Free Return to Paradise by Pittacus Lore

anything you know about what Sarah Hart was doing after school yesterday.”
    “Why should I tell you anything?” I ask.
    “Because Sarah never made it home last night,” Walker says.
    There’s a silence that settles over the porch. I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or if it’s just being caused by the sudden pounding in my ears.
    “Wh-what do you mean?” I manage to stammer.
    “Her parents filed a report last night,” Walker explains. “Since Ms. Hart is a person of interest, we’re bypassing the normal waiting period required to declare someone a missing person and jumping straight into the investigation. So I ask you again, Mark: What did Sarah do after school yesterday?”
    I shake my head. None of this makes sense. I talked to her just last night. She texted me. She—
    The text. From a number I didn’t recognize. It could have been anyone.
    A voice keeps repeating in my head. Sarah’s gone. Sarah’s gone .
    “Nothing,” I say. “I mean, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her since lunch yesterday. She took the bushome.”
    Agent Walker nods. She seems satisfied with this answer. For a moment her face changes—like some kind of mask slips away—and she looks at me with concern. Maybe even pity, as if she wished she could do something for me. Maybe even give me a hug. But the moment passes, and her steely expression resurfaces, her mouth with a glued-on smile.
    “We’ll be in touch,” she says, turning away from the door. And then she’s gone, into one of the ubiquitous black SUVs that have flooded our town.
    Sarah’s gone.
    I failed to protect her.
    What am I supposed to do now?
    No, that’s an easy question to answer. I find her.
    But how am I supposed to do that?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    IT TAKES A WHILE FOR ME TO REALIZE THAT John might have come for her, and so I sit glued to my computer and check my phone every two minutes, hoping that she’ll send me some sort of message telling me she’s all right. She must know that I’m going out of my mind, and she’ll let me know she’s safe.
    Days pass without any word from her, and I realize I’m holding on to unfounded hope. If she was with John, she would have found a way to contact me. She wouldn’t have just left me behind.
    It’s so easy for me to look at the day she disappeared and see the things I should have done. When she—or whoever it was—texted me from that strange number. I shouldn’t have ever even left her alone after what happened at Sam’s house with the black car. I feel like an idiot. I feel useless.
    I have to do something.
    I’m practically glued to the blog, but there’s only so much research I can do online. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. I’ll go crazy.
    Something dings in the back of my head. Sarah saying that Sam probably knew more about what was happening with the Loric and the Mogs than any of us.
    His backyard was a battleground. His mom is probably scared, not staying at the house. The back window has been blown out, covered only by a sheet of plastic.
    It would be the easiest thing in the world to climb through it. If Sam had a better idea of what was happening between the Mogs and Loric, maybe he left behind some clues I can use.
    It’s almost 2 a.m. when I sneak downstairs dressed in all-black clothes, cringing at every creaking step. No one wakes up to stop me except for the dogs—but I’ve prepared for them. A few pieces of beef jerky, and Abby and Dozer are as quiet as can be.
    I keep my headlights off until I’m already on the road. I drive past Sam’s house a few times to see if I can spot anyone around it, but it doesn’t look like someone’s home. I park a few houses away just in case. There’s no car out front, and a quick peek in the garage tells me there’s no car in there either. I knock, just to make sure that no one answers. It’s dead quiet inside.
    Bingo. Empty house.
    I take a deep breath and psych myself up. I’ve snuckin and out of a few houses in my life, but