Page 54 of The Boy Who Cried Bear
But what if his rescuer is the one who cried out, the one who is in trouble?
The cry could have come from his captor, though. What if that first voice had been Sheriff Eric or Detective Casey and they’d taken down his captor?
Then he should hear his captor being interrogated—Sheriff Eric or Detective Casey asking where Max is. He hears nothing. And then he does, and it’s not a voice but the crack of a twig. Then a heavy footfall.
Someone is coming this way.
Max looks down at himself. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark long-sleeved shirt, his captor having taken away his jacket on the first day. His face is the lightest part of him, so he pulls up his shirt collar as high as it will go, covering halfway up his nose, and he eases back more into the shadows.
A figure appears, but it’s partly hidden behind a bush, and all he can see is someone walking near the old shack.
Sheriff Eric? The figure looks tall enough. Maybe even tall enough to be Deputy Will, but that’s all Max can make out. A tall figure.
Max eases to one side, and he almost crunches dead leaves underfoot, but at the last second he realizes it and stops himself.
The figure disappears and Max goes still, holding his breath. Is it behind the shack? Inside it? Somewhere else? It steps out and—
And Max sees fur. Brown fur and long hanging claws.
He lets out a whimper. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it until he hears the sound.
The bear-man turns, and all Max sees is a glimpse of eyes and a blur of brown fur. Then Max turns and runs.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Casey
I wake up sick. Oh, there’s a moment there where I first open my eyes and I feel just fine. Then I sit up and nearly puke over the side of the bed. Dalton’s already downstairs, so I manage to creep into the bathroom to throw up as quietly as possible.
I need to speak to April. Take that pregnancy test to be sure and then deal with it.
And I need to talk to Dalton. Yes, I want to shove this aside and focus on the case. Whether I’m pregnant or not doesn’t change the fact that Max is missing. But I need to tell Dalton before he figures it out for himself, and to do that, I must first take the test.
“Good morning,” Dalton says as I come downstairs.
I wait for him to ask how I’m doing. I wait for that eagle-eyed stare that sees how I’m doing, however hard I’m trying to hide it.
“Good morning,” I say cautiously.
He doesn’t look up from where he’s crouched, peering into our underfloor icebox. “You up for a proper breakfast? Or toast and tea again?”
“Toast and tea, I think. Just for one more morning.”
“That’s what I figured. Tea’s ready. Let me pop bread over the fire, and you’ll have toast. I need to go out, but I should be back before you’re done eating. Anything I can get you from the café?”
My stomach lurches at the thought of coffee. “No thanks.”
“You rest, and we’ll come up with a game plan when I return.”
“Sounds good.”
* * *
Dalton’s gone, and I’m worried. Maybe that seemed like a normal couple conversation, but it was a little too normal, if that makes sense. Like a scripted early-morning chat between people who are definitely not us.
Dalton didn’t ask how I was feeling, even after I opted for toast and tea. He didn’t tell me what he had to do so early in the morning or ask whether I wanted to come along.
He’s distracted. Something is on his mind, and he was too wrapped up in it to notice how rough I looked.
