
Because it was too disconcerting to keep looking into his tormented eyes, she shifted her gaze to the woman. âMrs. Evans, your sonââ
âItâs Ms.,â the woman corrected her. âIâm Meghan. Dylanâs aunt.â
âOkay.â Uncertainty formed a hard, tight knot in her stomach. She wished Cal hadnât taken this particular week offâand that her first solo search and rescue assignment didnât involve a boy nearly the same age as Charlie had been...
Shannon forced herself to stay focused, stay sharp. âDarwin.â She pointed to her dog. âHeâs trained in search and rescue. Darwin and I will do everything we can to find Dylan. Before we start, I need your help.â
The father straightened. âOf course. Whatever you need.â
She took a deep breath to brace herself. âI require something thatâs Dylanâs and has his scent on it, to get Darwin familiar with it. The more recent, the better.â
He lurched to his feet. âYeah. Sure. His sleeping bag. He was in it before he disappeared.â
âGood, but I also need something smaller. Something I can take with me to refresh Darwinâs memory, if necessary. An article of clothing Dylan slept in perhaps?â
He clenched his hands, the knuckles turning white. âHe... Heâs wearing the clothes he slept in.â
Twelve years later, she still remembered that all-consuming, devastating feeling of having a loved one go missing. Maybe it was wrong, but Shannon touched his arm. âLetâs see what there is in the tent that we can use,â she said gently.
She settled on a pair of socks that had been stuffed into Dylanâs sneakers. When the father said that was the only pair of shoes heâd brought for Dylan, she made a mental note to consider how far the boy couldâve wandered without shoes.
To be on the safe side, Shannon also took the T-shirt Dylan had worn the evening before and a picture the father had in his wallet.
Again she laid an encouraging hand on his arm. âI promise weâll do everything we can to find your son.â
