Free Gone by Lisa Gardner Page B

be all right. He had wanted her to love him.
    And that had made him stare at the purple suit and wonder how it would burn.
    “Stanley beats me,” Dougie said.
    And that changed everything.
    The lady in the purple suit brought him another lady, who wore jeans. Her name was Rainie and she was his advocate. That meant she worked for him, she told him. It was her job to assess what was going on, to determine if there really were issues in the household. If so, she would help him defend his rights. If not, she was supposed to help mediate a solution between him and his new foster parents, who, according to her, weren’t ready to give up on him just yet, even though Dougie needed, in the words of Stanley, a “massive attitude adjustment.”
    At least Rainie wasn’t so bad. She liked to be outside, too, and she didn’t make him talk a lot, particularly about his feelings, which was nice. Dougie didn’t have many feelings that didn’t involve fire, and deep down inside, even he understood that made him a freak.
    Now he ripped back more bark. A big, hairy beetle came racing out, and Dougie chased it with his stick. It was fast. He was faster.
    “Dougie.”
    The voice came from behind him. Dougie turned. His second mom was standing a careful distance away. She wore a faded gray sweatshirt, her arms folded around her for warmth. She looked tired and unhappy. She always looked tired and unhappy.
    “Come inside for breakfast, Dougie.”
    “I already ate.” He opened his mouth, revealing a feast of three beetles.
    “Dougie . . .”
    She stared at him, he stared at her. One of the beetle’s legs moved between his lips. He used his index finger to shove it back in.
    “Have you seen Rainie today?” his second mom asked abruptly.
    “What?”
    Her voice grew impatient. She was already moving away from him and his beetle-churning cheeks.
    “Have you seen your advocate, Rainie Conner, today? Did she stop by, maybe call?”
    “No.”
    “All right. That’s all I needed to know.”
    “Are they looking for her?”
    His second mom stopped. “What do you mean, Dougie?”
    “Are they looking for her? Is she missing?”
    “Do you know something, Dougie? Is there something you need to tell me?”
    “I hope she’s dead,” he said simply, then turned back to the log and prodded another beetle from its rotten depths. “She lied to me. And liars get what they deserve.”

10
    Tuesday, 10:42 a.m. PST
    T HE RAIN WAS FINALLY RELENTING. Driving down Highway 101, Quincy watched the misty clouds ease their grip on the coastal range, allowing dark green peaks to appear here and there amid the gloom.
    Rainie loved these mountains. She had grown up here, in the shadow of the towering Douglas firs, within whisper distance of the rocky coast. She believed the outdoors should be awe inspiring, a presence grand enough to make mere mortals shake in their boots. When Rainie was happy, she went outside. When she was nervous, she went outside. When she was excited, fearful, stressed, or content, she always went outside.
    When Rainie was depressed, Quincy had learned the hard way, she stayed curled up inside her darkened bedroom.
    Kincaid put his right blinker on. The detective was finally driving at less than the speed of light, lost in his own thoughts.
    With the arrival of the note, the case had finally taken shape and Kincaid appeared to be settling in. He had an adversary. He had claim of a crime. He also had a note, which generated a slew of tangible leads and logical tasks. Kincaid could now work his phone like a general marshaling his troops for war.
    In contrast, Quincy could feel himself slowly start to disintegrate. He was an investigator well versed in crime. He was also a man who knew, better than most, that bad things could happen to you. And yet still, up until this point, the night had contained a surreal feel. Rainie was tough. Rainie was capable. He worried about her drinking and he worried about her state of mind. But he’d never