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But even as she ran, she knew that the scenario was unlikely.
Calm down. Tucker is fine. He is. He has to be.
“Santana?” she said as she reached the first floor. Why weren’t the dogs barking? Don’t lose it. Everything’s fine. “Santana?” Where the hell were the dogs? “Santana?” No response.
The family room was empty.
No dogs.
No baby.
Her heart was thundering in her ears, panic surging. Keep cool. Just look for them. Santana’s probably in the stable, the dogs with him. Maybe he’s taken Tuck with him, to allow you to sleep in. But . . .
Up the stairs she flew, first sweeping the baby’s room again, then back to the bedroom where she grabbed her phone and texted her husband:
Where R U? Have you got Tuck?
Next she walked to the hall and threw open the door to Bianca’s bedroom. Her daughter was there, lying on the bed, curled inside the covers, hair visible over the pillow, no baby anywhere in sight. “Bianca!” Then she noticed the earbuds in her daughter’s ears. She crossed quickly to the bed and shook Bianca’s shoulder.
“Bianca!”
She stirred and groaned. “What?”
“Do you know where Tuck is?”
“What?” She yanked out one of the earpieces. “Tuck? No.” She was squinting now, one eye pried open, her face twisted. “Isn’t he like in his bed?”
“No.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
A yawn. “Maybe Santana’s got him.” But she was stirring now, stretching an arm over her head. “Oh, God, what time is it? I’ve got to get to school . . . wait.” She shoved herself into a sitting position as slumber finally slipped away. “What’re you talking about? Tucker’s missing?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, he’s not in his crib but Santana might have gotten up with him.” That possibility seemed more remote than ever, but she clung to it. “Get up. Get dressed. Forget school. We need to find him.”
She stalked to the guest room and didn’t bother knocking, just opened the door. The interior was dark. She flipped on the lights. “Ivy? Have you seen—?”
The bed was empty.
It looked slept in, or at least used, but it was definitely empty.
“Oh . . . oh, no,” she whispered. She checked the closet before backing out of the room and yelling, “Ivy!” A dull roar started at the base of her skull and moved through her brain.
Had Ivy taken Tucker?
But why?
And to where?
Frantic, she called out again, “Ivy! Ivy!”
“Mom!” Bianca appeared in the door of her room, hair still mussed, her oversized sleeping T-shirt rumpled and falling to her knees.
“She’s gone.”
“What? Who? Ivy? But I saw her last night.” As if she thought her mother might be lying or, more likely, was blind, she checked the guest room herself. “Uh-oh.”
