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“If you’ll let me explain...” Tabitha looked back and forth between them. “If you can just hear me out before you make any judgments...”

Johnny leaned down to pick up the binder he’d slid under his chair when they came in. Tabitha watched as he set it, unopened, in front of him. He’d been up late the night before, preparing a portfolio with the help of his tablet and the hotel’s printer. She’d looked through it that morning, but hadn’t said much.

To his relief. The work itself had been no big deal; it had been more for his sake than anything. Because he approached life by understanding its various components and connecting what needed to be connected. Tabitha waited, as though she expected him to present his research. He lifted a hand to her, indicating that she should start. He was there if she needed him.

Because he wanted to be.

As she began to speak, he wanted to take her hand again.

* * *

Mallory didn’t leave the pub. Tabitha had given her the facts about Jackson’s disappearance, and the woman was still sitting with her ex-husband at the table. Thinking that was a good thing, Tabitha glanced over at Johnny, looking for any sign as to how he thought the meeting was going.

“Here’s the AMBER Alert for Jackson,” Johnny said, opening the binder in front of him. He turned it and slid it across to the couple, who’d yet to do much but ask a question or two. They both studied the report, however.

Tabitha hadn’t gotten to the part where Mallory’s Jason was her Jackson. She’d been leading up to it, but had stopped just before the big revelation. She couldn’t lose this woman’s support.

Jackson’s life could depend on it.

“This is the Mission Viejo police report, which corroborates what Tabitha’s told you.” As before, both of the Harrises focused on the information Johnny had collated the night before. Thank God she didn’t have to handle this without him.

She hadn’t felt they didn’t believe her, wasn’t sure they’d need the proof, but knew that Johnny’s decision to bring hard evidence had been the right one.

The timing of his presentation was a gift to her, as well, giving her a chance to calm herself and prepare for the only moment that really mattered that night.

How did she tell them what she suspected? What she knew? How did she convince them that she was right? She had to get more information. And it wasn’t as if she could become a client of Mark’s new business venture. Or apply for a job cleaning his home. Or be anywhere he’d have a chance of seeing her.

The thought of how close she’d come, being at the daycare when his business was in the same building... The thought made her shudder.

“And here,” Johnny said, “is an age-progressed photo of Jackson.”

Tabitha started. Johnny was pushing them forward to the reveal.

“Wait.” Mallory pulled the photo closer. Studied it.

“What?” Braden Harris leaned over his ex-wife’s shoulder. “Have you seen him before?”

Tabitha’s throat dried up as, at the same time, both of the Harrises stared at her.

“You think Jackson’s in my daycare,” Mallory said. She sounded horrified, but not as if she thought Tabitha was nuts.

Holding her breath, Tabitha nodded. And felt Johnny’s knee press against hers under the table. It wasn’t a hand-hold, but it worked. She took a breath. And then another.

“You acted like you recognized him,” Braden said, glancing from his ex-wife to the photo, to Tabitha and back. “Does he remind you of one of your kids?”

Mallory looked at Tabitha, and Tabitha felt as though actual words passed between them. Mallory didn’t have children of her own—that was in her bio—but she radiated a sense of nurturing. An understanding of motherhood.

Either that, or the months of incredible stress were taking their toll on Tabitha.

“Any time I gave him peas,” Tabitha said, “he’d purse his lips and spit air, like this.” Pursing her own lips, she made the little spitting noises. She couldn’t look at Johnny, but was completely aware of the weight of his knee against hers. “Maybe you know a child who does that?”

“It’s a common oral response in toddlers.”

Tabitha conceded the point.

“My son has blue eyes.” And blond hair, just like the boy in the copied picture she had in her purse.

“That’s why you asked me about the Easter egg photo,” Mallory said next, not acknowledging that Jason’s eyes were blue.

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