Noah's Rainy Day by Sandra Brannan

on the discharge end of that escalator since the child’s flight landed in DIA. She’s one of them,” the TSA shift supervisor said. “Best bet is to grill her. She’d be the most likely one to see a snatcher with a kid, unless they hopped on a plane headed somewhere else. I’m telling you, that’s how I’d do it.”
    Gates looked at Cheryl and said, “This guy’s starting to think like a criminal.” Then to the TSA shift supervisor, Gates said, “Did someone screen you before they hired you or what?”
    The mood lightened slightly.
    Streeter said, “We’ve already lost six hours so we need to move.”
    “Tell her we’ll want to talk with her before she leaves work and after you get through with her,” the TSA shift supervisor said.
    As the photos worked their way through the crowd of TSA employees and officers and back to Gates, he said, “Case headquarters is being set up on the mezzanine level above the customer service desk near gate 56 on Concourse B. We’ll be directly above and across from gate B31, where the boy was last seen.”
    “Who’s cleared to go through security for this operation?”
    Streeter was pleased with the TSA senior shift supervisor, understanding quickly how he had earned his position.
    Gates turned to Streeter, a question in his eyes.
    Streeter said, “No one. Call Gates or me on every individual who claims to be working with this case. Even if they have a badge or credentials. Direct them immediately to case headquarters once we clear them.”
    “Clear my officers who are already here now.” Gates gave them a list of twelve officers who were on-site with Eddie.
    “Got it,” Cheryl said. “I know most of them.”
    “And Eddie. Chief Deputy Eddie Heisinger.”
    Streeter heard the buzzing of Gates’s cell phone and watched as he fished for his phone and looked at the display. “They found Kevin Benson. He came in on his own. BlueSky will be taking him up to our case headquarters. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 10
     
    “WHILE ELIZABETH AND I finish preparing dinner, will you let Noah stretch out a bit in the living room?” my sister Frances asked.
    “Sure.”
    I didn’t get to spend enough time with Frances these days. Not like I used to. We were inseparable. Best friends. In school, we were so close in age—nine months and a day, my dad always says—we were in the same grade. I was the jock, and she was the natural beauty men wanted to date and all women wanted to befriend. All of us Bergen siblings were close, but Frances and I were tight. Or used to be. Now she was so busy with every-thing—with work, with the kids, with Gabriel. With life. As a Hogarty.
    I unbuckled Noah from his blue, Styrofoam chair that was propped in the frame of the wheelchair and scooped him up in my arms, careful not to let Frances or Elizabeth see me flinch with pain.
    Damn, my rib hurt.
    With dinner nearly ready, Frances and Elizabeth made last-minute preparations while their husbands, Gabriel and Michael, worked on assembling the contraption my mom and dad had sent Emma. The bike depicted on the box looked like a police motorcycle with a sidecar that was big enough to slide Noah’s blue chair in it. Emma couldn’t wait to try it out.
    My sisters and I knew the drill well. The men kept sending Emma on missions to retrieve different tools because they didn’t want young ears hearing them swear every time they had to assemble and disassemble parts when they misread the instructions. And consuming vast quantities of spiked eggnog had not dulled their ability to come up with some colorful new word combinations. I truly hoped Noah wasn’t recording them with his new pin.
    Elizabeth stepped aside, watching me struggle with Noah. As I passed through the opening, careful not to hit his head or feet against the door-frame, Elizabeth commented, “That was a cool gift from Mom and Dad.”
    “Perfect,” I said, trying not to wince.
    “Emma’s going to love racing around the neighborhood in that