The Survivor by DiAnn Mills

forward. “Twenty-three years ago, when I saw Amy in that field, I believed she was dead. Her little throat had been slit from ear to ear. Only by the grace of God did she survive the attack. Of course, you can read all the details in newspaper archives at the county library. The story’s also online.” He shook his head as though remembering. “If that happened today, we’d have DNA and advanced technology to nail the guy.”
    “Were there any clues?”
    “None. We combed the area. Springtime. Tall grass. We were on our knees, praying and looking for anything to find Amy’s attacker. I think all of us adopted her. We guarded her outside her hospital room. We returned countless times to the scene of the crime, and we beat ourselves up because we couldn’t find him. All these years, and the memories still rush over me.” He clenched his fist.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Talk her out of this,” he said. “She’s putting her life in jeopardy. Tell her to keep journaling. She doesn’t need a book. Once a psychopath, always a psychopath.”
    Kariss considered what little she knew about Amy, and her admiration and intense respect for Amy grew. The little girl had fought to live, and her courage increased Kariss’s desire to write the best possible novel, to be another cheerleader for the survivor. But Amy didn’t believe she’d be exposed to danger. Could Sergeant Hanson be overreacting?
    10:05 A.M. THURSDAY
    “Where did you go last night?” Tigo repeated the question to Ian Yeat for the third time.
    “I had things to do.” No eye contact, only a belligerent attitude that seemed to seep from the pores of his skin.
    Jonathan pounded the kitchen table. “What was so important that you had to sneak out of your home and away from those who were here to protect you? Whoever killed your mother and sister is still out there.” The lines in his face looked like a war zone. “I don’t need another family member dead.”
    “Right, Dad. Don’t play the hero for me or the FBI. It’s lame. It sucks.” Ian settled back in his chair and lifted a can of Dr Pepper to his lips.
    Jonathan stood, his composure gone. “I’m trying to be understanding here, but what are you talking about?”
    “When were you and Mom going to tell us about the divorce?”
    Tigo watched a play of emotions scatter across Jonathan’s face. Was the divorce a surprise to him? Tigo studied him … Jonathan had had no clue about Joanna’s decision.
    “I learned about it when you did.”
    “Liar. You—”
    “Shut up, Ian.” Curt, who’d been watching his dad and brother, jumped to his feet. “You aren’t the only one grieving Mom and Alexia.”
    “Time out,” Tigo said. “Sit down. I’ve heard enough.” He shot his best intimidating glare at Ian. “I’m not your dad. I asked a question, and I want an answer now. You can cooperate, or we can take a drive to the FBI office.”
    Ian licked his lips and rubbed his face. “It’s too complicated.”
    “I’m a smart guy.”
    “I can’t. It’s private.”
    Tigo counted to three and nodded at Ryan. “Let’s go. Haven’t formally interrogated a kid in a long time.”
    “Wait.” Sweat beaded Ian’s forehead. “Okay, I went to see a girl. She lives in our subdivision, about a ten-minute walk.”
    Tigo recognized a lie when he saw one, and Ian had thedarting gaze to go with it. “Wrong. Start all over, and this time tell me the truth. My patience’s worn thin.” He jabbed his finger in Ian’s face. “I know how to get the truth. A stint in the Middle East with the marines taught me how the other side extracts information.”
    “Do you need a lawyer?” Jonathan said to Ian, throwing a curveball. Did he think his younger son had information about the bombing?
    “No. I …” Ian narrowed his eyes. “Do you think I killed Mom and Alexia?”
    “I want the truth. We all do,” Jonathan said. “You were up to no good last night. We all know that.”
    Something told Tigo this