In His Reach

I N H I S R E A C H (An Eve Hope FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 3) K a t e B o l d CONTENTS PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY ONE CHAPTER TWENTY TWO CHAPTER TWENTY THREE CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE EPILOGUE PROLOGUE Through the fog, the white eyes of a truck’s headlights suddenly blinked to life. Maya Ferndale slowed her jog and veered to the shoulder. They were off the grid of county-maintained roads way out there in the pastoral countryside, at least forty-five minutes from the nearest hospital. This was no place for accidents. As she continued up the side of the road, she could see the truck more clearly, recognizing it as one of her neighbor’s. There were only a dozen houses in the boondock neighborhood of Twin Lakes, with about half a mile between driveways. Despite the distance between their homes, the residents of Twin Lakes were close, polite, and neighborly. Everybody respected each other's space out here, Maya reflected, and yet they were more tightly knit than people who lived all pressed together in apartments and townhouses. She waved to Mr. Cianni as he pulled his truck to a stop in front of the community PO box. "Buongiorno, Miss Ferndale," he called out as she jogged past, " Have a good run!" The grey fog hung close to the ground, billowing out around the form of Maya Ferndale, and creating a wake of curling mist behind her as she ran. Maya panted in a steady rhythm, allowing her mind to shut off blissfully as her body repeated the steady motion. The road stretched out before her into seeming infinity. Quiet and unpaved, the hard-packed dirt crunched like home under her feet. It wasn’t the same countryside she’d grown up in, but jogging through it carried her home just the same. Maya turned off the main road after another mile and a half, following a narrow footpath through the vacant field. Before the land was parceled out into rural domestic plots, it had been rolling acres of fruit orchards. Many of the old trees still stood in the residents’ yards and the common land between the lakes. Seeing the forgotten lines of the old orchards filled Maya with the deep sense of order and serenity that she'd sought and never found in city life. The footpath carried Maya, in her endorphin-fueled state of euphoria, deep into the hilly common land. She jogged between the small lakes and away from the horseshoe of homes and towards the two-lane highway that was their nearest official road. Through the shifting shrouds of fog, she picked out the naked, skeletal fingers of an oak grove. The footpath, as she well knew, would take her right to it. When she got there, she would do a few pushups under the shelter of the grove, then turn around and jog home. This daily routine kept Maya trim and healthy, an important concern when a woman was in her fourth decade. Exercise had always been a hassle in the anxious, overcrowded city gyms. Now that she'd finally moved back out to the wide-open spaces of the country, keeping active seemed to happen as naturally as making breakfast. As she neared the oak grove, Maya's keen eyes picked up a figure coming towards her. She slowed her pace instinctually, potting her hand on the runner's fanny pack clipped around her waist. She always carried pepper spray when she jogged alone. It was another city habit but one she'd carried over into her new life. Caution had its place, even among such scenic serenity. The figure lurched nearer, and now Maya could see that he was a man. His gait was unsteady as if he were lost, not drunk. "Excuse me!" the man called out through the fog. There was nobody else he could have been talking to, nobody around for at least a mile. Straining her eyes to see through the fog, Maya finally made out the details of his features. He wasn't one of her neighbors from Twin Lakes, although she thought there was something distantly familiar about his face. Maybe somebody's visiting family member she'd only seen in passing? She couldn't place it, but the familiarity lingered in her mind. Her fingers hesitated on the zipper of her fanny pack. "Hey!" the man called again, stumbling towards her. "Hey, can you help me?" "Are you alright, sir?" Maya asked warily. She could see he was clutching something—a somewhat dirty, crumpled piece of paper. "Have you seen this boy?" the man blurted his question and thrusted the paper at Maya as soon as he was near enough. Maya studied the young man's face. He does look familiar, she thought, but from where? With a hesitant hand, she took the paper and looked at it. Across the top of the page, printed in bold, red letters, were the words “Have You Seen Him?” Beneath this question was a grainy photograph of a child. "Please," the young man's voice was broken with emotion, "please, tell me you've seen this boy." Maya gave the man another look. His face was as distraught as his voice sounded, smeared with dirt, and streaked by tears. He was pitiful in the extreme. Maya's old social worker instinct welled up from within, even though the stress of that job had been what prompted her to move out to the desolate, rural neighborhood. She wanted to help the stranger. Was it because he looked so vaguely familiar, like a face from a dream or a past life? She looked down at the paper again, studying it more carefully. The flyer was dirty and rumpled, much like the man who’d been carrying it, stained with watermarks, and lined with creases. The