Gone Baby Gone -

Angie handed him his keys. She didn't offer a ride, and he didn't ask for one. They stood in the fading light of a city that kept losing its children, two people who knew that "finding" them was the easy part. Living with where you found them was the burden they’d carry until the lights went out for good.

"The mother is on her phone," Angie whispered as Patrick stepped beside her. "She hasn't looked up in twenty minutes." Gone Baby Gone

He tackled the man three feet from the yellow raincoat. They hit the sand hard. The mother screamed. The man fought like a cornered animal, his eyes wide and vacant. Angie handed him his keys

"She has the same look, Patrick," Angie’s voice cracked. "That same 'look' we saw in the photos of the ones who don't come back. Please. Just come look." Living with where you found them was the

By the time the sirens echoed off the nearby triple-deckers, the man was pinned, and the little girl was safely in Angie’s arms. The mother was hysterical, clutching her child, sobbing out thank-yous that felt hollow in the cold air.

Patrick nodded, his knuckles bleeding and his lungs burning. He looked at Angie. She was watching the mother and child. There was no joy in her expression, only a haunting, quiet recognition. "Is she safe now?" Angie asked softly.

"Patrick," the voice was low, breathless. It was Angie. They hadn’t spoken since the night he chose the law over her heart. "I’m standing outside a park in Quincy. There’s a woman here. She’s been watching a little girl for three hours."