The dive team was in the water.

The dive team was in the water.

Please, God, don’t let him be in there, but the images were too clear, his little body being pulled up, limp and white, a tiny casket, Ethan devastated, their beautiful boy, gone. Parker choked, started to gasp, her breath yanking in and out of her chest. Maggie hugged her, hard. “Easy, Parker, easy,” she whispered.

That’s right. She didn’t have the luxury of her own feelings. Her son needed her. She would not fall apart now.

“Give me a minute,” she said, her gaze glancing off James, who looked decades older. She put her hands over her ears, muffling the sounds of radio and talking. Closing her eyes, she thought.

“Where’s the nail gun?” she asked. The chief glanced at someone else, a look that clearly said, She’s losing it. “Is the nail gun around?”

James bolted into the darkness. A second later, he was back. “It’s not in my truck. That’s where I left it.”

“Okay, so he took it. The nail gun is with Nicky, so he probably went off to make something.” He could’ve gone down to the dock to drive nails. He could’ve fallen in. “Has anyone talked to Ethan? Maybe Nicky called him?”

“I did,” James said. “He hasn’t heard from Nick. He’s getting a flight up.”

“Where was he the last time you saw him?” she asked James, forcing herself to look at him, and in that moment, she hated him, God help her, and hated herself, as well, because she’d left her baby, her boy, her son, with him, and James had lost him.

James flinched, as if he knew what she was thinking. “I was making dinner. Macaroni and cheese. He was on the couch, playing with his little computer thing—”

“Nintendo.” God, she’d left her son with a man who knew nothing about children, who’d told her he knew nothing about children, and she wouldn’t listen, she did what she wanted—

“—and then he was…gone.” His voice broke. It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. Only Nicky mattered.

“Did you go anywhere today? To the hardware store? To the harbor?”

“No.”

“Maybe he went to the Pines,” Lavinia suggested in a wobbly voice. “I told him his great-great grandfather built the place.”

The chief dispatched a crew to go up the street. Collier squeezed Parker’s shoulder and went with them.

It was fully dark now.

What did Nicky love? What would make him go off…?

“He’s hiding,” Parker said abruptly. “He hides all the time. He loves forts, and he took the nail gun and he’s hiding in a fort somewhere. Where’s Beauty? Maybe she’s with him.”

Beauty, who never barked at strangers; Beauty, who hid when people came into the house.

“Call the dog,” the chief instructed. “People, quiet down!” The crowd, which had grown to maybe fifty or so, grew silent. “Cut the trucks.” The growl of the town’s three fire trucks died abruptly. “Go ahead, Miss Welles.”

“Beauty!” Her voice was quavering and weak. “Beauty, girl! Come on!”

Everyone was silent, listening.

“Beauty! Come on, girl! Let’s go for a swim! Come on, Beauty!” Better, if edged with hysteria.

There was nothing but the sound of wind and water.

Oh, please, God, please. She tried again. “Beauty! Come on, sweetie! Let’s go for a swim!”

Then she heard it—the whine of her faithful little dog.

“Over here!” someone yelled, and Parker was running. People were shining lights at the bottom of the house, where James had put up latticework so no skunks could get under there. But there was a shallow scraping in the dirt, enough so that a child and a dog could fit under there. James ripped off a great chunk of the lattice, and Parker grabbed a flashlight and wriggled under, spiderwebs veiling her hair, sand in her pants. Then her light caught the reflection of her dog’s eyes, and she saw Nicky’s head, the cowlick he got from Ethan. “Nicky?” she called, reaching out to touch him. He was warm. He was breathing. “Nicky, sweetheart?”

Her son opened his eyes. “Mommy! You’re back.”

“I got him,” she called over her shoulder, and a cheer went up from the crowd. “Nick, we’ve been looking for you, baby.”

“I fell asleep in my fort,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Mommy? Why are you crying?”

* * *

LATER, WHEN EVERYONE had patted her son, when Chief Tatum had given him a plastic fire hat, when the yard and road had cleared, when Ethan had been called, when Nicky had been fed and bathed, Parker just held her son on her lap.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky said for the millionth time.

“This is why you tell me if you’re going to hide,” Parker said, kissing his head.

“You weren’t here.” There was a hard edge of resentment in his little voice.

No. She wasn’t. “You should’ve told James, then.”

“I don’t like James,” Nicky said sullenly, and Parker knew he blamed James for all the fuss, for Mommy being scared and crying. “I want to go home and live with Daddy.”

“We’re going home in a few days.”

“Good. Because I hate it here. And I wanna live with Daddy.” He started to cry.

She kissed his head and held him a little tighter. “Listen, honey. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s what you do after the mistake that really matters. You don’t hide without telling a grown-up, and you never go somewhere you don’t know is safe. Promise me, Nicky. It’s really, really important.”

“Fine. I promise.” He took a shuddering breath and snuggled closer. “I love you, Mommy.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I love you, too. So, so much.”

She held him until he fell asleep, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo. Then she put him in her bed and got in beside him, calling quietly to Beauty to jump up next to them.

Thank you, God. She could’ve been in the E.R. right now. She could’ve been watching a boat drag the harbor. She could’ve been picking out a little casket. Oh, Jesus, thank you for sparing me that.

Little sobs jerked out of her as she smoothed Nicky’s hair. Beauty put her muzzle on Nicky’s leg and watched with her mournful eyes as Parker wept.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she looked at the screen. Ethan.

“Hey,” she whispered. They’d already spoken twice since Nicky had been found.

“How is he?”

“He’s asleep.”

Ethan exhaled slowly. “Good. He sounded scared before.”

“Yeah. It was…intense.”

They were quiet for a long minute. “It’ll be good to have you both home,” Ethan said eventually.

“I can’t wait,” she said honestly.

“Me, neither.” Ethan sighed. “This hiding thing…it can’t happen again. He did it in Muir Woods, ducked behind a tree, didn’t answer when we called, and I almost lost it. Gave him a mammoth lecture, took away dessert, made him go to bed early. I thought he was over that phase.”

“Well. Seeing everyone looking for him drove the point home, I think.” She traced the outline of their son’s ear.

“Good.” There was another silence. “Poor James. He must’ve been scared shitless.”

“He was.”

“Well. I hope you get some sleep tonight, Parks. Here, Lucy wants to say hi.”

“Hey, sweetie,” Lucy said, and the sound of her voice caused more tears to flow, but when Parker hung up sometime later, she was calmer. These things happened. Parents lost years off their life simply by being parents. The vision of the dive team in the water, looking for her son…that would haunt her forever. But Nicky was safe, and nothing else mattered.

The exhaustion of the day caught up with her in a wallop, and suddenly her eyes burned. She turned out the bedside lamp and cuddled her son close.

Just before she fell asleep, something clicked.

James had been wet because he’d gone in the water, looking for her son.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

JAMES LAY AWAKE all night, adrenaline still flying through his veins, his heart stuttering and racing in fits.

The day with Nicky had been pretty okay, up until then. They’d gone for a walk on the beach and climbed the rocks exposed by low tide. Had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch. James had read Hungry, Hungry Sharks four times in a row. They’d played hangman and tic-tac-toe. Drew pictures. Told knock-knock jokes.

The whole time, James had watched the kid like a hawk. Didn’t let him out of his sight. Said no to every dangerous activity the kid suggested, which had ruled out climbing trees, jumping on Parker’s bed, a game of hide-and-seek and swimming.

“Let’s use the nail gun,” the kid had suggested.

James had considered it. Pictured taking Nicky to the E.R. because he had a nail through his hand. “Maybe tomorrow.”

The kid pushed out his bottom lip. “You kissed my mom.” It was an accusation.

James took a slow breath. “Right. I did.”

“Why?”

What do you say to that? “Well, she’s nice.”

“She’s my mother.”

“Oh, definitely. Your mother.”

And the kid had seemed satisfied with that. Then he’d asked if he could play his little handheld computer game, and James said sure, he had to make a quick phone call. Went into the kitchen, called Goldman Sachs and told Mitch Stravitz no thanks.

Because Parker Harrington Welles loved him, and he wasn’t going to move a hundred and fifty miles away from her. No way.

He hung up, gave the mac and cheese a stir, glanced into the living room. The kid was gone.

At first, James had thought Nicky had gone to the bathroom. A minute or two later, he knocked. No answer. Opened the door. No kid. “Nicky?” he’d called.

Not in either bedroom. Not in the kitchen. Not on the patio. Not in the yard, not in the truck. James heard his voice growing louder, then more desperate.

The dock.

The water had been as cold as death, and it was hard to see, the salt stinging his eyes. Rocks. A beer can. A school of fish, darting away into the dark, deep water.

The lake water had been much clearer the day Mary Elizabeth had almost drowned. Her little hand, so peaceful almost, no resistance left in it, like an underwater plant, drifting in the current—

“Nicky!” he heard himself yell, his voice hoarse with terror. “Nick!”

Two more dives before he realized he needed help. Called 911. Went back in the water until the dive team came and James was shaking so hard with cold that he couldn’t speak.

Then Parker’s face, utterly white in the deepening gloom of the night. You lost my son, her eyes said. You killed my baby.

And then she found him. All by herself, she figured out what the entire fire and police department and twenty-five volunteers couldn’t.

The little bastard was hiding.

“Didn’t you hear James calling you?” she’d asked sharply, even as she clutched him against her.

“We were playing! It was a game!”

“Now, now, don’t be too hard on the little guy,” the fire chief had said. Easy for him to say. In that moment, James was so, so glad he wasn’t a father, because honestly, he could’ve killed the kid, he was so relieved.

Parker hadn’t spoken to him for the rest of the night, too focused on her son. A doctor was there—Maggie’s brother-in-law—and he’d checked Nicky out for any concussion or whatnot. Hard to believe the kid had slept through fire sirens and all, but Parker confirmed her son slept like a rock. Her eyes slid off James’s face as if she hated him.

Twenty-four hours from love to hate.