Cold Dark Heart by Julie Kriss

Eighteen

Andie

There weretwo voices in my head. The first one said: It’s only been a few hours. He’s thirteen. He could be with a friend somewhere, and he either dropped his phone or the battery is dead. He’s just being a thoughtless teenager. He’s fine. The other voice said: Call the police.

If I called the police, the next call the cops made would be to my dad. Did I want to panic my dad? Miles was always home by five, and it was almost six. I could understand if he was just late, but Miles never—never—left me hanging without answering my calls or texts, or without letting me know where he was. My calls were now going directly to voicemail, as if his phone was off. Every cell of my body screamed that something was wrong, yet he was only late by an hour. I was a mess.

Instead of calling the police, I did the next best thing. I called Damon.

He showed up at my door in ten minutes. “Tell me everything,” he said.

I turned off the pots that were simmering on the stove, the spaghetti and meatballs we weren’t going to eat, and I let all the words out. About my agreement with Miles taking his bike instead of the school bus, about his five o’clock curfew, about his phone. I babbled that maybe I was overreacting and maybe I was crazy, but this just wasn’t like him. I tried Miles’s phone again and again, listening it going to voicemail each time.

Everything was going through my head. Miles in a ditch with a head injury after falling off his bike. Miles abducted by a creep. Miles getting hit by a car and admitted to a hospital somewhere, lying in a bed while no one knew who he was. Miles stranded in the middle of nowhere, his bike broken, forced to walk or hitchhike to get home.

I had already called the small hospital in Salt Springs, who didn’t have any unidentified boys admitted. What if he’d somehow ended up at a hospital in Denver? What if he wasn’t in a hospital at all, but was lying somewhere, hurt?

Damon listened as I talked. When I finally paused to take a breath, he put a hand on the back of my neck. His touch was warm and strong, assured, and I went still, feeling the heat from the contact spread over my skin. I took my first deep breath in a long time. Even the scent of him calmed me down a little. I closed my eyes and breathed in again.

“We’ll figure it out,” Damon said, his voice calm.

“Okay,” I said, my eyes still closed.

He dropped his hand, and I wanted to protest. I needed him touching me. I couldn’t make myself say it.

“When was the last time you heard from Miles?” Damon asked me.

Opening my eyes, I pulled out my phone, scrolling back through my texts. “I haven’t heard from him since he left for school this morning. If he hadn’t showed up at school, they would have called me, so he must have gone. He usually texts me after school when he’s on his way home.”

“Okay.” Damon was standing close to me as I scrolled through my phone, looking for a text that wasn’t there. “We can—Wait. What is that?”

I had closed my text screen, showing the wallpaper on my phone. It was a photo of Miles and me, taken on a hike we’d done a few months ago, both of us tousled and smiling with backpacks on. “What do you mean?” I asked Damon. “That’s Miles and me.”

He took my phone from my hand and looked closely at the photo. His expression went hard. “Oh, shit.”

“What? Oh shit what? Just say it, Damon. You’re freaking me out.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ve seen this kid before.”

“What? When? Today?”

“Not today.” He looked at the photo again, then handed the phone back to me. “I’ve seen him around town twice now. I didn’t know he was your son.”

“Around town? What does that mean? Miles goes to school and back. Where would you see him?”

“I saw him at a gas station the first day I came to town.”

I was so rattled that his words didn’t compute. “That was a month ago. A gas station? Why would Miles be at a gas station?”

Damon tilted my chin up so I was looking into his eyes. His gaze was hard and determined. “Andie,” he said. “Take a deep breath. Right now.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

I inhaled.

“You’re not going to panic,” Damon said. “You’re not going to judge. You’re just going to listen while I explain, because you’re a rational woman and we’re going to get to the bottom of this. Okay?”

I let out a breath and nodded. And then Damon told me.

Miles had been at a gas station, shoplifting snacks. He’d run from the store clerk and gotten into a car that drove away.

Miles had been outside a liquor store with another boy, the two of them waiting for someone inside to come out. He’d gotten into a car that time, too, and it drove away. Damon and I cross-checked the dates. That was the evening Miles told me he was at his friend Jonathan’s.

Damon’s voice was calm, keeping me from spiralling. “What’s Jonathan’s phone number?” he asked me.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I always contact Miles on his own phone.”

“What’s Jonathan’s last name?”

Shit. “I don’t know—Wait. I had Miles text me Jonathan’s address that night.” I scrolled through my texts again, going back a few weeks. “Here it is.”

“Fine. We’ll go there right now.”

“I can’t,” I said. “I can’t leave. What if Miles comes home?”

He nodded. “Okay then, I’ll go. I’ll knock on their door and let you know what happens.”

He turned to leave, but I grabbed his arm. “Thank you,” I said.

He just nodded again. “You’ll hear from me in a few minutes.”

He left, and I sat alone in the silent house. I turned up the volume on my phone to the highest possible setting and placed it on the kitchen counter where I could clearly see it. Then, to keep my hands busy, I cleaned up the dinner I’d been making, putting it away in the fridge because when Miles came home, he’d probably be hungry. I was going to think positive if I could.

Thirty minutes that felt like a year later, the phone on the counter rang. It was Damon.

“There’s a kid named Jonathan Traeger who lives here,” he told me when I answered. “He’s two years older than Miles. His parents say Miles has been over a few times and they know who he is. But he wasn’t there today, and Jonathan is out.” He paused. “They admit that Jonathan has been getting into trouble lately, mostly with his older brother, Jaden. They have no idea where either boy is right now.”

I wanted to scream: Why don’t those people know where their children are? But I couldn’t really say that, could I? I didn’t know where my own son was.

“Damon, what do I do?” I asked. “Should I call my father?”

“Why would you call your father?”

Of course—I’d never told Damon about my dad. “He was a county sheriff until he retired a few years ago.”

There was a beat of silence as Damon digested this. “Does he still have connections with his old colleagues?”

Despite my panic, I snorted a laugh. “Of course he does. He plays poker with half the sheriff’s office and the Salt Springs PD on Friday nights. I haven’t called the police about Miles because Dad will hear about this within seconds.”

“And what will he do?” Damon asked.

“Yell at me,” I answered honestly. “Spend too much time lecturing me about how this is my fault as a parent instead of coming up with solutions. Bring it up to my dying day. He adores Miles.”

“You’ll have to put up with it,” Damon said. “I have the license plate of the car I saw Miles get into at the liquor store. We need him to get someone to run it.”

“You have the license plate number?”

“It was a gut feeling,” Damon said. “You get those when you’re a cop for a long time. I’ll text you the number. I’ll bet anything that car is registered to this Jaden Traeger kid. Chances are, he’s with Miles right now. Then we’ll find them.”