What they rarely knew was that Elias had spent twenty-seven years practicing law, including eight as a military JAG attorney.

“May I see that?”

Rourke frowned.

“No.”

“Then you shouldn’t have waved it around while claiming legal authority.”

“I don’t answer to you.”

“Correct.”

Elias stood.

“But courts do answer to clocks.”

Rourke’s expression shifted.

Elias extended his hand.

“If that order is valid, show it.”

Rourke reluctantly handed over the paper.

Elias read.

Then smiled.

It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

“When did Avery leave Hawthorne House?”

Marian answered.

“Approximately one fifteen.”

Elias turned the order around.

“Interesting.”

He pointed toward the timestamp.

12:52 p.m.

The emergency order authorizing Avery’s immediate recovery had been entered twenty-three minutes before Hawthorne House claimed anyone knew she was missing.

Nobody spoke.

Rourke snatched the paper back.

“Clerical error.”

Elias looked at Bear.

“Maybe.”

Then at Marian.

“But I’d be very interested to hear the clerk explain it.”

Sirens approached outside.

This time, an ambulance.

Reese stepped beside Avery.

“She gets evaluated first.”

Rourke objected.

Reese didn’t care.

“You have an injured seven-year-old who may have jumped from a second-story window. If you obstruct medical evaluation, I’ll put my nursing license back on the wall long enough to personally make your afternoon miserable.”

Knox almost smiled.

Rourke stepped aside.

The paramedics documented swelling around Avery’s ankle, dehydration, multiple older bruises and marks around one wrist that appeared consistent with prolonged pressure.

The findings proved nothing about who caused them.

But they proved one thing.

Avery had not imagined everything.

Before the ambulance left, a gray state vehicle pulled into the lot.

Regional child-protection investigator Jasmine Cole stepped out.

Behind her was a Missouri State Highway Patrol cruiser.

For the first time that afternoon, Sheriff Rourke looked nervous.

By six o’clock, Hawthorne House was being inspected.

No children were found locked downstairs.

No illegal restraint equipment was discovered.

And there was no Noah.

Marian Bell calmly produced records for every child in residence.

No Noah appeared anywhere.

The basement “quiet room” was simply a small counseling space with beanbag chairs and shelves of books.

By eight o’clock, Fairview Falls had already begun choosing which version of the story it preferred.

A troubled child had run away.

The scary bikers had overreacted.

A grieving grandfather was seeking attention.

Social media did the rest.

PRAY FOR MARIAN BELL.

HAWTHORNE HOUSE HAS HELPED HUNDREDS.

CHILDREN SAY STRANGE THINGS AFTER TRAUMA.

Bear read one comment twice.

That little girl has always been a liar.

He closed the laptop before he threw it.

Avery had been temporarily placed at the regional hospital while the state investigated.

Bear was permitted to remain with her after confirming their relationship.

At nine thirty, she woke from a shallow sleep.

“Grandpa?”

The word nearly destroyed him.

“I’m here.”

“They didn’t find Noah.”

“No.”

Her eyes filled.

“That means they moved him.”

Bear hated that he could not promise otherwise.

Instead he said, “We’re still looking.”