Desperately Seeking Dad (14 page)

Mitch slid into the car and turned the key in the ignition before she even got the door closed. “I don't think he'll have gone far.”

The streetlights they passed first illuminated his face, then cast it in shadow.

She clasped her hands. “What if he has some destination in mind?”

He sent her a sharp glance. “What do you mean? What destination?”

She didn't want to say this, but she had to. “Maybe he wants to find his father.”

“He's said he doesn't know where he is. Anyway…” His voice trailed off.

She thought she could fill in the blanks. Mitch wouldn't have gone after his own father, or at least that's what he told himself now. So he didn't want to believe it of Davey, either.

Help him, Lord, please. This is really hurting him. It reminds him too much of his own past.

Mitch pulled to the curb at the end of the block and grabbed a flashlight. “Look, we've got to make some assumptions to go on. I don't think he's on a wild-goose chase after his dad, but if he is, the team checking the road out of town should spot him. Meanwhile, we've got to get on with the search.”

“I know.” She slid out, grabbing her own flashlight and zipping her jacket against the cold. “I wasn't trying to second-guess you.”

He nodded. “Second-guess away, if you want. I know you care about him.”

“Yes.”
And about you.
But that was something she'd probably never have a chance to say.

Mitch swept his light in a wide circle, illuminating shrubs, trees, barren flower beds. “Let's start with the front. Check under every hedge.”

She nodded and followed him into the yard, whispering a silent prayer.

They worked their way through one yard, then a second. Mitch was an organized, meticulous searcher, leaving nothing to chance. For the most part they worked in silence, occasionally consulting in low voices.

Three houses later she paused after checking under a lilac bush and watched Mitch swing a beam of light through low-hanging branches. “You act as if you've done this a lot. Conducted a search, I mean.”

He bent to direct his light under a porch. “Often enough. We have a pretty well-organized search-and-rescue routine. It's a lot more difficult when someone's lost in the woods.”

He straightened, looking up, and she followed the direction of his gaze. The bulk of the mountain was black against a paler black sky, looming over the town in an almost menacing way.

She shivered a little. Maybe people who lived here all the time got used to the mountain's pres
ence. She hadn't, yet. Often it seemed protective, but tonight she was aware of its dangers.

“Davey wouldn't go up there. Would he?”

The beam of the flashlight showed her the tight line of his mouth. “I don't think so. I hope not.”

“Please, Father.” The prayer came out almost involuntarily. “Please be with that child.”

“You sound like Simon Richie. I'm sure he's praying and searching at the same time.”

The strained note in his voice caught her by surprise. “Aren't you?”

He shrugged. “I guess I figure God wants me to get on with my job, not go running to Him every time things get tough.”

She checked a row of trash cans. Nothing. “Don't you think the Father wants to hear from His children when they're in trouble?”

Mitch swung his light toward her, maybe in surprise. For a moment he didn't say anything. Then, his voice harsh, he said, “I don't know. I don't have much experience with a good father.”

The undertone of bitterness in his voice startled her. She kept forgetting, God forgive her. She kept forgetting how complicated his feelings were toward his own father. If that had spilled over into his relationship with his Heavenly Father, it wasn't surprising.

Be careful,
she warned herself.
Don't make things worse.

“I know what you mean.” She tried to keep it
light. “If I believed God was a father like mine, I'd never be able to pray at all.”

He stopped, the flashlight motionless in his hand. Had she gone too far?

Then he nodded. “Maybe you've got something there.” His hand closed over hers warmly. “Let's search and pray.”

An hour later they'd completed their grid as best they could. Looked like he'd been wrong about where the kid was likely to be found, Mitch thought. Where
was
he?

He slid into the cruiser next to Anne. She was shivering a little, and he started the heater before flipping the radio switch.

“Wanda. Got anything?”

“Nothing, Chief, sorry. Most teams have finished their first grid and gone on to their second.” Wanda sounded briskly efficient. “You have anything?”

“Nada.”
His jaw clenched. Where was the kid? “I'll check in again in an hour.”

Anne stirred beside him, leaning forward to look down the empty street. “Every house has its porch light on.”

He nodded. “Word's spread. People want Davey to know he could walk up to any door in town right now.”

“I didn't—” Anne's voice sounded choked. “I hope he sees. And understands.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Davey, where are you? Where did you run to?

Where would he run? Mitch tried to look at it rationally. If he were the kid, where might he go?

Home? But Davey didn't have a home, not anymore. Flagler had never bothered to provide his son with even minimum security.

Some people thought they didn't have homeless people in Bedford Creek. He knew better. Maybe they didn't have people sleeping on the streets, but there were those who didn't have a safe place to live.

Home.
The word kept coming to him, refusing to go away.
Home.

Are you trying to tell me something, Lord?

He glanced at Anne. That was the kind of conversation she probably had with God all the time. He hadn't realized, until tonight, that it was lacking in his own life. Or why.

He started the engine, and Anne looked at him.

“Where do we go next?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I'm wrong, but I've got a feeling. Let's go down to River Street and have a look at the place where Davey used to live.”

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of a dilapidated house. It was dark and appeared empty. Still, something inside Mitch kept driving him. He had to check it out.

He approached the front door and tried it, sensing Anne coming up behind him and looking over his shoulder. A brand-new padlock glinted in the light
from his flash. Looked like the landlord hadn't been taking any chances. But there might be another way in, a way a kid would know.

“I'll check the back. Why don't you stay here?”

She nodded, rubbing her arms against the chill, and he stepped off the creaky porch.

He prowled around the house, checking windows. The side door, too, bore a shiny new padlock. No sign anyone could have gotten in, not even a skinny kid.

He stopped at the back of the house, shining his light along the black windows. Nothing. This had turned into been a wild-goose chase. He'd better get back to his assigned grid and stop following hunches. One of the other searchers would cruise this neighborhood, anyway.

As he turned, his light flickered across the dirt-bare space stretching between the house and the river. He stopped. The light touched a decrepit building sagging into itself at the edge of the river.

Check it.
The voice in his mind was insistent.
Check it.

He stalked toward the building—little more than a shed, really. There were plenty of other places that would be warmer and drier for a kid out in the night.

Still, something drove Mitch. He had to look. He grabbed the sagging door. It stuck tight, and for a moment he thought it was locked.

He rattled it, putting his shoulder into it. The door popped open.

He took a step forward, flashing the beam of light around the interior. Nothing. Some battered boxes, a stack of lumber on one side, broken glass littering the floor.

“Davey!” His voice echoed in the cold darkness. Futile. The kid wasn't here.

He turned away, stepping through the open doorway. Then just as he started to shut the door, something creaked behind him. He froze.

His hand tightened on the door frame, and he swung the light toward the lumber pile. There might be—could be—just enough room behind it for one small body.

“Davey?” He reached the stack, moved to the side of it and peered along the wall. “Davey? You there?”

“Go away!” The boy's voice was shrill. “Go away! I hate you!”

“D
avey, listen to me.”

Behind him, Mitch could hear Anne's running feet. She must have heard. He held out a warning hand. No use spooking the boy by having too many people around. From the corner of his eye he saw her stop.

“No!” A scrabbling noise accented Davey's answer. The kid was trying to get around him to the door.

“Come on, Davey, I just want to talk.”

This time Davey didn't bother with a verbal answer. He just spurted past.

Mitch grabbed, caught the sleeve of a wind-breaker, and pulled the boy toward him. He wrapped both arms around the kid, trying to still his frantic struggles.

“Let me go! I don't wanna be with you. Let me go!”

“Davey—” Mitch clamped his arms tighter “—you have to let me talk to you. To tell you I'm sorry.”

The slightest pause in the boy's flailing encouraged him to continue. “Listen, I was wrong. I was mad about something else, and I snapped at you instead.”
Just like my father used to do.
The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. “I was wrong.”

“Yeah, you were.” Davey sounded angry, but he stopped struggling. “That stupid history—”

“Hey, I wasn't wrong about that. You still have to do your homework.” He eased the pressure of his grip. He could sense Anne moving closer, but kept his focus on Davey. “That's part of the bargain. But I should have helped you, not yelled at you.”

“Yeah.” The boy's voice was muffled. “I thought maybe you…”

He put his hand gently on the kid's head. “What did you think?”

“I figured you were going to tell me to get out.” The words came out defiantly, but Mitch could hear the fear underneath. “So I just figured I'd go before you got around to it.”

Pain was an icy hand around his heart.
Lord, give me the right words. Please.
It was the kind of prayer he'd never felt comfortable with, but it came out so naturally now, warming him.

“Hey, we have a deal, remember? I don't go back on a deal.” He held the boy a little away from him, so he could see his face in the dim light. “You're going to stay with me until your dad comes back. Right?”

Davey nodded, then looked down at his toes. “What if I do something you don't like?”

“Then I might yell. But I wouldn't tell you to go. No way.” That was what he'd always wanted, but never had—the assurance that someone was there, whatever he did, no matter what. Just always there. “You've got my word on it.”

Holding his breath, he released the boy. “We okay now?”

Davey peered up at him. Apparently whatever he saw satisfied him. He nodded.

Some of the tension slipped away. “All right. Let's get you home.”

“Okay.”

Davey took a step away. Then he stopped, waiting while Mitch shut the rickety door. He fell into step beside him as they walked to the patrol car.

Anne's gaze met Mitch's as she joined them. Her eyes were bright with tears. She touched Davey lightly on the shoulder. “Hi, Davey. I'm glad you're okay.”

Davey nodded. Then he slid into the cruiser. Anne brushed a tear away with the back of her hand and followed him.

Thank you, Lord.
He got in and picked up the
mike to let Wanda know to end the search.
Thank you.

Davey fidgeted.

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?” He glanced at the boy.

“People were looking for me?”

“You bet people were looking for you. What'd you think, we'd just let you go?” Mitch gestured down the street, where every porch light was on. “See those lights? They're for you. Because people heard you were out there and wanted you to know it was okay to come to them.”

He could see the muscles in Davey's throat work. “You sure?” The kid's voice wavered.

“I'm sure.”

With a little sigh, Davey leaned back against the seat, hands relaxing.

Mitch saw Anne surreptitiously wipe away another tear.

Davey would still be a handful; he was sure of that. But if this night had convinced the kid that people cared what happened to him, they'd come a long way.

Anne climbed a little stiffly from the car when they pulled up in front of Mitch's. They'd stopped at the burger hut for sandwiches, and Davey had wolfed down two. Now he looked so tired he could hardly hold his eyes open, and she was in about the same shape.

“I'll say good night now.”

Mitch caught her arm. “Come in for a minute.” His smile flickered.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to go. Finally she nodded.

As soon as they got inside and he'd disappeared up the stairs with Davey, she had second thoughts. What was the point of this? They'd said everything there was to say that afternoon, and still Mitch had shut her out. He had been ashamed or embarrassed about kissing her. Could she believe any of that had changed, just because they'd come together over Davey's crisis?

She picked up her jacket, then tossed it over the back of the chair. She wouldn't be a coward about this. If Mitch wanted to talk, they'd talk.

She was sitting in the living room, leafing through a copy of a police magazine, when he came back downstairs. He'd shed his jacket, and the sleeves of his flannel shirt were rolled back, as if he'd been helping Davey get washed up. He glanced at the magazine in her hands.

“Getting up to date on the latest weapon regs?”

She shook her head, let the magazine drop onto the end table. “How is he?”

“Okay.” Mitch sank to the couch next to her and leaned back, closing his eyes. The lines of strain were obvious on his face. It had been a difficult night for all of them—Mitch, Davey, the searchers who'd looked and prayed.

“Thank heaven you thought of looking there.”

Mitch sat up. “Thank heaven is right. Something led us straight to him.”

Yes. Something… Someone…had. “A lot of people were praying.”

“I know.” His face relaxed a little. “Thanks for your help tonight. That's what I wanted to say.” His hand closed over hers. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You're welcome. You and Davey both.”

“I don't want to let him down.”

Was that what was eating at him? Doubts over his ability to care for Davey? “You won't.”

He shrugged. “Donovans don't have a very good record.” His tone was light, but she knew him well enough to hear the pain under the words. “My dad left. My mother escaped into a bottle. Link turns tail at the sight of responsibility.”

Her heart hurt for him. He was so sure, so in control on the outside. But inside he measured himself by his family. That was obviously behind his determination not to have a family of his own. The fear he'd turn out just like his own father.

“Maybe…” She went slowly, trying to find the right words. “Maybe you inherited everyone's share of responsibility. Assist, protect, defend. Like that crest in your office.”

His smile flickered. “Military Police. I adopted that motto when I went in. They're good rules. They let you know what's expected of you.”

She could see so clearly the boy he must have been, trying to make up for a bad start by finding something solid to hang on to. “We all need that.”

“I need something else, too.” His eyes darkened. “I need to say how sorry I am. About today.”

The quarrel seemed to have taken place an eternity ago. “It's all right.”

“No, it's not.” He smiled wryly. “You got to see the worst aspect of having a brother. He knows me better than anyone, so he can push all my buttons. I was wrong to let that come between us.”

His fingers moved softly against her wrist, tracing circles on the delicate skin. Each touch seemed to go right to her heart.

“Yes.” Her breath caught on the word. “You were wrong.”

His dark brown gaze was intent on her face. “Will you let me make up for it?”

Some faint warning voice told her she was getting in too deep, in danger of being swept away, like that story he'd told her.

She could retreat to safer ground. Go back to being the person who'd decided against having a man in her life. It would be safer, but it wouldn't be better.

She touched his cheek, feeling warm skin, the faint prickle of beard. He put his hand over hers, pressing her palm against his skin.

Her heart was so full that it stole the words. But she knew she loved him. She'd seen it coming, tried
to avoid it, but nothing had done any good. She loved him.

Mitch drew her into his arms. She could feel the steady beat of his heart as she wrapped her arms around him. Her own heart threatened to overflow. She held him tightly. They had both come home at last.

Mitch lingered at the kitchen table over a second cup of coffee the next morning. Davey had gone off to school a little heavy-eyed, grumbling a bit, but he'd gone. At least he'd seemed confident Mitch would be there when he came home.

He lifted the cup to his lips, smiling. Funny thing, how he'd found himself smiling at odd moments ever since last night. Ever since he'd held Anne in his arms and dared to think about having a family.

Given the way Anne felt about Emilie, given the family wars she'd been through herself, she wouldn't trust a new relationship easily. But she'd taken the first painful steps from behind her safety barricades, and so had he.

Noise in the hallway wiped the smile from his face. It was stupid of him to tense at the very sound of his brother's footsteps.

If just knowing Anne could bring him this far from the person he'd been, he ought to be able to get through one breakfast conversation with his brother without snapping. He could try, anyway.

Link wandered through the doorway, spotted the
coffeepot and made straight for it. He didn't glance at Mitch until he'd taken several long gulps from his mug.

Maybe it was up to Mitch to get the conversational ball rolling. “How did your reunion go?” At least he hadn't heard any damage reports, so it couldn't have been too wild a time.

An expression of disgust crossed Link's face. “You wouldn't believe it. The old gang is going domestic. Getting married, buying houses, having kids…I thought I was in an old television rerun.”

Mitch grinned. “Wedding bells are breaking up the old gang, huh?”

“That might be okay for them.” Link responded with an answering grin that reminded Mitch of the little brother who'd once looked up to him. “But it's definitely not in my plans.”

“What are your plans?”

Link shrugged. “The company wanted to send me to Anchorage on a project, but I turned it down.” He shook his head. “Not for me. A two-year commitment, responsibility of crew chief…definitely not for me.”

That was Link all over: running from any hint of something settled. “A little responsibility isn't a bad thing,” Mitch said. He tried to keep the words light, but he could tell from the tightening of Link's expression that he didn't succeed.

“This town is getting to you, big brother. Be responsible, settle down, act just like everybody else
and maybe they'll like you. Maybe they'll forget what you came from.”

His hand tightened on the coffee cup. “That's not what's important to me.”

“Sure it is.” Link slammed his mug down on the table. “You think I don't know? I watched you at that fall festival when the mayor called you up on stage, said what a great job you'd done. You were eating it up. You'd have licked his boots for that praise.”

Link's words moved slowly through his mind. The foliage festival Link meant wasn't the most recent one. It was the one before.

His heart turned to lead. It was the one that was held when Tina Mallory was in town, when Link wasn't supposed to have been anywhere near Bedford Creek.

He looked at his brother. “That was the festival before last. I thought you weren't here then.”

He could see the wheels turning in Link's mind, see him backpedaling. See him deciding it didn't matter.

“Yeah, so? That was after you'd told me never to darken your door again. I didn't bother to tell you I was in town. Place was so crowded with tourists, you'd never have noticed unless I'd walked right up to you. I wanted to see my buddies.”

“And who else did you see?” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Tina Mallory.” He could see it, rolling inexorably toward him. Link and Tina Mallory. Emilie. He almost didn't need to ask. He knew the truth, bone deep, and it was crushing him.

“Tina?” Link shrugged, turning away, not meeting his eyes. “Don't know her.”

“You did.” Mitch stood, feeling as if he forced his way upward against a huge weight. He pressed his fists against the table. “You knew her. You went out with her. You left her pregnant.”

“Pregnant?” Link's face lost its color. “What are you talking about?”

“Tina Mallory. Cute little kid who worked at the café. A little kid you got pregnant.” He hammered the words at his brother. “She's dead now, if you care.”

“No!”

He could see Link's mind working feverishly, trying to find an excuse, an evasion. He felt suddenly very tired, as if the past had rolled over him and flattened him, and he'd never be right again.

“Don't bother to deny it. I can see the truth in your face.”

A hunted look flickered in Link's eyes. “All right, I dated her a couple times. We got close. But I didn't know anything about a baby. I went back to the job. Tried to call her maybe a couple months later, but she'd left town. I never heard from her again. She never told me anything about any baby.”

Given Link's history, the words rang true, but it
didn't seem to make much difference whether his brother had known about the baby or not. He could only think it was the end of everything.

“It wasn't my fault!” Link slammed his fist down on the table. “I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't just me. It was her, too.”