Page 63 of Jack

“The goat rescuer.”

He laughed.Oh boy.

“But I follow up on rewards for information on burglaries and murders, and even hit-and-runs. Things the police are too busy for or have lost leads on.”

“Professional problem solver too.”

“I need to hire you as my PR person.”

“Maybe. But if you do, you’ll have to smile every once in a while. Lose the grump.”

“I’m not a grump. I’m just . . . driven.”

“By what?”

He hadn’t meant to go here. He let her question sit as he turned down Bowman’s road, back through the sleepy cottages under the towering oak trees.

“Jack?”

“Helplessness.”Oh. He hadn’t meant to bark it. But she didn’t recoil.

She nodded, as if she understood.

He glanced at her.

“I’m onto you, Jack. Just so you know.”

What—

“I know that your interest in being a tracker didn’t start after Sabrina.”

“Oh?”

“My dad was on the callout volunteer team when Boo got lost. He said you refused to quit, even when the other searchers had worn themselves out.”

“She’s my sister.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He had pulled up to the Bowman home, with the dark windows. Not a good sign.

“Fine.” He gave her a hard look. “Dad told me to stick with her on the portage. But I didn’t, and she took a wrong turn, and . . . anyway, yes. I couldn’t let go.”

“Just like you couldn’t let Sabrina go.”

He glanced at the dark house. No movement. “It sits inside me, an ember, getting hotter and hotter until Idosomething.”

“And now?” She, too, looked at the house.

“Now the ember in my gut says we need to go to the cops. But let’s check one more time.” He got out and headed to the door. She followed him.

They stood on the cold step for a good five minutes, leaning on the doorbell.

The police station smelled of burnt coffee and small-town business, with BOLO posters on the bulletin board. BOLO for Daisy, the lost goldendoodle. BOLO for a 1998 Ford Bronco, gone missing from Mattson’s Motors, right off the lot. BOLO for a set of keys with a boat float on them, missing from Echoes Vinyl Café.

Which reminded him. They needed a chat with the barista.

He recognized the deputy who retrieved them from the waiting area. “Jenna Hayes. Since when did you become a cop?” She wore her dark curly hair short, her brown eyes warm as she shook his hand.