Last Track, The
we have. See if there’s any possibility someone is involved with Sean’s disappearance. If there is foul play, show it to us, and I can get whatever help we need.”
    “Do you want me to track Sean?” he asked.
    “Not at this time,” Lisbeth said.
    Second time she’s said that, thought Mike. A tough decision confronted him. On the one hand, he sensed there was more about Sean and the business of the missing body than had been disclosed. He understood. During a crisis, people often left out details more from stress than by design. Intentional or not, the net effect was the same. He couldn’t know everything beforehand. There were always gaps and he allowed for them.
    On the side of helping, there was one issue that bothered him: the hours wasted on bureaucracy and procedures. Mike now understood the police had bet Sean had wandered off and would return. More than nine times out of ten with teenagers, reasoning like that panned out. Kids his age came back, exhausted but unharmed.
    To Mike, Lisbeth seemed an honest person with the best of intentions, as tough as she was fair. He decided he trusted her enough. “I’ll help you,” he said. “But I have to take care of something first.”
    09:23:35 AM
    Andy took the news much better than Mike expected. His son had been a force behind the dude-ranch trip from the start, so Mike had anticipated lots of resistance. Instead Andy turned to the television. “We have a week, Dad. Hurry back.”
    Relieved, Mike tousled Andy’s hair. At times, Andy was patient and logical far beyond his years, superior to either parent. Mike believed Andy inherited this disposition from Jessica’s father, though he had never dared voice that sentiment.
    “I will, champ,” Mike said. “Before I leave, we should pick a new code phrase.”
    Years ago, Mike had developed a code-phrase system with Andy. If an adult approached Andy and claimed he was sent by Andy’s parents, and he should come with them, Andy simply asked for the code phrase and waited.
    If the person did not provide the proper phrase, Andy was to run, scream “child molester,” and never look back. Both parents drilled this habit into Andy as soon as he could speak in complete sentences, and they role-played scenarios with him until the routine became a reflex. They recruited trusted associates to test Andy, friends who drove near the sidewalk as the boy played in the yard and invited him into their car. After the thorough battery of tests Andy passed, Mike was confident Andy could handle a real-world situation.
    Neither Mike nor Jessica ever revealed the actual phrase outside of their home.
    “That’s a good idea.” Jessica already had her planner open to record Lisbeth’s cell number. “You want to pick it this time, Andy?”
    The boy thought for a moment, scrunching his face in contemplation. “The Velveteen Rabbit wears a brown skirt.”
    “Got it,” Mike said. “I’ll see you soon.”
    Both parents knew the routine when Mike left on a case. Jessica recorded the phrase for safekeeping in her planner. Mike programmed additional contact numbers for the ranch into his cell phone: the nurse’s station, proprietor, front desk, and others which he might need if he had trouble contacting Jessica directly. When they finished, she followed Mike into the hallway and shut the door behind her, leaving Andy in the room. Unlike their son, Jessica voiced her complaints. “So much for just talking with Lisbeth, huh?”
    “I think I can help on this one.”
    “Can I remind you that you’re on vacation?”
    Arguing was pointless; he left.
    09:31:16 AM
    Whatever his family’s reaction, Mike Brody respected their feelings, but tracking was his decision. For Mike, the matter of Sean Jackson had chosen him just as he had chosen it.
    His truck started on the first crank, as it had for each of the last two hundred thousand miles.
    At the main gate, the man with the crew cut, one half of the couple from earlier that morning in
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