A half-hour later, I found a gated community with a wide-open gate. I drove through and circled the neighborhood. These weren’t the mansions I’d pictured, but they were nice, upscale condos.

  As I toured the tight streets, I found three snow-covered vehicles sitting in three snow-filled driveways. I revisited each, one after the other. Since the cars were all relatively new, it came down to the one that had a hide-a-key in a magnetic box on the undercarriage.

  Turns out it was a six-year-old Subaru. Fewer bells and whistles than the other two models, but less attention-getting on the road. Besides I liked the color—khaki green. Seemed like luck was still with me.

  I left the Honda in its place in the driveway—a nice touch if I do say so myself. The two cars were about the same size, and it was supposed to snow again in a few hours, which would cover the oxidized blue paint of the Honda. Nobody would notice a thing until the owners got there. Should buy me a day or two at worst, a month or two at best. Next stop, Big Bear.

  MOLLY: So much for honor among thieves. That was pretty cold and calculating. We now have only one escaped con, which is better than two I guess. But which one is he? We’ll have to wait and see.

  Twin Peaks and Lake Arrowhead are small towns in the same mountain community where Devon and Caleb are vacationing. Rather than heading to Orange County to find Fiona, as Dectective Sylla thought her half-brother would, our con decided to go to Big Bear. We can only guess his plan is to strike Fiona where she’s the most vulnerable. Love makes our underbellies soft, doesn’t it?

  But before I ask the question of the week, let’s hear from Devon one more time.

  7.1.6

  DEVON

  Devon’s heart seemed to take up half his chest cavity. It had been beating hard, begging for attention all morning. Now, as he dragged Caleb on his sled up the long, low hill, it felt as if it were banging a cowbell. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t blame the altitude alone. Fiona lost weight when she was stressed; he gained it. He was definitely going to start working out again. Soon.

  When they reached the top, he pointed the sled down the hill. “You ready?”

  Caleb pivoted in his seat. “You come too.”

  “Daddy’s bottom hurts from the last time,” Devon said.

  “I scared.”

  This would be Caleb’s solo flight. Devon had ridden it three times with his son. It was a gentle slope with no rocks or trees to hit. “You’ll be fine.” Before Caleb could protest again, Devon gave him a shove and he was off.

  The red plastic slid over the snow, bouncing lightly over ruts and bumps. Caleb caught air on one particularly big mound, his butt leaving the sled and thudding down again. Devon bit his bottom lip. He hadn’t considered the weight difference without him. He strode downhill.

  On each previous ride, the sled had come to a halt in the flat space before the trees. Would it do the same this time? Without Devon’s weight to slow it? He began to jog.

  Caleb’s tiny form careened forward, hit level ground, and kept sliding. Devon watched in dismay as the sled headed straight for a large pine tree only yards away. He ran, but it was too late. The right front edge of the sled hit the tree, turning it on its side and dumping his son into the snow.

  Caleb lay on his back, mouth open in a silent scream. Devon knew that face, the one that came before an ear-shattering howl. It meant his son was hurt, or very scared, or both. He dropped to his knees and lifted one of Caleb’s arms. It was still attached—a good start.

  He hesitated. Should he pick him up? What if his spine was injured? Devon was sure he’d read you should never move an accident victim. He wished Fiona were there. She’d know exactly what to do.

  He fished his phone from his pocket, ready to call 911, but before he opened the screen, Caleb sat up and let loose a yowl of pain. Relief rushed through Devon. He stroked his child’s head, feeling for bumps or blood but didn’t find either, then stood him on his feet and ran his hands over his limbs, his back, his ribs. Caleb stamped an angry foot, and Devon smiled. He was fine. Gradually the tears slowed, the screams became sobs and finally hiccoughs.

  “Want to do it again?” Devon asked.

  Caleb’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No.”

  “Just checking.”

  “Want to go home.” Caleb sniffed.

  Devon stood and slapped the snow from his knees. It was almost lunchtime, but he would bring his son here again before they left the mountain. Get back on the horse and all that. He didn’t want this to be Caleb’s final sledding memory. Next time, Devon would be waiting at the bottom of the hill to grab him.

  As they reached the clearing where the car was parked, Caleb ran ahead and disappeared behind the trees.

  “Wait for me,” Devon called after him.

  Caleb didn’t, and Devon had a momentary flush of last night’s panic, but saw his son hopping up and down next to the Audi when he entered the open area. “Have to go potty?” He asked.

  Caleb scrunched up his face and nodded.

  “Here’s a good tree.” Devon drew him away from the car.

  “No tree,” Caleb protested.

  “This is one of the great things about being a guy.” Devon flashed him a smile but felt a stab of guilt. Maybe he’d handed over too much of the parenting to Fiona. Apparently, there were some things a dad needed to teach his son.

  Caleb frowned at him as if considering the statement.

  “Daddy has to go, too.” Devon unzipped.

  Caleb watched for a long moment, then pulled his pants down and joined the party.

  That done, they climbed into the car, and Devon navigated up the bumpy dirt road to the main highway. “What do you want for lunch?”

  “Grilled cheese,” Caleb sang out. He seemed completely recovered from his accident.

  “We have to stop at the store, then. I didn’t bring any American cheese.”

  “Can we get Oreos?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t tell Mom.”

  Caleb giggled. Fiona was very disciplined in her eating habits. No sweets ever entered the house if they weren’t made with honey or agave nectar, except maybe a spot of ice cream now and again.

  Devon put no such limitations on his appetite. He ate pretty much whatever he pleased, which had worked fine until he’d turned forty. How did his body know he’d officially become middle-aged? Where did it get the signal to expand his girth in proportion to his timeline? Fiona could explain it, he was sure, but he’d never asked.

  The highway left the trees and entered the small city of Big Bear. The lake shimmered like a topaz in the noon sun, and the once pristine snow bordering the road became dirt encrusted.

  Devon pulled into the Von’s grocery store lot and parked next to a khaki green Subaru. “Maybe we should pick up some healthy stuff too, like apples and yogurt. What do you think?”

  There was no answer. He craned his neck and gazed at his son. His head had fallen to one side, and he breathed softly. Must be nice to be able to fall asleep on a dime, anywhere, at any time. Devon hadn’t slept well since he’d taken Kathy’s case.

  But that was over, he reminded himself. In the past. Myron had done him a favor. Myron was the reason Devon was up here in the mountains bonding with his son.

  Devon had turned off the computer when he’d left home and didn’t plan to reboot it until he drove down the mountain next week. This was a reset. He’d go back rested, rejuvenated, and ready to start fresh. At least, that was the plan. He hadn’t quite counted on the amount of attention a three-and-a-half-year-old demanded. “Hey, Caleb.” He wiggled his son’s leg.

  Caleb’s eyes shot open, he blinked twice, and said, “Can we get Cap’n Crunch, too?”

  “Cap’n Crunch or Oreos, you decide,” Devon said.

  “Both,” Caleb said.

  Devon unhooked his son and lifted him from the car. “Nope. One treat.”

  As they walked up and down the aisles of the store, Caleb changed his mind five or six times about what that one treat would be.

  “Maybe M&Ms,” Caleb said. A dark-haired man in black sweats glanced at him as they passed a shelf full of candy.

  “Sounds good,” he said, his voice raspy and thick.

  “Everything with sugar sounds good to him,” Devon joked, but the man only lifted one side of his mouth and dropped it into place again—a ghost of a smile. They pushed past him.

  Caleb, after much hemming and hawing, clutched a box of Double Stuf Oreos in his tiny arms, the word “double” on the label making him feel as if he were getting more bang for his buck. And they headed to the checkout.

  The parking lot had emptied while they were shopping. The Audi sat alone in the first line of spaces. Only a handful of other cars were parked in the far corners of the lot. A wind had whipped up and a sky full of leaden clouds had blown into town while they were inside the store. “Looks like more snow is on its way.”

  “Yay!” Caleb shouted. “Can we make a snowman? Please?”

  “After nap time,” Devon said a little uneasily. More snow could mean impassable roads. Fiona was coming up in a couple of days.

  Caleb kicked his feet as Devon buckled him into his car seat. “I not sleepy.”

  “Well, I am.”

  After a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, the phone rang. Devon checked the screen even though he knew it would be Fiona. He’d left strict instructions with his legal assistant not to call unless the office burned down. “It’s your mom,” he said to Caleb, who looked like the victim of a shark attack. Red soup stained his shirt, coated his hands and arms, and painted his mouth.

  “Me, me.” He grabbed at the phone.

  “Oh, no. You’re not touching my phone like that.” Devon answered the call, tucked it under his chin and yanked several paper towels off the roll. “Hey, babe.”

  “Hey, yourself,” Fiona said. “Miss me?”

  “Always. How was your night of peace and quiet?” At 1:30, 3:25, 5:10, and at again at 6:40 when he’d finally gotten out of the lumpy, twin-sized bed and moved to the lumpy, living room couch, Devon had imagined her stretched out on their very expensive California King mattress with a cross between envy and longing.

  “Great,” she said, but her voice was lacking the enthusiasm he’d expected. Maybe she slept as poorly without him as he did without her? The thought made him stupidly happy. “Did Caleb do okay?” she asked.

  “Out like a light,” Devon said.

  “Can I talk to him?”

  He covered Caleb’s face with a damp towel, scrubbed until his son squealed, then inspected his work. “Here he is.” He handed the phone to his child.

  Caleb held the cell to his face with both hands. “Mommy.”

  Devon could hear the warmth in his wife’s voice but not her words as she spoke to their son.

  Caleb grinned. “Angels. Lots of them.”

  Devon plucked the soup bowls and sandwich plates from the table and carried them to the sink as the two most important people in his world chatted. He loved his parents. They were good parents. They’d cared for him, provided for his needs, but he’d never had the relationship with them that Caleb had with Fiona. She was intuitive with their son, seeming to know the right thing to say on every occasion.

  Devon, on the other hand, planned his conversations with Caleb. He’d store up factoids during the day as he went about his work, things he hoped his son would find interesting. Did you know that Labrador Retrievers can swim? Or Chow Chows were bred to herd cattle?

  Unfortunately, the conversations rarely ran according to plan. Caleb would be deeply involved in building a track for his cars when Devon got home and only grunt responses. Or he’d be in the middle of a cartoon, and Devon wouldn’t even get a grunt.

  At those times, Fiona would remind him that Caleb was not even four, that he didn’t know how to be polite yet, and that his little mind could only focus on one thing at a time. Devon had read one or two parenting books. He understood where she was coming from, but didn’t fully embrace it. Which was why this trip was so important. He needed to prove to Fiona that he was a capable parent. Different, but every bit as capable as she was.

  “It was dark.” The wobble in Caleb’s voice brought Devon back to the present. “I was lo—” Devon covered the phone and shook his head.

  “Don’t tell Mommy,” he mouthed.

  Caleb frowned. “I was lo⁠—”

  Devon took the phone and Caleb howled. “Hey there.” He said into the receiver sounding out of breath.

  “What’s happening?” Fiona said.

  “He dropped the phone,” Devon said over his son’s loud protests. “I think he’s getting tired.”

  “No, no, no!” Caleb yelled.

  “What was he trying to say? Let me talk to him. I think he’s just frustrated.”

  “Give me a second.” Devon held the cell against his thigh and gazed at his son. “Please don’t tell Mommy you got lost in the woods. She’ll get really worried, then she’ll want us to come home.”

  Caleb narrowed his eyes. “Don’t want to go home.”

  “Me, either.” Devon held his son’s gaze as he handed him the phone again.

  “Hi, Mommy.” Caleb’s voice was subdued this time. He listened to her for a long minute, then said. “I just missed you.”

  Devon exhaled.

  After they hung up, he led Caleb into his bedroom for a nap. “We’ll tell Mommy when she gets here, promise,” he said. “I just don’t want to worry her now.”

  “I was scared in the woods.” Caleb’s face clouded with the memory.

  “I know you were. I was scared, too, because I couldn’t find you.”

  His son’s eyes cleared and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But now we’re buddies.”

  Devon held up his fist. “Buddies.”

  Caleb fist-bumped him.

  “Time for a nap?” Devon said.

  “Not sleepy.” Caleb yawned. “Read me Thomas.” He handed the book to his father. He was out by the third page.

  Devon padded into the living room in sock feet and peered out one of the front windows. A flurry of snow hid the world outside the cabin. Claustrophobia gripped him for a moment, but he pushed it away. This—seclusion, disconnection, quiet—this was why he’d come here. The snowstorms were a gift. He couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He was sure Highway 18 wouldn’t see a plow for at least twenty-four hours, but what did he care? He wasn’t planning to go anywhere anyway.

  He’d seen a pile of old newspapers in the mud room the night before. He went and got some now, balled up several sheets, tossed them under a half-burned log in the fireplace and looked around for a lighter. He didn’t see one, but remembered he’d used a wooden match from the box on the kitchen stove the night before.

  He jogged into the kitchen, grabbed a match, brought it back and lit it against the brick surround of the fireplace. In a few minutes, he had a warm blaze crackling in the grate. That was better.

  He picked up the TV remote from the rustic pine coffee table, threw himself onto the couch and flipped the set on. He would like to know how long the storm was expected to last, but there was more snow on the TV screen than outside the window. He flipped the set off.

  A book. He should have brought a book. There was a small bookcase in the master bedroom filled with paperbacks. He’d noticed it when he was looking for Caleb the night before.

  Devon walked down the hall, popped his head in on his sleeping son, and was about to keep going toward the larger room, when he noticed something strange outside the window.

  He crossed the room in two strides. There, in what should have been a pristine carpet of new snow, were footprints. For a moment he thought they might have been his. He’d walked that way the night before searching for his son.

  But if they were his, where were Caleb’s? And why were they only going, not coming? In fact, where had they come from?

  Devon flattened himself against the bedroom wall and peered at the ground beneath the window. The snow was beaten down there, a jumble of quickly-filling footsteps. When he cast his gaze to the right, he saw they came from the road just beyond the house.

  It could have been a neighbor, come to check on the place. Perhaps he’d been here while Devon and Caleb were out sledding, got no answer to his knock, and decided to look in a window.

  It was a likely explanation, but it didn’t ease his concern. His gaze slid across the expanse of white to the forbidding trees. Anything could hide in there. The thought he’d had the night before came galloping back, but it was as illogical and unbelievable as the Headless Horseman. Why would anyone want to hide in the dark trees outside the cabin, in the snow, in the freezing temperatures? For what purpose?

  He turned away from the window and walked to the living room, books forgotten. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket, sat on the couch and began perusing news sites. The storm was supposed to last through the night and into the next day. Fiona may not be able to join them on Tuesday, but should still make it before Christmas.

  She was bringing a box of ornaments and Caleb’s presents. They’d decided to exchange with each other when they got home on the twenty-eighth, but he’d be disappointed if Santa didn’t show up when he was supposed to.

  Devon began checking headlines. There’d been a five-car pileup on the 405. The governor had reopened movie theaters and sports arenas. If the owners hadn’t already gone bankrupt, they’d be glad. It was pouring down the hill, which was good for the water tables if not for areas prone to mudslides.

  He was about to drop the phone on the couch next to him, when he noticed another headline, “The Manhunt Continues.” He clicked open the story.

  The search for the two inmates who escaped last Wednesday night from San Bernardino County Jail has yet to turn up any leads. “It’s like they dropped off the face of the earth,” says Police Chief Gonzales. It’s believed the men used a cellphone video of a 2017 escape from a Santa Ana jail to plan their own escape.