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“Neither can I. But the picture... The resemblance is uncanny.”
“There’s a whole lot of speculation involved in the production of those age-progression photos. Just remember that.”
“I’m operating on the presumption that Josh Hamilton is not Taylor Rollings until I have proof otherwise.”
“Good plan, but you also need a plan for what you’re going to do if he is Taylor Rollings.”
“What would you do with that info?”
“I’d go directly to Farnsworth. Don’t pass Go, don’t collect two hundred dollars. Don’t do anything but go right to him.”
“Right. I agree. That’s what I’ll do.”
“This might be the craziest thing I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard a lot of crazy shit in my life.”
“I know—me too. Well, I’d better go make that call to Tennessee.”
“Keep me posted, baby girl, and be careful not to get yourself into another pot of hot water with the department over this.”
“I do so love a good hot bath.”
“Sam.”
“Yes, sir. I hear you. I’ll be careful.”
“Let me know how Nick and Scotty are later.”
“You got it. See ya, Skippy.”
“Bye, baby.”
Before she made the phone call to Tennessee, Sam went upstairs to look in on Scotty, resting her hand on his forehead, which was still burning hot.
He opened his eyes. “Hey.”
“How’re you feeling, honey?”
His eyes went wide all of a sudden, and Sam wondered if he was going to be sick again. “What is it?”
“I, um, that’s what my mom—my first mom—used to call me.”
“Oh, sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, it’s fine.” He forced a weak smile. “I like it.”
Her heart had never actually ached with love the way it regularly did for this sweet boy. She returned his smile and brushed the hair back from his forehead. “You need anything?”
“Some water maybe.”
“I’ll be right back.” She went downstairs and brought two glasses of ice water back up. Leaving Nick’s on Scotty’s bedside table, she helped her son sit up and take some sips.
“Was Harry here, or did I dream that?”
“He was here, and he said that despite how bad you feel, you’re going to live.”
“That’s good.”
Sam kissed his feverish cheek. “That’s very good.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Out cold the last time I checked.”
“I hope he’s okay.”
“He’ll be fine, and so will you.”
His eyes went wide all of a sudden. “TJ’s party! It’s tomorrow night. I have to go! Everyone is going.”
Sam hated to disappoint him, especially after all the hoops they’d had to jump through with the Secret Service to make it possible for him to attend. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings before we decide anything. You wouldn’t want your friends to get sick if you go out too soon, would you?”
“No, but...” His chin quivered ever so slightly. “I really want to go.”
“I know. Maybe you’ll feel a thousand times better by tomorrow.”
“I hope so.”
“Me too. Now get some sleep, and call me if you need anything. I’ll be close by.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Sam leaned over to kiss his cheek again before tucking the comforter in around his shoulders.
“You’re a good mom,” he said so softly she almost missed it.
Her heart skipped a beat. “Really?”
“Mmm-hmm. The best.”
“You make it easy for me.”
His eyes were closed, but his lips curved into a smile.
Taking the other glass of water with her, Sam left his door propped open so she could hear him if he called for her. She went into her room where Nick was exactly where she’d left him—curled up on his left side sound asleep. Other than their honeymoon, when they’d done nothing but eat, drink, sleep and have sex, she’d rarely seen him asleep at this hour of the day. It was unsettling to see her unstoppable husband felled by anything, let alone something as pedestrian as the flu.
At times, she’d wondered if he had superpowers that he kept secret from her. How else to explain the way he managed to get so much done while also taking excellent care of her and Scotty? Sam kissed his cheek, and even though she knew she shouldn’t, she kissed his lips too.
“Mmm, not tonight, babe.”
Sam laughed out loud.
His eyes popped open.
“I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said no to me.”
Clearing his throat, he said, “I take it back. I never say no to you.”
“You’re allowed to today. How you doing?”
“Never better.”
“Now you’re lying to me?”
“Don’t want you to worry.”
“Too late for that.”
“How’s the boy?”
“Worried about TJ’s party.”
Nick winced. “Ahh, crap. That’s tomorrow, right?”
“Yep.”
“What are the odds that we’re going to be free of this plague by then?”
“Slim to none.”
“He’ll be so disappointed.”
“We’ll make it up to him—somehow.”
“I’ve got to go make a call, and then I’ll come back and tell you a story you won’t believe.”
“’K.” His eyes were already closed, his breathing heavier, his muscles relaxing as he drifted back to sleep.
Sam went into the bedroom they now used as an office, since the Secret Service had commandeered their downstairs study. She fired up Nick’s computer, then knocked a few of his rigidly organized files out of alignment, smiling at the thought of him discovering her handiwork when he felt better. She did a search for Williamson County law enforcement, clicking on the link to the Franklin, Tennessee police department.
The age-progression photo Josh had seen online and a paragraph about the photo being released on the thirtieth anniversary of Taylor’s kidnapping appeared on the department’s home page. The write-up ended with the phone number to call with information about the case.
Sam felt unusually nervous as she placed the call. Rarely did her work cause jitters, but everything about this situation was odd—from Josh happening upon the photo on a random website to the way he’d singled her out to investigate. And then there was his connection to Director Hamilton.
“Franklin Police.”
“I’d like to speak to the detective in charge of the Taylor Rollings case, please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C.”
Dead silence.
“As in the vice president’s wife?”
“As in Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD.”
“Ah, I got it. So you don’t play the VP card, huh?”
This guy was lucky Sam wasn’t his boss, or his ass would be grass and she’d be the lawn mower. “Could I please speak to the detective?”
“You sure can. Just hang on one second. And may I say it was an honor to speak to you?”
Since her head was about to explode with aggravation, she decided it would be wise to remain silent. The phone clicked to hold music that was even more annoying than the MPD’s, and that was saying something.
“Detective Watson.”
“This is Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD in Washington, D.C. Are you the detective in charge of the Taylor Rollings case?”
“I am.”
“I may have something for you.”
After a long pause, he said, “Define something.”
“A possible match for the age-progression photo you circulated. I’ve had someone make contact who believes it’s possible he may be the person you’re looking for.”
“Can you send me a picture?”
“Not yet. We’ve taken a DNA swab and will have a report for you in the next few days. If there’s a match, we’ll proceed from there. You’ll understand that he’s not interested in raising the hopes of the Rollings family without definitive proof.”
“I do understand, and that’s the last thing I want either, believe me. I appreciate the call and the heads-up. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?”
“Just one thing—his thirtieth birthday is next week, so the timing lines up. But if the DNA doesn’t match, there’ll be no point in discussing it any further.”
“I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” He shared his email address and cell phone number. “If you’d give me a call when you send it, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll do that. Could I ask if there’ve been any other leads resulting from the photo?”
“Lots of calls, but nothing that’s panned out. We’re following up on everything the way we always do when this case gets new attention, usually around the anniversary of the abduction.” He sounded exhausted and frustrated, which gave him tons of credibility with Sam. Most detectives she knew spent a vast majority of their careers exhausted or frustrated, often both.
“How long have you been on the case?”
“Fifteen years. The original detective literally worked himself into an early grave looking for Taylor. His wife left him, his kids stopped speaking to him and he turned to the bottle for comfort.”
Sam felt for a guy she’d never met. Sometimes the job took everything you had to give and then asked for more. “And the parents...”
“Toughest people you’ll ever meet. True salt-of-the-earth types. I don’t know how they do it, but they never give up hope. They speak of Taylor in the present tense. Micki says that until she has proof to the contrary, she believes her son is alive.”
