It was a good exit line. She grabbed four bowls and a handful of spoons and beat a retreat toward the dining room and
safety.
Emily leaned her head on her wrist, plowing tunnels through her rice and peas.
Zack‟s place was empty. Of course. She should have known he‟d escape from the table the minute her back was turned.
“Zack!” she called up the stairs. “Ice cream.”
No answer.
“Sulking,” Morgan observed.
“Regrouping,” Liz corrected. “It‟s been quite a day.”
For all of them. And it wasn‟t over yet.
“Em, would you go upstairs and tell Zack it‟s time for dessert?”
Emily‟s small face was tense, her gaze fixed on her plate. “He isn‟t there.”
She pressed her lips together in annoyance. “Well, wherever he is, can you tell him—”
Emily looked up, her big eyes wide and clouded. “He went out.”
A feeling tickled the back of Liz‟s neck like a spider crawling along her hair line. “Out where?”
Emily twisted, looking over her shoulder toward the front door.
“Beneath the wave,” Morgan said.
“What?”
His face was grim. “I will go after him.”
Liz quelled her unease. His urgency was infectious, but there was no point in overreacting. “That‟s not necessary. He‟s
fifteen. It‟s still light out. How much trouble can he . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Morgan met her gaze. “Precisely.”
Her heart hammered. “I‟ll call his cell phone.”
“Do as you wish. I am going to find him.”
“You can‟t. He left because of you.”
Because he was hurting, angry, and confused, questioned by the police and confronted with his biological father. And she‟d
told him to get a job. She winced.
“You give him too much credit,” Morgan said. “I doubt he is capable of rational thought. He is a young, rebellious male.
He runs on instinct.”
“Runs where?” She knelt by her daughter‟s chair. “Em, honey, did Zack say anything about where he was going? When
he‟s coming back?”
Emily‟s lip trembled. She shook her head.
Liz strode to the living room and dug in her bag for her phone.
Morgan followed. “I need something that belongs to him. Something he sleeps with or wears next to his skin.”
She lowered the phone from her ear. “Why?”
“You are wasting time.” Morgan‟s gaze was cool and implacable. “Get it, please.”
“I‟m not going to . . . We don‟t need search dogs. Or psychics.” With relief, she heard the connection to Zack‟s cell phone
go through. But the call switched over instantly to voice mail. Her stomach hollowed.
Emily‟s sandals slapped as she ran upstairs. Upset, Liz thought.
She swallowed her worry and anger, struggled to keep her voice calm. “Zack, this is Mom.”
She left a message, flipped her phone shut. She needed to check on Em. But even as she headed for the hall, her daughter
reappeared in the entrance to the living room, hugging a pillow to her waist.
“Your brother‟s?” Morgan asked.
The little girl nodded.
His smile this time was no cool curve of lips but something warm and genuine. Liz‟s heart stuttered in her chest.
“Good girl.” Morgan plucked the pillow from her small hands.
Emily gazed up at him the way she had in the police station, like he was all the Disney princes and Anakin Sky-walker
rolled into one.
Liz watched him strip the case from Zack‟s pillow, his movements swift and fluid, as if every second counted. “This is