Page 54

Sheena

I sped through the dark streets with 9-1-1 dispatch on speakerphone, desperate to reach the last place I ’ d seen that frozen blue dot on the app.

I was still a good fifteen minutes from the top of Sugarloaf Lane, even if I kept up this pace.

“ My name is Sheena Halverson, ” I said in a rush, knowing there was no point pretending otherwise. They ’ d likely already have my name and phone number on their screen. “ My—my daughters were on the bus that went missing yesterday afternoon. And I have credible information about the location of the kidnapper—or kidnappers. Off I-55 and Sugarloaf Lane.”

“ Ms. Halverson, I ’ m having a hard time understanding you. I need you to slow down. Is that Sugarloaf Lane in Ada County?”

“ Yes,” I gasped. “ I don ’ t know where to start explaining. But I ’ m positive the kidnappers are in this area. I wasn ’ t supposed to call the police. They said … they said they ’ d hurt the kids.”

The tears were coming again, but I didn ’ t take my hands off the wheel to swipe them away.

“ I understand, and I ’ m sending help,” the dispatcher reassured me. “ You did the right thing by calling.”

I swallowed hard. If only either of us knew that was true.

“ Can you tell me—”

“ How many officers are you going to send?” I asked, cutting the patient woman off. “ They won ’ t use sirens, right? Please, they can ’ t use sirens. They could be anywhere near that location I gave you.”

“ Ma ’ am, I am dispatching multiple units now to the location you provided. I need you to stay on the line with me. What is your location?”

I hesitated just long enough, because her voice was stern when she said, “ I need you to stay where you are and talk to me, Ma ’ am. You need to stay clear of the location you provided and talk to me.”

I tried to speak, to respond, but the only sound that came out was a strangled cry.

“ I ’ ll be relaying everything you say to the officers headed to the scene,” the dispatcher reassured me, her voice so calm I couldn ’ t help but cling to it like a life preserver. “ So I need any information you can provide that might help the police navigate the situation. Ma ’ am? ”

I slowed down and pulled the car to the side of the road, feeling like I was sinking. Drowning, maybe, pulled under by the weight of the truth.

The police were enroute. Which meant that all I could do now was stay out of their way and hope like hell they could succeed where I ’ d failed.

I ’ d jumped into the surf, but I knew in my bones I wasn ’ t going to reach that bobbing red hoodie on my own after all, no matter how hard I swam.

In my mind ’ s eye, it was already disappearing beneath the waves.

Soon, it would be gone.