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long metal side into the lock. “Quinn, talk to me.”
    Nothing.
    His fingers trembled. The hanger was too fat to fit the keyhole.
    A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. He spun around.
    Clay stood before him, his eyebrows furrowed in a worried way.
    Dread filled Brett’s gut. “What? What’s wrong?”
    “Her window is open on the east side of the house.”
    “What?” His stomach cartwheeled to his feet. “No!”
    Clay took out his key chain and opened a device that contained a thin metal picklock. He gently brushed Brett aside, and speaking in his usual calm, deep voice said, “Here, let me do that. But I don’t think you’re going to find her in there.”

Chapter Five
    Static from Brett’s radio echoed off the walls of Quinn’s empty bedroom. Empty in that she wasn’t there. But everything else was—the clothes in her closet, toys in the corner, her lime-green piggy bank on the dresser.
    The dispatcher’s voice sounded, breaking the silence. “Unit twenty-four, unit twenty-five. There’s someone here at the office I need you to see. 10-4.” The static clicked off.
    Clay finished putting his pick away before he unclipped his radio and spoke into it. “We’ll be there in a few. We’re about fifteen minutes away.”
    Brett stood in the center of the room, numb, panic filling every nerve fiber. A low humming throbbed in his ears. Oblivious to the radio, he searched for clues and licked his lips. “Where is she?” He moved to the window. The curtains billowed out and flapped in the wind. “Do you think she left through here?” Brett glanced out the opening and below at the humming air conditioning unit.
    “It’s possible. All she had to do was step out onto the unit, and away she’d go.”
    “But what about Max? If someone took her he’d still be here. Unless she took him with her?
    Static from the radio came again. The dispatcher said, “Reed, this is about your daughter.”
    Brett unclipped his radio, frantic. His heartbeat soared. “Is she there?”
    “No, but we know where she is. Chief says to get over here.”
    “Where is she? Is she safe? What happened?” Brett’s voice raised two notches as he fired the questions.
    When the dispatcher didn’t respond, his eyes darted from the open window to Clay. His heart drummed in his ears. Why wasn’t she answering his questions?
    Ali stumbled into the room, her eyes squinting and puffy. She leaned against the doorjamb. “Where is she? What happened?”
    Brett turned to her, his fists clenched at his sides. “You tell me. You were supposed to be watching her! What kind of mother are you, anyway?” He stormed out of the house, leaving Ali crying in a heap on the floor at the door, still wearing her nightgown and smelling like booze. His heart raced as he wondered where Quinn could be and why the chief wanted him to come to the station.
    #
    When Brett entered the Hursey Park Police Precinct, the staff turned mute. Officers stared. Was it his imagination or had something terrible happened to Quinn? His heart thundered in his chest.
    The receptionist pointed to the chief’s office. Brett ran down the hallway. Clay followed.
    Mrs. Finkle, an elderly neighbor who lived down the street from Ali, sat in a chair across from the chief. She wore her usual flowered dress—the kind Brett’s grandmother used to wear ten years ago. Chief Dunson motioned for Brett and Clay to come in and close the door.
    Brett turned to Mrs. Finkle. “What are you doing here? Where’s Quinn?”
    Chief motioned for Brett to sit.
    Brett couldn’t. “Is she hurt? What happened?”
    He glanced at the chief and then to Mrs. Finkle. “Do you have her?”
    Mrs. Finkle wrung her hands and turned to the chief as if waiting for him to answer. Chief Dunson motioned for Brett to sit down again. Brett ran his fingers through his hair.
    Clay, who’d taken a seat, reached and took Brett’s arm, guiding him into the chair. Finally, Brett slumped into the seat.
    Chief spoke