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  As she watched, Denise felt a lump rise in her throat as her nausea returned.

  Kyle was still out there.

  Judy hung up the phone and went to the bed again. "They haven't found him yet, but they're still out there. A bunch of people from the town showed up, so there are more people than there were before. The weather's cleared up some, and they think Kyle was moving to the southeast. They went that way about an hour ago."

  Denise barely heard her.

  It was coming up on 1:30 A.M.

  The temperature--originally in the sixties--was nearing forty degrees now, and they'd been moving as a group for over an hour. A cold northern wind was pushing the temperature down quickly, and the searchers began to realize that if they hoped to find the little boy alive, they needed to find him in the next couple of hours.

  They'd now reached an area of the swamp that was a little less dense, where the trees grew farther apart and the vines and bushes didn't scrape against them continually. Here they were able to search more quickly, and Taylor could see three men--or rather their flashlights--in each direction. Nothing was being overlooked.

  Taylor had hunted in this part of the swamp before. Because the ground was elevated slightly, it was usually dry, and deer flocked to the area. A half mile or so ahead, the elevation dropped again to below the water tables, and they would come to an area of the swamp known to hunters as Duck Shot. During the season men could be found in the dozens of duck blinds that lined the area. The water there was a few feet deep year-round, and the hunting was always good.

  It was also the farthest point that Kyle could have traveled.

  If, of course, they were going in the right direction.

  Chapter 7

  It was now 2:26 A.M. Kyle had been missing for almost five and a half hours.

  Judy wet a washcloth and brought it to the bedside and gently wiped Denise's face. Denise hadn't spoken much, and Judy didn't press her to do so. Denise looked shell-shocked: pale and exhausted, her eyes red and glassy. Judy had called again at the top of the hour and had been told that there still wasn't any news. This time Denise had seemed to expect it and had barely reacted.

  "Can I get you a cup of water?" Judy asked.

  When Denise didn't answer, Judy rose from the bed again and got a cup anyway. When she returned, Denise tried to sit up in the bed to take a sip, but the accident had begun to take its toll on the rest of her body. A shooting pain coursed from her wrist through her shoulder, like a surge of electricity. Her stomach and chest ached as if something heavy had been placed on top of her for a long time and now that it had finally been removed, her body was slowly coming back to shape, like a balloon being painfully reinflated. Her neck was stiffening, and it seemed as if a steel rod had been placed in her upper spine that kept her head from moving back and forth.

  "Here, let me help," Judy offered.

  Judy set the cup on the table and helped Denise sit up. Denise winced and held her breath, pursing her lips tightly as the pain came in waves, then relaxed as they finally began to subside. Judy handed her the water.

  As Denise took a sip, she shot a glance at the clock again. As before, it moved forward relentlessly.

  When would they find him?

  Studying Denise's expression, Judy asked: "Would you like me to get a nurse?"

  Denise didn't answer.

  Judy covered Denise's hand with her own. "Would you like me to leave so that you can rest?"

  Denise turned from the clock to Judy again and still saw a stranger . . . but a nice stranger, someone who cared. Someone with kind eyes, reminding her of her elderly neighbor in Atlanta.

  I just want Kyle. . . .

  "I don't think I'll be able to sleep," she said finally.

  Denise finished her cup and Judy took it from her. "What was your name again?" Denise asked. The slurring had lessened a little, but exhaustion made the words come out weakly. "I heard it when you made the calls, but I can't remember."

  Judy set the cup on the table, then helped Denise get comfortable again. "I'm Judy McAden. I guess I forgot to mention that when I first came in."

  "And you work in the library?"

  She nodded. "I've seen you and your son there on more than a few occasions."

  "Is that why . . . ?" Denise asked, trailing off.

  "No, actually, I came because I knew your mother when she was young. She and I were friends a long time ago. When I heard you were in trouble . . . well, I didn't want you to think that you were in this all alone."

  Denise squinted, trying to focus on Judy as if for the first time. "My mother?"

  Judy nodded. "She lived down the road from me. We grew up together."

  Denise tried to remember if her mother had mentioned her, but concentrating on the past was like trying to decipher an image on a fuzzy television screen. She couldn't remember one way or the other, but as she was trying to do so, the telephone rang.

  It startled them both, and they turned toward it, the sound shrill and suddenly ominous.

  A few minutes earlier Taylor and the others had reached Duck Shot. Here, the marshy water began to deepen, a mile and a half from the spot where the accident had occurred. Kyle could have gone no farther, but still they'd found nothing.

  One by one, after reaching Duck Shot, the group began to converge, and when the walkie-talkies clicked to life, there were more than a few disappointed voices.

  Taylor, however, didn't call in. Still searching, he again tried to put himself in Kyle's shoes by asking the same questions he had before. Had Kyle come this way? Time and time again he came to the same conclusion. The wind alone would have steered him in this general direction. He wouldn't have wanted to fight the wind, and heading this way would have kept the lightning behind him.

  Damn. He had to have moved in this direction. He simply had to.

  But where was he?

  They couldn't have missed him, could they? Before they'd started, Taylor had reminded everyone to check every possible hiding place along the way--trees, bushes, stumps, fallen logs--anywhere a child might hide from the storm . . . and he was sure they had. Everyone out here cared as much as he did.

  Then where was he?

  He suddenly wished for nightvision goggles, something that would have rendered the darkness less crippling, allowing them to pick up the image of the boy from his body heat. Even though such equipment was available commercially, he didn't know anyone in town who had that type of gear. It went without saying that the fire department didn't have any--they couldn't even afford a regular crew, let alone something so high-tech. Limited budgets, after all, were a regular staple of life in a small town.

  But the National Guard . . .

  Taylor was sure that they would have the necessary equipment, but that wasn't an option now. It would simply take too long to get a unit out here. And borrowing a set from his counterparts at the National Guard wasn't realistic--the supply clerk would need authorization from his or her superior, who'd need it from someone else, who'd request that forms were filled out, blah, blah, blah. And even if by some miracle the request were granted, the nearest depot was almost two hours away. Hell, it would almost be daylight by then.

  Think.

  Lightning flashed again, startling him. The last bout of lightning had occurred a while back, and aside from the rain, he thought the worst was behind him.

  But as the night sky was illuminated, he saw it in the distance . . . rectangular and wooden, overgrown with foliage. One of the dozens of duck blinds.

  His mind began to click quickly . . . duck blinds . . . they looked almost like a kid's playhouse, with enough shelter to keep much of the rain away. Had Kyle seen one?

  No, too easy . . . it couldn't be . . . but . . .

  Despite himself, Taylor felt the adrenaline begin to race through his system. He did his best to remain calm.

  Maybe--that's all it was. Just a great big "maybe."

  But right now "maybe" was all he had, and he rushed to the first duc
k blind he'd seen. His boots were sinking in the mud, making a sucking sound as he fought through the ground's spongy thickness. A few seconds later he reached the blind--it hadn't been used since last fall and was overgrown with climbing vines and brush. He pushed his way through the vines and poked his head inside. Sweeping his flashlight around the interior of the blind, he almost expected to see a young boy hiding from the storm.

  But all he saw was aging plywood.

  As he stepped back, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and Taylor caught a glimpse of another duck blind, not fifty yards away. One that wasn't as shrouded as the one he'd just searched. Taylor took off again, running, believing . . .

  If I were a kid and I'd gone this far and saw what looked like a little house . . .

  He reached the second blind, searched quickly, and found nothing. He cursed again, filled with an even greater sense of urgency. He took off again, heading for the next blind without knowing exactly where it was. He knew from experience that it wouldn't be more than a hundred yards away, near the waterline.

  And he was right.

  Breathing hard, he fought the rain, the wind, and most of all the mud, knowing in his heart of hearts that his hunch about the duck blinds had to be right. If Kyle wasn't here, he was going to call the others on the walkie-talkie and have them search every duck blind in the area.

  This time when he reached the blind, he pressed through the overgrowth. Moving around to the side, he steeled himself to expect nothing. Shining his light inside, he almost stopped breathing.

  A little boy, sitting in the corner, muddy and scratched, filthy . . . but otherwise, seemingly okay.

  Taylor blinked, thinking it was a mirage, but when he opened his eyes again, the little boy was still there, Mickey Mouse shirt and all.

  Taylor was too surprised to speak. Despite the hours out there, the conclusion had seemed to come so quickly.

  In the silence--a few seconds at most--Kyle looked up at him, toward the big man in a long yellow coat, with an expression of surprise on his face, as though he'd been caught doing something that would get him in trouble.

  "Hewwo," Kyle said exuberantly, and Taylor laughed aloud. Grins immediately spread across both their faces. Taylor dropped to one knee, and the little boy scrambled to his feet and then into his arms. He was cold and wet, shivering, and when Taylor felt those small arms wrap around his neck, tears welled in his eyes.

  "Well, hello, little man. I take it you must be Kyle."

  Chapter 8

  "He's okay, everyone . . . I repeat, he's okay. I've got Kyle with me right now."

  With those words spoken into the walkie-talkie, a whoop of excitement arose from the searchers and the word was passed along to the station, where Joe called in to the hospital.

  It was 2:31 A.M.

  Judy retrieved the phone from the table, then sat it on the bed so that Denise could answer it. She was barely breathing as she picked up the receiver. Then all at once she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the scream. Her smile, so heartfelt and emotional, was contagious, and Judy had to fight the urge to jump up and down.

  The questions Denise asked were typical: "He's really okay? . . . Where did you find him? . . . Are you sure he's not hurt? . . . When will I see him? . . . Why so long? . . . Oh yes, I see. But you're sure? . . . Thank you, thank you all so much. . . . I can't believe it!"

  When she hung up the phone, Denise sat up--this time without help--and spontaneously hugged Judy while filling her in.

  "They're bringing him to the hospital . . . he's cold and wet, and they want to bring him in as a precaution, just to make sure everything's okay. He should be here in an hour or so. . . . I just can't believe it."

  The excitement brought the dizziness back, but this time Denise couldn't have cared less.

  Kyle was safe. That was the only thing that mattered now.

  Back in the swamp, Taylor had removed his raincoat and wrapped it around Kyle to keep him warm. Then, carrying him from the blind, he met up with the others and they waited in Duck Shot just long enough to ensure that all the men were accounted for. Once they were assembled, they started back as a group, this time in tightly knit formation.

  The five hours of searching had taken their toll on Taylor, and carrying Kyle was a struggle. The boy weighed at least forty pounds, and the extra weight not only made his arms ache, it also made him sink even deeper in the mud. By the time he reached the road, he was spent. How women were able to carry their kids for hours while shopping in the mall was beyond him.

  An ambulance was waiting for them. At first Kyle didn't want to let Taylor go, but Taylor, speaking softly, was finally able to coax him down to let the attendant examine him. Sitting in the ambulance, Taylor wanted nothing more than a long hot shower, but because Kyle seemed on the verge of panicking every time Taylor moved away, he decided to ride with him to the hospital. Sergeant Huddle led the way in his trooper's car, while the other searchers began to head home.

  The long night was finally over.

  They reached the hospital a little after 3:30 A.M. By that time the emergency room had calmed down and nearly every patient had been seen. The doctors had been informed of Kyle's imminent arrival and were waiting for him. So were Denise and Judy.

  Judy had surprised the nurse on duty by walking up to the station in the middle of the night to request a wheelchair for Denise Holton. "What are you doing here? Don't you know what time it is? Visiting hours are over. . . ." But Judy simply ignored the questions and repeated her request. A little cajoling was necessary--though not much. "They found her son and they're bringing him here. She wants to meet him when he arrives."

  The nurse went ahead and granted the request.

  The ambulance rolled up a few minutes earlier than predicted, and the back door swung open. Kyle was wheeled in as Denise struggled to her feet. Once inside the doors, both the doctor and the nurses stepped back so that Kyle could see his mother.

  In the ambulance he'd been stripped down, then wrapped in warm blankets to get his body temperature back up. Though his temperature had dropped a couple of degrees over the last few hours, he hadn't been at real risk of hypothermia, and the blankets had done their job. Kyle's face was pink and he was moving easily--in every respect he looked far better than his mother did.

  Denise reached the gurney, bending closer so that Kyle could see her, and Kyle sat up immediately. He climbed into her embrace and they held each other tightly.

  "Hello, Mommy," he finally said. (Hewwo, Money)

  Denise laughed, as did the doctor and nurses.

  "Hi, sweetie," she said, whispering into his ear, her eyes tightly closed. "Are you okay?"

  Kyle didn't answer, though this time Denise couldn't have cared less.

  Denise accompanied Kyle, holding his hand as the gurney was rolled to the exam room. Judy hung back throughout all this, watching them go, not wanting to interrupt. As they disappeared from view, she sighed, suddenly realizing how tired she was. She hadn't been up this late in years. It had been worth it, though--there was nothing quite like riding an emotional roller coaster to really get the old ticker pumping. A few more nights like this and she'd be in shape for a marathon.

  She walked out of the emergency room just as the ambulance pulled away and began to search through her pocketbook for her keys. Looking up, she spied Taylor talking to Carl Huddle near his patrol car and breathed a sigh of relief. Taylor saw her at the same time, sure at first that his eyes were playing tricks. He eyed her curiously as he started toward her.

  "Mom, what are you doing here?" he asked incredulously.

  "I just spent the evening with Denise Holton--you know, the child's mother? I thought she might need some support."

  "And you just decided to come down? Without even knowing her?"

  They hugged each other. "Of course."

  Taylor felt a surge of pride in that. His mother was a hell of a lady. Judy finally pulled back, giving him the once-over.

  "You look
terrible, son."

  Taylor laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. I actually feel pretty good, though."

  "I'll bet you do. And you should. You did something wonderful tonight."

  He smiled briefly before turning serious again. "So how was she?" he asked. "Before we found him, I mean."

  Judy shrugged. "Upset, lost, terrified . . . pick your adjective. She's been through pretty much everything tonight."

  He looked at her slyly. "I heard you gave Joe a piece of your mind."

  "And I'd do it again. What were you guys thinking?"

  Taylor raised his hands in defense. "Hey, don't blame me. I'm not the boss, and besides, he was as worried as we were. Trust me."

  She reached up, brushing the hair from Taylor's eyes. "I'll bet you're pretty worn out."

  "A little. Nothing that a few hours' sleep can't fix. Can I walk you to your car?"

  Judy looped her arm through Taylor's and they started toward the parking lot. After a few steps she glanced at him.

  "You're such a nice young man. How come you're not married yet?"

  "I'm worried about the in-laws."

  "Huh?"

  "Not my in-laws, Mom. My wife's."

  Judy playfully pulled her arm away. "I take back everything I just said."

  Taylor chuckled to himself as he reached for her again. "Just kidding. You know I love you."

  "You better."

  When they reached the car, Taylor took the keys and opened her door. Once Judy was behind the wheel, he bent down to peer at her through the open window. "Are you sure you're not too tired to drive?" he asked.

  "No, I'll be fine. It's not that far. By the way, where's your car?"

  "Still at the scene. I rode with Kyle in the ambulance. Carl's gonna bring me back."

  Judy nodded as she turned the key, the engine cranking over immediately.

  "I'm proud of you, Taylor."

  "Thanks, Mom. I'm proud of you, too."

  Chapter 9

  The following day dawned cloudy with sporadic rain, though most of the storm had already passed out to sea. The newspapers were filled with coverage of what had happened the night before, the headlines focusing largely on a tornado near Maysville that had destroyed part of a mobile home park, leaving four people dead and another seven injured. No coverage at all was granted to the successful search for Kyle Holton--the fact that he'd been lost at all wasn't learned by any reporters until the following day, hours after he'd already been found. The success had made it, in their vernacular, a non-event, especially when compared with the continual reports feeding in from the eastern part of the state.