Page 8 of Vanishing Legacy

Stupidly, she checked his walk-in closet. Unlikely he’d play in there at his age, but a mother’s worry knew no bounds. She ran a hand over her damp hair. Where was her son?

The cookies.

Oh no, how many had he eaten? More than one and his blood sugar could skyrocket. Couple that with the PB&J and he could be in serious trouble. The joint glucose monitor and insulin pump Rocco wore managed his diabetes, but it didn’t always respond quickly to a sugar spike.

“Rocco, where are you!”

The lack of response only fueled her to search every room of the house faster, calling his name as she went. Her mom brain went into overdrive. Visions of Rocco tied to a chair, lethargic and unresponsive, popped into her brain. Last Christmas was the closest she’d been to losing her son. Until now.

Please, please, let him be safe.

She jogged back to the kitchen and grabbed Rocco’s cell phone off the table. Her fingers fumbled the screen. “Stupid hands. Stop shaking.”

She found the one she was looking for and tapped it. The glucose monitoring app said his sugar was in range. In fact, it had been all day.

Okay. Good. He was fine, but still…missing, which didn’t make sense. Rocco was responsible and always checked in. She scrolled through the calls and texts on his phone. Besides her number, he’d only been in contact with Miss Martha, the elderly neighbor who kept an eye on him from time to time. She hit the speed dial for Miss Martha and paced the kitchen as it rang.

“Hello?” Miss Martha answered in her slow Savannah drawl.

“Miss Martha? It’s Alana. Have you seen Rocco today?” Her heart pounded as she spoke. Ridiculous for someone with her skills in crisis management. But honestly, she’d been a bit more of a helicopter mom ever since the terrorist Tomás Muñoz had held them hostage at church last Christmas.

“Oh, hello, Alana.” Each time she said Alana’s name, she pronounced it Uh-lawn-uh which made Alana smile despite herself. “Yes, Rocco came by after school like he always does. I sent him home with a plate of fresh-baked cookies.”

“I saw that, thank you.” She’d remind Miss Martha about Rocco’s diabetes another time. “It’s just…I came home a few minutes ago, but I can’t find him. Are you sure he didn’t come back to your house?”

“Oh, I’m sure, dear.” Miss Martha’s cat mewed in the background. “But if you cain’t fine ’im, maybe we should call the po-lice?”

Alana stopped pacing and stared outside. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking her backyard had been a key selling point when she bought the place a few months ago. The door to her shed was cracked. “I don’t think we need to call the police.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think I just found him,” she said on a sigh. “He’s in the shed.” Alana kept an eye on the door, waiting for Rocco to emerge.

“Oh, I thought I heard a ruckus outside earlier. Musta been him. He taking the lawnmower apart again?”

“He better not be. And if he is, he’s in big trouble. He knows that shed is off-limits without permission.” More than once, Alana had tried to start the mower only to have Rocco confess he’d borrowed parts for his robotics project. She’d finally put her foot down. No more scavenging household electronics without permission first.

“Pshh…now, don’t you be too hard on him. He’s a bright boy, and we grownups should encourage a child’s natural curiosity, not squash it.”

“Oh, in that case, don’t you have a lawnmower?”

They laughed and Alana said, “Thanks for looking out for Rocco. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“No trouble, dear. Just let me know when you’ve laid eyes on the boy,” she said. “Oh, and you make sure to eat dem cookies too. You’re awful skinny, child.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will.” Alana smiled to herself as she disconnected the call and dropped Rocco’s phone onto the table. She didn’t care what Miss Martha said. If Alana found her mower in parts again, Rocco would be doing pushups until his bony little arms fell off.

She opened the sliding back door and called for Rocco. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. She heard muffled noises coming from the shed and hopped off the low deck.

“Rocco? Hey, are you out here?”

She rounded the corner as the shed door flung open, then bounced back, slamming shut with a bang. A man burst out of the wooden building, his face a blur as he slammed straight into her. His shoulder caught her in the chest and knocked her off her feet. A child’s legs were tucked under his arm.

Alana had her gun in her hand and was on her feet before she knew what was happening. Her brain put it together on the fly. The man was taking her son.

“Rocco! Rocco!”

The child was crushed against the man’s chest, screaming like a banshee. Arms and legs flailed, but the man held tight.