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Heart heavy, he began entering a missing person report and getting Dion’s info into the appropriate databases. The situation didn’t meet the criteria for an AMBER alert, and there was still a chance the boy was completely fine, but Eric couldn’t assume that was the case. He needed to find him ASAP.

Once everything was uploaded, including the most recent picture he had of the teen, Eric grabbed his notebook and pen. Again, he reviewed everything related to Dion and his mom. Added a few more notes to his most recent follow-up calls.

He stared at the paper. Clicked his pen. Once, twice, three times. There wasn’t nearly enough information here. His brain flew through everything he knew about the situation, trying to fit the pieces together.

Dion’s mom was dead of an overdose.

Click.

Lucky was safe. Dion in the wind.

Click.

Where had Ashley Harrison procured her drugs? Had her death hit the news? Did Dion know his mom was gone? Was the teen okay?

Click. Click. Click.

He dropped the pen and massaged his forehead. Before his meeting with Mayor Jennings, he’d checked in on Lucky. The social worker hadn’t found an emergency placement for him yet at that point. If they were still at the social services office, maybe he could question the boy. Lucky might not know anything—or be willing to talk to him—but it might be his best shot at finding out something that would lead him to Dion.

A quick phone call confirmed Lucky and the social worker were still at the office. He started the car and backed out of the driveway, casting one last look at the darkened house before pulling away.

The social services headquarters was only a few miles away, and Eric arrived in less than ten minutes. He made his way to the third floor and rapped on an office door. Tracy Ann, a veteran social worker, answered.

“Detective Thornton, come on in.” She stood aside to allow him entrance.

He quickly took in the office. One side of the room appeared to be a kitchenette and boasted a refrigerator and microwave. The other contained a desk centered under a window, a cot pushed against the wall in one corner, and a small play area nestled into another corner and framed in with a short couch.

Lucky sat in the play area, guiding a wooden train along a rug printed with a winding road.

“He hasn’t said a word all day,” Tracy Ann murmured. “Not even when we told him about his mama.”

The words landed like a one-two punch to the kidneys. The boy had lost almost everything today. Depending on what happened with Dion,almostmight be too optimistic.

Eric crossed into the play area and knelt in front of the boy. His knees crackled like a bowl of rice cereal, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in a while. Next stop.

“Hey, there. Remember me?”

Lucky didn’t look up from his train.

“I’m Detective Thornton. You doing okay?”

A barely discernible shrug.

“You have supper?”

A nod.

“Good. Listen, Lucky, I’m trying to find your brother. Nobody’s heard from him, and I want to make sure he’s okay. Do you know where he could be?” No response. “Lucky.” Eric gently covered the boy’s hand.

Lucky flinched away and scooted backward, leaving the train in Eric’s grip.

Bad move. “Sorry.” He moved the train back toward the boy,but Lucky didn’t reach for it. “Go ahead. It’s okay.” When the boy still didn’t move, he decided to try one more time. “Lucky, I know it’s been a really bad day, and we’re trying to make sure you and your brother are taken care of. But I can’t help Dion if I don’t know where he is.”

Lucky finally made eye contact. Held it. His expression gave nothing away, but at least it let Eric know he was listening.

“Do you know where he likes to hang out? Maybe the name of a friend he goes to see sometimes?”

He shook his head—a hesitant movement, as if he was afraid Eric would lash out at him for not giving the right answer.