She nodded.
Daniel Quinn's phone rang four times.
Voicemail.
Boone tried again.
Nothing.
A third time.
Nothing.
Emery's breathing became faster.
“Maybe he's mad at me too.”
“No,” Boone said immediately. “We don't know that.”
Lena crouched beside her.
“Do you know Valerie's number?”
Emery recited it.
Boone called.
One ring.
Declined.
He frowned.
He called again.
Declined.
The bald rider with glasses stepped closer.
“Boone.”
“I know.”
“County?”
Boone nodded.
“Call them.”
The rider moved away and dialed emergency dispatch.
Then Tori, one of the younger riders, frowned at her own phone.
“Uh... Boone?”
“What?”
“She texted me.”
“Who?”
“The stepmother.”
Everyone turned.
Tori held out the phone.
A message glowed on the screen.
If the girl is with you, keep her there. Her father is not safe for her. Do not bring her home. I can explain.
Boone read it.
Then read it again.
Lena moved beside him.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Emery heard her father's name.
“What happened to Dad?”
Boone immediately lowered the phone.
“We don't know.”
“But she said—”
“We don't know yet.”
His tone was steady.
That distinction mattered.
Emery looked between the adults.
“Is my dad bad?”
Boone crouched again.
“I've never met your dad. So I'm not going to tell you something I don't know.”
It was the first completely honest answer an adult had given Emery that night.
Twenty minutes later, red-and-blue lights appeared through the rain.
Two Mesa County sheriff's vehicles pulled onto the shoulder.
Deputy Carla Mendez stepped out first.
She was small, maybe five foot four, but she moved with the confidence of someone who had walked into enough disasters to know panic rarely helped.
Her partner, Deputy Rourke, spoke with Boone while Mendez approached Emery.
“Hi, Emery.”
Emery looked suspiciously at her uniform.
“Am I in trouble?”
Mendez stopped.
Something crossed her face.
“No.”
“Because Valerie said—”
“You are not in trouble.”
Mendez crouched.
“Not even a little bit.”
Emery's eyes filled.
“I got her book wet.”
Mendez looked at Charlotte's Web.
“We can deal with books.”
“It was my mom's.”
That changed her expression.
“Oh.”
Mendez sat down on an overturned equipment case beside her.
“Then we'll be careful with it.”
For the next fifteen minutes, Emery told her what happened.
The SUV.
The argument that wasn't really an argument.
The command.
The emergency blanket.
The disappearing taillights.
The counting.
Mendez wrote almost nothing while Emery spoke.
She simply listened.
When Emery finished, Boone showed her Valerie's message.
Mendez read it.
Her posture changed.
“Rourke.”
Her partner approached.
She showed him the screen.
He read the message and frowned.
“So now she's alleging the father is dangerous.”
“Apparently.”
“Where is he?”
“Can't reach him.”
Rourke walked back toward his cruiser and began making calls.
Within minutes, what had initially looked like a straightforward child abandonment case became something more complicated.
Child Protective Services was contacted.
A supervisor was notified.
Daniel Quinn's vehicle information was circulated.
Hospitals were checked.
His workplace was contacted.
Nobody knew where he was.
Then Rourke received something strange.
Daniel's emergency contact information led them to a voicemail account that had received a message earlier that evening from an unfamiliar number.