Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,88
the brake, he leaped from the car and ran for the door.
Mariam was waiting for him in the kitchen, cheeks moist, worry scoring her features.
“So sorry.” Her voice was shaky.
That answered his first question.
The girls hadn’t turned up.
His phone began to vibrate, and he yanked it off his belt. Susan. He slapped it to his ear. “I’m home. Did you get any more information?”
“A little.”
He listened as she explained in more detail what had transpired, along with the evidence that had led Mariam to conclude the girls had run away.
“Will you be available to translate? After I do a fast search myself, I’ll be calling the police. They’ll want to ask her some questions too.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone contact Thomma?”
“Mariam tried, but he’s not answering his cell. He’s on the boat and must be out of range. She left a message.”
“Okay. Stand by for other calls.”
As he disconnected, he touched Mariam’s arm. If the girls had snuck out during their nap, this wasn’t her fault—and he didn’t want to add another burden to the many she already carried.
“We’ll find them. I look.” He pointed to his eyes and swept a hand around the house. “Here and beach.”
It was impossible to know if she’d understood all of that, but he didn’t have time to try and explain.
He did a fast but thorough pass through the house, as he was certain she’d done. But no one other than him would have noticed a key clue.
Molly’s Disney princess suitcase and backpack were missing.
His gut twisted.
That sealed the deal.
Short of hiking out to 101, though, there was only one other place the girls could have gone—and that was his next stop.
“I go to beach.” He motioned toward the water. “Stay here. Call if you see girls.” He tapped his phone and hers. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” Angling his watch to her, he flashed the fingers of one hand three times.
She nodded.
He took off out the door, dashed around the hedge at the base of the driveway, and jogged toward the lavender beds behind Jeannette’s house.
Slowed.
If the girls had cut through the farm, might she have seen them?
Not likely. If she had, she would have stopped them or called Mariam.
But it was worth asking.
He knocked on the back door. Waited. Knocked again.
No answer.
She must be out.
Giving up, he sprinted down the path at the back of the property that led to the beach.
In less than five minutes, he emerged at the top of a dune that provided a sweeping view of the vast expanse of sand.
It was deserted.
So where were they?
That was a question he was going to need help answering.
Logan pulled out his phone and called the Hope Harbor police department.
As soon as he explained the situation to the woman who answered, she put him through to Lexie Graham Stone, who listened to the story, asked for a description of Molly and Elisa, and promised to be at his house within ten minutes.
“Is there anything I should do in the meantime?” Logan gave the empty beach another one-eighty.
“Find a recent photo of Molly and text it to me. Do you happen to have one of Elisa?”
“Yes. I took a shot of the two girls together a couple of weeks ago.”
“Perfect. Send that one. We’ll distribute it and the description you gave me of both girls immediately so police in surrounding areas can be on the lookout for them. Expect me soon.”
Logan hit the end button, slid the phone back into his pocket, and examined his trembling hands as a wave of guilt crashed over him.
This was all his fault.
If he’d gotten Molly some professional help sooner, this might never have happened.
She was hurting and sad and scared, and much as he’d hoped his love would help her heal, it hadn’t been enough.
And he should have admitted that weeks ago.
Now he could lose her for real.
The wind pummeled him as he stood at the top of the dune, and he lifted his gaze toward the heavens.
Please, Lord, help us find the girls. Molly’s the only family I have left, and I’ve come to love her as if she were my own daughter. I know she doesn’t believe that, but please help her realize how much I care for her—and give me another chance to prove it to her.
A drop of rain spattered against his cheek . . . almost like a teardrop.
As if God was crying.
A chill rippled through him.
Not the kind of reassurance he’d hoped his prayer would yield.