Damn the blasted snow.
Trudging forward, peering intently at the ground while trying to ignore the considering glances the doctor kept shooting his way, Sylvester felt a little like Annabelle Johnson as he kicked at the mess while climbing through the bushes and trees that bordered the mountainside of town.
Having been born and raised in California, Sly never dealt with the white stuff until the first time he moved to the east coast for basic training. When his tour of duty was complete and he could go anywhere he wanted, he didn’t have any family left in California and chose to follow Rick Hart to Hamlet.
And he loved living there. Hamlet offered him a good job as a deputy, and a better one after C
aitlin De Angelis’s tragic murder. He never would’ve met Maria if it wasn’t for his move; that alone made his relocation worth it.
But the snow?
He hated the stuff.
The idea of a white Christmas seemed romantic his first year as a Hamlet resident. Now, with time ticking and the heavy, wet muck still spitting down from the darkened sky, Sly wished it would stop already.
It was bad enough that whoever stole Liam Johnson had a good forty-five minute head start on them. With the unfamiliar car Phil Granger called in found broken down and abandoned about three miles away from the Johnsons’ house—and no trace of the villain or the boy on the main road—it only made sense that he took to the woods.
It was cold. At least six inches of snow covered the floor of the forest, making their journey slow-going. Add the fact that it was coming down even harder than before and Sly bit his tongue to keep from cursing out loud.
The only good thing about the snow was that footprints left tracks—unless it was falling too hard, too fast, and all prints were covered within minutes.
Like it was.
Sly was actually the one to spot the car parked crookedly along the edge of the trees. After slowing down and throwing his hazards on, the doctor parked his Mustang right behind Sly’s cruiser. Apart from agreeing that the kidnapper had to have gone into the woods, Lucas De Angelis hadn’t said a word since they entered the trees.
Leaving their cars where they were, wrapping up in Maria’s scarves and gloves, both men slipped into the quiet forest. All Sly heard was the howl of the wind and the plodding of their boots as they waded through the snow. Following Lucas’s lead, Sly kept his mouth shut, straining his chapped ears for any sign of Liam Johnson up ahead.
He couldn’t help but think he was the only one looking—of the two of them, at least. He sent Rick off on an emergency patrol with Ethan, and Mike Johnson was probably still driving around like a madman, searching for his missing boy. Some of the other neighbors were already checking the woods closer to the Johnsons’ place, though Sly radioed Jefferson—the local grocer and head of that search party—to report that he might’ve found the perp’s car.
Just in case, Phil Granger was risking his golf cart, taking it out into the storm, guarding the gulley until Rick or Ethan could relieve him. Everyone in Hamlet knew the massive valley’s history, especially when it came to outsiders. Mack Turner—that bastard—wasn’t the first victim of its seemingly bottomless gap.
God willing, he might be the last.
Still, Sly couldn’t help but notice that Lucas kept his steely gaze turned toward his profile far more than on the ground in front of them. Privately, he had to admit that it… well, it surprised him that Lucas so eagerly joined the search. He might have been Hamlet’s sole doctor these last seven years, but Sly never got the feeling that Lucas ever really cared for anyone but his sister.
Until Tessa Sullivan, that was.
He expected to have to face off with Lucas eventually. Sly always knew that Lucas and Maria were close, and it was the one point of contention in their happy relationship that Maria never introduced him as her lover to her brother. For a time, he wondered if it was because he was black. Maria was absolutely horrified when he admitted that. Because, it seemed, she wasn’t ashamed of him at all but, rather, intimidated by her brother’s reaction.
His woman was nearly thirty and she still felt like her brother had control of her life. And, because he loved her, he let her deal with Lucas, hoping that she’d get the nerve eventually.
Ever since Lucas up and left Hamlet—and, now at least, Sylvester understood why—Maria seemed at peace with their relationship. They went out in public together, shocking absolutely no one since the gossips in Hamlet were insidious and untouchable, and Sly even started spending most nights at Ophelia instead of his place.
So, of course, right when they were getting ready to spend Christmas together, her brother decided to show up again.
He didn’t know what was worse: Lucas’s sudden and unexpected arrival, or Rick’s buzz about the Johnson boy.
The sheriff of Hamlet had one answer. The man that loved Maria De Angelis had another.
There was nothing he could do for Liam except to keep on searching, watching the ground for any stray footprints, hoping for some clue that he passed this way. But, as he trudged on with the silent specter of the doctor at his side, Sly decided that there was something he could do about getting Lucas off his back.
Clearing his throat, breaking up the eerie silence, he found himself saying clearly, “I love your sister.”
Lucas didn’t answer right away. Didn’t lose a step, either. About the same height as Sly, though his body was a little leaner, Lucas matched his quick pace.
“You better.”
There was a hint of a warning there, the first spark of emotion he’d seen from the cold man since they left Maria and Tessa Sullivan back at Ophelia.