my success stories.”
Colt smiled. She called all her adult fosters that, and Colt knew he sure as hell wasn’t the biggest success. At least, not in any context it was safe for her to know about. “Yeah, well, I guess all that new age shit about ‘manifesting your potential’ got through to me eventually. Just took some time to sink in.”
“Still has a mouth like a sailor, though,” she said, giving him a playful shove before she sat back down, tossing her braids over her shoulder.
“He gets that from me,” Renee said proudly. Her merriment faded in an instant. “Why don’t you sit down, Colt? Maybe you can help.”
“Help with what?” he asked, pulling a chair up to the table. Anette and her partner were on the short list of people who could ask for anything and get it with a bow on top. It was the least he owed them.
“One of my boys went missing last night,” Anette said, taking another tissue from the box Renee slid across the table to her. “Christie and I spent all night and all morning down at the station, and they’re out looking for him, but he’s not the only one who’s gone missing. There have been five this month alone.”
Colt felt like the pit of his stomach had bottomed out. Anette lived in Exeter, the same place Colt had spent most of his formative years, before being adopted by Renee and Gerald. The rural town had its very rare rough spots, like anywhere, and some people referred to it as New England’s own little corner of the South, but it wasn’t the kind of place where kids went missing. Certainly not half a dozen of them. It also wasn’t the kind of place ghouls tended to use for hunting grounds, since it was both too rural to provide cover and not quite rural enough for them to avoid detection entirely.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, taking Anette’s hand. “When did you see him last?”
“Last night,” she sniffed. “I tucked him in like always, read him a bedtime story, and turned out the lights. He was sharing the room with another little boy who’s staying with us while his mom gets clean. That’s the strangest part. They said the other children who were taken were all outside, at the playground or somewhere else they could have wandered off from. Richie was the first one to be at home.”
Colt swallowed hard. “I know this is hard, Anette, but can you tell me exactly what happened? What the other boy saw?”
Anette looked from Colt to Renee, clearly confused. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure you can do anything the police can’t.”
“Colt knows the sheriff,” Renee said. He was sure she’d heard it from Jason.
“I’ll make sure it gets to him directly,” Colt promised. Roland might have had limited manpower, but Colt had more than a few guards who could earn their keep by scouring the sticks for the kid. Anyone who had an issue with hunting a human for altruistic reasons could take it up with him, but after the meeting earlier that day, he doubted they would.
Anette nodded thoughtfully. Renee poured her another cup of tea. She and Susan had the same comfort methods. “The officer who took my statement looked at me like I was crazy, and I was just telling her what Ken said.”
“You’re not crazy,” Colt said, looking her in the eye. “Whatever it is, I believe you.”
Anette pursed her lips. “Maybe I’d better let you hear it from Ken himself. I was so upset when he told me, I might have missed something.”
“Sure. Is he home? We’ll go now.”
“His case worker agreed it’d be best for him to take the rest of the week off from school.” She hesitated. “Don’t you have to be somewhere?”
“Nowhere more important than this.”
Thirty minutes later, thanks to beach traffic, Colt parked behind Anette’s car in the driveway and found himself staring up at the quaint Victorian he’d once called home.
“I see Christie painted the shutters.” They had been a dull rose when he’d lived there and had been given new life with a particularly violent shade of fuchsia.
“Cute, huh?” Anette smiled, taking out her giant keyring. There were more charms on it than keys. She pushed open the door and a butch blonde stood from the kitchen table where she was sitting with a boy who didn’t look much older than six.
“Colt Jager?” Christie’s voice lilted as she walked over from the table. He braced himself for