The Way Home by Jean Brashear Page A

we’re working with the authorities in Idaho right now. There is no point in you going up there.”
    “Are you saying I can’t go? Will you keep me from leaving?”
    “I don’t think it will come to that, sir.”
    “Are you—” He couldn’t wrap his mind around the notion slowly stirring. “I love my wife. She’s everything to me. Are you implying that I’m somehow involved in this? Am I a—” He could barely voice the word. “A suspect?”
    The man’s eyes remained carefully blank. “If you could just answer some questions, Mr. Parker, that would be very helpful.”
    “You answer me first. You cannot seriously imagine—”
    “I try to avoid imagination. In my job, the facts are all that matter. Now, do you know your wife’s blood type? And would you happen to have a hairbrush of hers, for DNA matching?”
    “On cop shows, they say those closest are always prime suspects when there’s foul play.” Foul play. Oh, God. Bella…bleeding. Hurt. “This can’t be happening.” No matter how worried he’d been before, nothing compared with how terrified he was now. Abruptly, he had to sit down. “Bella…” His head sagged into his hands.
    “That’s television, Mr. Parker. Take a minute to clear your mind.”
    James raised haunted eyes to the man who sat across from him. “I’d hoped that she was just still mad at me. I never truly believed—” He couldn’t finish.
    “You had a fight?” Detective Gordon’s gaze sharpened. “What about?”
    “I should be calling a lawyer, shouldn’t I?”
    Gordon shrugged. “Your decision. No one’s charging you with anything yet.”
    “Yet.” James uttered a rusty chuckle. He sank into the cushions. “Unbelievable.”
    Then the image hit him again, of Bella hurt. Bleeding. “I’m not going to waste any time with a lawyer. My wife is out there, possibly injured or—” He shook his head violently. “No. She has to be all right. She has to be.” He stared at the man before him. “To hell with what the implications are for me. She’s been gone for two and a half weeks, and you people are finally paying attention.” He stood. “Her blood type is B positive. Her hairbrush is gone, but I’ll look around. The housekeeper is here twice a week, so I don’t know—what else could serve the same purpose?”
    He whirled to race up the stairs, but Gordon’s hand on his arm halted him.
    “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Parker, we can do the search.”
    “But—” Once again, comprehension arose. “Right. You haven’t charged me, but that doesn’t mean you trust me.”
    “Can’t afford to just yet, sir. So, are you giving us permission to search your house?”
    This was a nightmare. But what did he know about criminal lawyers? He was innocent, and meanwhile, the clock was ticking. If there was a chance in the world that Bella could be found…
    He swallowed hard. She had to be. He could not live with the knowledge that their last words had been spoken in anger and despair.
    “Yes,” he said. “You have my permission.” Then a thought occurred. “She hasn’t been in my car lately, but we always joked about how she left hairs everywhere—long, black curly—”
    Fear robbed him of voice. He hardly registered Gordon’s instructions to the officer, words about bringing in a forensics team. After a moment, he regained possession of himself and faced the detective. “My car is in the garage, unlocked.”
    “Thank you.” Gordon paused. “If you have a photograph of your wife, that would be helpful.”
    “Of course.” James crossed the room, retrieved a photo album from the shelves. Halted as fear jolted through him. Please. Let her be safe. Even if she doesn’t want me, her children need her.
    I need her, too. For a second, he was overcome by a longing for her, for the life with her he’d loved so much—a yearning so visceral and sharp it flayed him to the bone.
    “Mr. Parker?”
    James squeezed his eyes to shut out the vision of the