He turned and walked out of the tomb. There would be a lot to do that night. He felt her behind him. She followed him out, obviously concerned about the boy.
The EMTs were waiting outside and they sprang into action with a speed and competence that was reassuring. Aidan listened as they called off vital statistics. The boy’s pulse was low but acceptable.
“How’s it look?” he asked, aware that Mo was silent but right behind him.
“Well, I’m not a doctor,” the young man in charge told him. “But I’m seeing dehydration, minor cuts and bruises. Not much more than that. The kid obviously hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in two days, but he’ll probably come out of this none the worse for wear—physically, anyway. Mentally? I don’t know. I’ve got to admit being locked in there would’ve done me in as a kid!” He indicated the vault. “Gotta take him now, okay?”
Mo suddenly spoke up. “May I ride with him?” she asked.
“That’s obviously a great dog, but he can’t come. And it’s usually one of the police—” he started to tell her.
Aidan was surprised when he found himself saying, “The dog will come with me. I don’t think the boy’s going to regain consciousness for a while. It may be unorthodox, but hey, this lady rescued him. She’ll ride with you. Mo, I’ll meet you at the hospital.”
Mo nodded with obvious gratitude.
“Rollo will go with me, won’t he?” Aidan asked.
“Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “That traitor might like you even better than me,” she said.
The EMT helped her into the back of the ambulance.
Jane and Sloan were behind Aidan, and so were Van Camp and Voorhaven.
Van Camp said, “Go ahead and follow. I’ve put the call through to the crime scene department, and we’ll keep a vigil here.”
“If they can just find something in that tomb...then we might have some answers—and something to compare with our suspect’s DNA.”
Jane smiled. “That boy has to be tough, a survivor. Maybe he’ll be able to give us some more information.”
“Let’s pray he does,” Aidan murmured. “All right, I’ll take the dog in my car. We can switch off shifts at the hospital until I convince Ms. Deauville that she can leave. Rollo?”
Rollo barked.
“That’s one impressive dog,” Voorhaven said.
“And one impressive woman,” Aidan added quietly.
Van Camp smiled and slapped his partner’s back. “Yes! Hell, it’s a good night. We found the kid—and we found him alive.”
*
J. J. Appleby was one cute kid. He had wavy dark hair that fell to his neck, and a tuft in front hung naturally over his forehead. His cheeks were still cherubic. He was ashen, but with an IV started, he seemed to be getting back a little color. Mo held his hand. She felt him squeeze hers in return, just slightly, once.
The EMT—Stan—was a pleasant and solid man of about forty. He was quiet most of the time in the ambulance, watching his patient. His partner, the driver, was in contact with the hospital during the ride.
“Looks like he’s going to be fine,” Stan assured her.
“Why is he unconscious?” she asked. “I mean, if he isn’t hurt.”
“No food, no water and pure terror. Could you imagine being locked up in there?” Stan asked.
With the sirens blaring, and at this hour of the night, they were at the hospital in no time. Mo stayed in the E.R. waiting area until the boy was taken to a room and she was told she could go see him. She’d barely gotten there before Aidan arrived. He sat on the other side of the bed and assured her that Rollo was fine. He was with Jane at the hotel.
They hadn’t been there long when J.J. woke. For a moment, his eyes were wide-open and unseeing. Then he bolted straight up and let out a bloodcurdling cry.
Mo quickly reached for him. “J.J., J.J., it’s okay. You’re in the hospital now.”
He stared at her as if she were some kind of monster, recoiling from her touch.
“You’re all right, you’re all right,” she murmured. “You’re in the hospital.”
He relaxed in her arms, and then began to sob. The sound was heartbreaking.
It was the sound she’d heard in her mind when he’d been in the vault below her.
He allowed her to hold him. She let instinct take over and just sat there, rocking him. Over his head, she looked at Aidan. She knew he wanted—needed—information from the boy, but he was also aware of J.J.’s fragility and the agent had, she realized, tremendous compassion.
Finally, the boy’s cries subsided. “My mom?” he whispered. The hope in his voice tore at her soul. She realized that he knew his mother was dead.
“I’m so sorry, J.J.,” Mo whispered.
Aidan sat forward. “I’m Aidan Mahoney, J.J. I’m with the FBI. And this is Mo. We’re going to find whoever did this and make sure they’re locked up forever—I promise. But you can help us.”
J.J. was shaking again. He pulled back a little. “I can?” he asked, his voice weak.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Aidan asked.
He stared blankly at Aidan for a minute.