Page 128 of Veil of Silence

At least Austin knew where she was.

The handler led the shepherd through the rear door and onto a sagging porch. Prine went behind him with her weapon drawn. Nash followed, and Austin brought up the rear.

The dog picked up the trail near the bottom step.

Mud preserved a confusion of shoe prints across the yard. Several belonged to the tactical officers who had cleared the outbuildings. Near the tree line, however, three sets separated from the others.

One came from an adult-sized boot.

A second appeared to belong to a teenager.

The smallest set could only have come from a child.

Austin crouched as the handler illuminated the tracks. The smallest prints sank deeply at the toes and fell at uneven intervals, as if the child had stumbled or been pulled forward.

Preston. It had to be.

The teenager’s prints stayed close beside his while the adult boot marks followed behind them.

“One adult, one teenager and one child,” Nash said. “They left together.”

Christian could have used the confusion to run.

Instead, he had stayed beside Preston.

The shepherd surged toward the trees, pulling hard against the lead.

Prine tightened her grip on her weapon. “Follow the dog. You two, stay behind the handler.”

She entered the woods first. Nash followed her, and Austin went after them as the tracks softened beneath the misting rain.

Through the trees came the low, relentless rush of moving water.

The trail led toward the creek—and the rear approach where Harris had reported leaving Nora.

Nora’s relief vanished as Preston jerked backward.

Cross stepped from the brush, dragging the boy against his chest. One arm locked across Preston’s body while his other hand held a gun pressed against the boy’s side.

His deputy’s uniform was streaked with mud, and rain had plastered his hair to his forehead. Nothing about him resembled the calm deputy who had stood beside Nora during the search, offering measured observations while Preston’s jacket waited beneath a fallen branch.

He had known exactly where Preston was the whole time.

The boy who had called himself Christian emerged behind him.

Imposter Christian.

The name came to Nora now, as painful as it was necessary. Because this boy wasn’t her brother. The real Christian was still missing somewhere.

Yet relief cut through her anger at the sight of him.

He looked exhausted, with dark circles beneath his eyes and a bruise along one side of his face. His clothes were wet, and mud coated his shoes almost to the ankles.

But he was standing.

He was alive.

Nora didn’t know what to call him anymore. Christian belonged to her brother. Imposter felt too cruel for a boy who appeared as frightened and battered as Preston.