Denise squinted, trying to focus on Judy as if for the first time. “My mother?”

Judy nodded. “She lived down the road from me. We grew up together.”

Denise tried to remember if her mother had mentioned her, but concentrating on the past was like trying to decipher an image on a fuzzy television screen. She couldn’t remember one way or the other, but as she was trying to do so, the telephone rang.

It startled them both, and they turned toward it, the sound shrill and suddenly ominous.

A few minutes earlier Taylor and the others had reached Duck Shot. Here, the marshy water began to deepen, a mile and a half from the spot where the accident had occurred. Kyle could have gone no farther, but still they’d found nothing.

One by one, after reaching Duck Shot, the group began to converge, and when the walkie-talkies clicked to life, there were more than a few disappointed voices.

Taylor, however, didn’t call in. Still searching, he again tried to put himself in Kyle’s shoes by asking the same questions he had before. Had Kyle come this way? Time and time again he came to the same conclusion. The wind alone would have steered him in this general direction. He wouldn’t have wanted to fight the wind, and heading this way would have kept the lightning behind him.

Damn. He had to have moved in this direction. He simply had to.

But where was he?

They couldn’t have missed him, could they? Before they’d started, Taylor had reminded everyone to check every possible hiding place along the way-trees, bushes, stumps, fallen logs-anywhere a child might hide from the storm . . . and he was sure they had. Everyone out here cared as much as he did.

Then where was he?

He suddenly wished for nightvision goggles, something that would have rendered the darkness less crippling, allowing them to pick up the image of the boy from his body heat. Even though such equipment was available commercially, he didn’t know anyone in town who had that type of gear. It went without saying that the fire department didn’t have any-they couldn’t even afford a regular crew, let alone something so high-tech. Limited budgets, after all, were a regular staple of life in a small town.

But the National Guard . . .

Taylor was sure that they would have the necessary equipment, but that wasn’t an option now. It would simply take too long to get a unit out here. And borrowing a set from his counterparts at the National Guard wasn’t realistic-the supply clerk would need authorization from his or her superior, who’d need it from someone else, who’d request that forms were filled out, blah, blah, blah. And even if by some miracle the request were granted, the nearest depot was almost two hours away. Hell, it would almost be daylight by then.

Think.

Lightning flashed again, startling him. The last bout of lightning had occurred a while back, and aside from the rain, he thought the worst was behind him.

But as the night sky was illuminated, he saw it in the distance . . . rectangular and wooden, overgrown with foliage. One of the dozens of duck blinds.

His mind began to click quickly . . . duck blinds . . . they looked almost like a kid’s playhouse, with enough shelter to keep much of the rain away. Had Kyle seen one?

No, too easy . . . it couldn’t be . . . but . . .

Despite himself, Taylor felt the adrenaline begin to race through his system. He did his best to remain calm.

Maybe-that’s all it was. Just a great big “maybe.”

But right now “maybe” was all he had, and he rushed to the first duck blind he’d seen. His boots were sinking in the mud, making a sucking sound as he fought through the ground’s spongy thickness. A few seconds later he reached the blind-it hadn’t been used since last fall and was overgrown with climbing vines and brush. He pushed his way through the vines and poked his head inside. Sweeping his flashlight around the interior of the blind, he almost expected to see a young boy hiding from the storm.

But all he saw was aging plywood.

As he stepped back, another bolt of lightning lit the sky and Taylor caught a glimpse of another duck blind, not fifty yards away. One that wasn’t as shrouded as the one he’d just searched. Taylor took off again, running, believing . . .

If I were a kid and I’d gone this far and saw what looked like a little house . . .

He reached the second blind, searched quickly, and found nothing. He cursed again, filled with an even greater sense of urgency. He took off again, heading for the next blind without knowing exactly where it was. He knew from experience that it wouldn’t be more than a hundred yards away, near the waterline.

And he was right.

Breathing hard, he fought the rain, the wind, and most of all the mud, knowing in his heart of hearts that his hunch about the duck blinds had to be right. If Kyle wasn’t here, he was going to call the others on the walkie-talkie and have them search every duck blind in the area.

This time when he reached the blind, he pressed through the overgrowth. Moving around to the side, he steeled himself to expect nothing. Shining his light inside, he almost stopped breathing.

A little boy, sitting in the corner, muddy and scratched, filthy . . . but otherwise, seemingly okay.

Taylor blinked, thinking it was a mirage, but when he opened his eyes again, the little boy was still there, Mickey Mouse shirt and all.

Taylor was too surprised to speak. Despite the hours out there, the conclusion had seemed to come so quickly.

In the silence-a few seconds at most-Kyle looked up at him, toward the big man in a long yellow coat, with an expression of surprise on his face, as though he’d been caught doing something that would get him in trouble.

“Hewwo,” Kyle said exuberantly, and Taylor laughed aloud. Grins immediately spread across both their faces. Taylor dropped to one knee, and the little boy scrambled to his feet and then into his arms. He was cold and wet, shivering, and when Taylor felt those small arms wrap around his neck, tears welled in his eyes.

“Well, hello, little man. I take it you must be Kyle.”

Chapter 8

“He’s okay, everyone . . . I repeat, he’s okay. I’ve got Kyle with me right now.”

With those words spoken into the walkie-talkie, a whoop of excitement arose from the searchers and the word was passed along to the station, where Joe called in to the hospital.

It was 2:31 A.M.

Judy retrieved the phone from the table, then sat it on the bed so that Denise could answer it. She was barely breathing as she picked up the receiver. Then all at once she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the scream. Her smile, so heartfelt and emotional, was contagious, and Judy had to fight the urge to jump up and down.

The questions Denise asked were typical: “He’s really okay? . . . Where did you find him? . . . Are you sure he’s not hurt? . . . When will I see him? . . . Why so long? . . . Oh yes, I see. But you’re sure? . . . Thank you, thank you all so much. . . . I can’t believe it!”

When she hung up the phone, Denise sat up-this time without help-and spontaneously hugged Judy while filling her in.

“They’re bringing him to the hospital . . . he’s cold and wet, and they want to bring him in as a precaution, just to make sure everything’s okay. He should be here in an hour or so. . . . I just can’t believe it.”

The excitement brought the dizziness back, but this time Denise couldn’t have cared less.

Kyle was safe. That was the only thing that mattered now.

Back in the swamp, Taylor had removed his raincoat and wrapped it around Kyle to keep him warm. Then, carrying him from the blind, he met up with the others and they waited in Duck Shot just long enough to ensure that all the men were accounted for. Once they were assembled, they started back as a group, this time in tightly knit formation.