Hidden Fire, Kobo (24 page)

"Child, how are you?" Maggie
said. "I was so worried."

"Fine, Maggie. No harm, no foul and
my white knight flew to my side after you called him."

Maggie tilted her head back and tossed
him an embarrassed glance before looking back at Sarah. "They didn't
arrest you or anything, did they?"

"No. And Randy explained to me"—she
shot him a withering glare—"in great detail, exactly what the cops can and
can't do and I've taken an oath not to utter another word to a cop without a
lawyer at my side for the rest of my life."

"With one exception, I hope,"
Randy said. There was a conspicuous pause and she looked at him, her expression
impossibly blank. She
was
kidding, wasn't she?

"All right, you two," Maggie
said. "I promised to help escort some of the residents to the rec center.
Have fun." She bustled away, her orange and pink caftan swirling around
her legs.

"And I should go see if I can find
Kovak," Randy said. "Maybe he can break away after the show."

"You might want to rethink that,"
Sarah said. "Cammie will be so excited after the show. Those are special
times a dad needs to share." Her eyes sparkled.

"You're speaking from experience,
aren't you?" He caressed her cheek.

"Those occasions were few and far
between with my dad. But when they happened, yes, they're memories I cherish.
They overshadow a lot of the not-so-nice ones."

He thought of building memories with a
child. A chill swept over him. Did men have biological clocks? If they did, was
his ticking? It didn't matter. This was
not
a time to be going there.

"Sarah!" Randy heard the
high-pitched voice, but couldn't find a body to connect it with. He scanned the
crowded lobby and watched bodies shift, creating a path that closed in again as
a petite woman wound her way toward them. Gray-haired, wearing a
red-and-white-striped apron over a pair of blue slacks and a white blouse, she
barely hit five feet. She wore an ID badge pinned to the apron, but he couldn't
read it from where he stood.

"That's my cue," Sarah said. "Save
me a seat." She turned and waved.

The woman joined them, breathing hard as
if she'd run an obstacle course. "Sorry I'm late," Sarah said. "Put
me to work."

Randy felt the woman's eyes slide from
his toes to his head and back again. Her smile widened and she and Sarah
exchanged one of those female looks he never understood.

"You're in the staff lounge,"
the woman said. "It's the girls' dressing room tonight."

He let his gaze linger on Sarah as she
walked away. Damn, he liked the view as much retreating as approaching. Things
stirred below his belt and he dragged his thoughts back to murderers and
burglars.

The rec room buzzed as people found
seats, greeted loved ones and tried to keep the youngsters from racing around
in the paths of elderly residents with walkers and wheelchairs. Any semblance
of orderly rows was lost as families shifted seats, making room for residents
with special needs. Wheelchairs sat amid the folding metal chairs, walkers
rested in front of and behind their users.

Randy spotted Kovak and Janie and wound
his way to their row. Janie's smile was guarded when she saw him.

"Don't worry," he said. "I'm
here for the show. But I'd like to borrow your husband for a few minutes. I
promise he'll be in his seat before they start."

Her brown eyes squinted enough to tell
him he was toast otherwise. Kovak kissed her forehead and ruffled Morgan's
hair. Blond, like his father's, but longer. Curly, too, although he'd never
seen Kovak with anything but a close-cropped cut, so who knew if the curls were
hereditary. Janie's deep auburn hair hung in loose waves. Why was he thinking
this now? He'd seen them countless times. Was he wondering what a child he and
Sarah created might look like? Once again, he buried the thoughts.

They made their way upstream against the
flow and exited the building. In the relative privacy of the parking lot, they
leaned on Kovak's SUV, where Randy related what Neville had done. The nearest
light was three cars away, but there was enough glow to read his partner's face
as it changed from curious to incredulous to furious.

"You're kidding. I mean, the guy's
an asshole, but what the hell did he think he was doing?"

"I don't know and since I'm not
around the station, I can't pick up the scuttlebutt."

"I'll definitely dig around. But you
didn't drag me out here to tell me that." He pressed a button at his
wrist, illuminating his watch. "You've got ten minutes, max, before Janie
has my head."

Randy took a breath and plunged in. "Tell
me what's wrong."

Kovak shoved his hands in his pockets and
studied the ground. "That obvious?"

"Only to me. Money?"

Kovak nodded. "Partly. We've always
hugged the line between being in the black and the red, but it's Janie's mom."
He scratched his head. "She's got a rare form of cancer. The treatments
weren't doing anything and she decided to go with an alternative, thinking it
would be covered by Medicare the way the other treatment had. But it wasn't.
Her folks are in debt over their eyeballs, losing their house, and there's not
much we can do to bail them out financially."

Kovak rubbed the back of his neck. "Moving
in with us—well, I love them, but—let's say I'm hoping to find an alternative.
Hell, the remodeling we'd have to do to take them in would put us in debt until
the devil wears a snowsuit."

"What about a place like this one?
Assisted living?"

"You think these places are cheap? Not
the good ones and Janie's parents are dead set against it for now. They keep
insisting everything will turn out all right and they're happy where they are."

"How's she doing, health-wise, after
the treatments?"

He snorted. "Ironic isn't it?
Apparently, the treatments did some good, because now they're saying she's got
a few years left, but there's no money. Janie's looking for work, but with the
kids and school—by the time we factor in all the extra expenses, most of
whatever she'd bring in would be eaten up. Losing my overtime's like taking a
pay cut."

Randy thought of what might happen to
Kovak's job beyond losing overtime pay. To all their jobs. His stomach burned.
Even if he hadn't promised to keep what Laughlin had told him confidential, he
couldn't have told Kovak. Not now. "Man, I'm sorry. If there's anything
you need …"

"We're still working things out,"
Kovak said. "Meanwhile, I have a daughter to watch."

"Wait a second," Randy said. "What
if I ask the chief to consider changing our shifts to four tens? Same forty
hours a week, but you'd get three days off to freelance. That's how the county
does it."

Kovak looked thoughtful. "Hell, we're
already working ten-hour days half the time. Janie might have to rearrange
scheduling, but three days off … yeah, I think that might solve a few problems.
Create a few new ones, of course, but that's life. Thanks, big guy."

"No promises. I'll propose it. Or
you can, for that matter."

They walked back to the rec room in
silence. "I'll sit in back," Randy said. "Don't need to block
everyone's view." He clapped Kovak on the shoulder. "Enjoy the family
moments. We'll find a way."

Randy settled into a too-small metal
folding chair against the far wall of the room, behind several rows of
wheelchairs filled with the elderly. Glad to see they were well-groomed and
apparently well cared for, he still felt sorry that they were here alone while
many of their fellow residents were interspersed with the rest of the crowd.
Then, one by one, a line of youngsters—none out of the middle school years, he
estimated—came up to a chair, smiled at its occupant and wheeled it into the
general seating area. The pride on the faces of the children and the beaming
faces on the elderly made his eyes burn.

He stood and approached a silver-haired woman,
her nails manicured an iridescent pink, her lips painted a deep red. "Hello,"
he said. "I'm Randy Detweiler. May I join you?"

She stared up at him with pale blue eyes.
Lines creased her face like wrinkled tissue paper. "My, but you are a tall
one, aren't you?"

"Only standing up." He dragged
his chair closer to hers and sat.

"You have any smokes?" she
asked, winking at him.

"Sorry. Do they let you smoke here?"

She huffed. "No. I smoked for over
seventy years and I didn't die. Then they stick me in here and say smoking will
kill me. Like at ninety-three I'm not going to drop dead soon enough anyway."

"Ninety-three? I would never have
guessed you're a day over eighty."

She reached over and slapped his thigh. "You're
a real charmer. You want to blow this joint and go have some real fun?"

Randy's jaw hurt from trying not to
laugh. "Sorry, ma'am, but I'm spoken for."

She cocked her head. "Can't handle
two women, hey?"

He patted the hand she hadn't moved from
his leg. "I'm thirty-five and I think you might be too much for me."

She cackled. He swiveled around looking
for Sarah, but she hadn't come into the room yet. He sighed. The woman's hand
crept up his thigh. Gently, he placed it in her lap.

"Can't blame a gal for trying,"
she whispered loud enough to be heard three rows away.

Sarah appeared beside him. "We have
a problem. Can you help?"

He jerked to his feet immediately
thinking of his off-duty weapon in his ankle holster. "What happened?"

She tugged his arm and pulled him out of
the room.

"Bye, my treetop lover!" echoed
after him.

"I see you've met Mrs. Simonson,"
Sarah said.

"You mean she's like that with all
the men? And here I thought I was special."

They were in the doorway now and she
stopped.

"Okay, what's the emergency?"
he asked.

"The dance group left their CDs at
the studio and it will take an hour to get them. There's a piano. Will you
play?"

"What? You want me to accompany a
bunch of kids dancing?"

"Please. They've worked so hard and
they'll be heartbroken if they don't get to dance. You must know the music—you
know everything. Please."

As if he could refuse those blue eyes. "Crap.
You know how long it's been since I've played in public?"

"Like anyone here's going to notice?
Most of the residents can barely hear and the parents will be watching their
kids, not listening."

"Do they have sheet music?"

"Um … no. They've rehearsed with
CDs. But it's classical piano and show tunes. The instructors know the pieces."

By now, he could sense the restlessness
in the rec room behind him. He sighed.

"All right." She was going to
owe him. Big-time. The look on her face said she knew it.

She hurried away. Soon afterward someone
announced the show would be starting shortly. A harried woman in black yoga
pants and a form-fitting red top rushed up to him with a sheet of paper. "Thank
you, thank you, Mr. Detweiler. You're a lifesaver. These are the pieces."
She thrust the sheet in his hands. He scanned the list. Nothing he didn't
recognize.

"You want me to do this? Not having
heard your CDs, I'm not going to be able to match the arrangements your kids
are used to hearing."

"They'll cope." She smiled. "Most
of the young ones don't even hear the music and the older ones are good enough
to adjust. I'll cue you for tempo."

Her eyes, while not as blue as Sarah's,
also couldn't be denied.

"Where's the piano?"

"They're bringing it in now."

Within minutes, he found himself seated
at an old baby grand. He ran through a few arpeggios, pleasantly surprised at
the tone. He looked to the dance director who gave him a nod. While "Flight
of the Bumblebee" wasn't his preferred piece to lead off with, he set his
fingers to the keys and began. From his vantage point on the floor facing the
raised platform that served as the stage, he watched a swarm of tiny dancers
dressed in black and yellow costumes flutter and flit across the floor.

An hour later, with the grand finale of
all the dancers doing a high-kick routine to "Chorus Line", he stood,
grinning and embarrassed as all the dancers applauded him. The director
insisted he come on stage. He trotted up the steps at the side of the platform.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the
director said. "The man who made tonight possible. Randy Detweiler. Let's
show him our appreciation." As one, the dancers bowed and curtsied, and a
little bumblebee gave him a plastic-wrapped bouquet of roses. He took her tiny
hand in his, bent low and kissed her fingertips. She giggled, flitting on
tiptoe back to her spot in line.

"That's my treetop lover,"
resounded from the back of the room.

He stood there, face burning, as the room
exploded in laughter. From the doorway, Sarah waved at him. He tipped the
flowers in her direction. She shook her head and waved at him again. Motioned
him toward her. Although he couldn't see her face, he caught the urgency.