Rescue Team (28 page)

K
ATE AWAKENED SEVERAL TIMES
in the night, heart pounding in the dark, confused by the pain in her ribs and again by the unfamiliar hotel surroundings.
I’m in Dallas.
Her mind tumbled through a disjointed recap of the past week before she slid back into fitful slumber. Only to awaken and have the cycle repeat without mercy.
Where am I? What happened?

Dawn found her staring at the ceiling, and it wasn’t until hours later—to the distant buzz of Tuesday morning commuter traffic—that Kate finally found a few hours of dreamless sleep. The muted TV news showed that it was after ten when she stumbled barefoot to the shower.

Afterward, she wiped the steam from the mirror and studied her reflection. The face could have belonged to a stranger; she traced damp fingers across her cheek in a foolish reality check. Too
real: etched shadows—like artist charcoal—smudged her eyes, the bruise on her cheek going green around the edges. Her always-wispy and wayward hair now begged for a trim. Kate dropped the hotel robe enough to see her ribs, gasped at the mottled purple bruising. Too much like flog marks against her pale skin. She leaned closer to the mirror and stared into her own eyes, the truth making her groan. She looked exactly like she felt: battered, body and soul.

Tears welled.
Where can I run . . . to leave you behind?

-  +  -

Wes’s mom stilled the rocking chair, meeting his gaze over the sleeping baby’s head. Her smile was dreamy soft. “Have you ever seen a more beautiful face?” she whispered, her lips against Harley’s curls.

“No,” he told her honestly, feeling the ache that was now a permanent part of his throat. He drew in a breath scented by baby lotion and freshly stacked Pampers. “She looks . . . content.”

He’d almost said
safe
. It seemed like the right word. His father’s word.
“I want to believe she meant that. About keeping her child safe.”
It was a confusing possibility Wes had never considered before. Trista, Ava, Lee Ann Tanner, and maybe . . . The ache was determined to choke him senseless.
Safe?

His mom set the rocker to creaking softly against the wood-plank floor. “I heard that they’ve arrested Trista’s father. And after things have been determined by the court, she’s hoping to go live with a cousin in Oklahoma. Go back to school. Start fresh.”

Wes watched as the pink bundle stirred, murmured, then burrowed her face against his mom’s neck, relaxing again. “She’s planning to take the baby?”

“No. Even if Harley were allowed to return to her, Trista made it clear it’s not part of her plans.” She sighed. Then smiled in the way Wes had seen for as long as he could remember. Peaceful, trusting. Certain. “I’m so relieved God has plans too.”

God’s plan.
Was it possible . . . ?

“Dylan said something this morning before he left for school.” His mom’s eyes captured his. “He told me, ‘Wes looks sad.’”

“Mm . . .” Wes dragged his fingers through his hair, knowing the importance of what she’d said. Reading emotions—empathy—was a big accomplishment for someone with autism. Wes was proud of his little brother . . . and Dylan was right.

“Kate’s gone,” he said, heart lugging.

“Gone?”

“She asked for a week off to recover from the accident. But . . .” The choke hold squeezed tighter. “She’s running away, Mom.” He saw the compassion in her eyes. And questions she wouldn’t ask out of respect for his privacy. “I think she’s bothered by all that’s happened lately. The baby at the hospital, Harley, and finding those bones.” His stomach churned as the truth hit. “I think it’s stirred up some of those ‘tough things’ she said she had to deal with in her life.”

His mom nodded, her silence speaking more eloquently than words.
“Like it has for you, my son. I’m so relieved God has plans too.”

“I should go,” he managed. He stepped close, pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then stroked a fingertip along the sleeping baby’s feather-soft cheek. “I’m glad Harley’s safe.”

He’d reached the nursery door when his mom called out, “Your cell phone.” She pointed to where he’d left it on the edge of the baby’s changing table. “You wouldn’t want to miss a rescue call.”

-  +  -

Kate pushed the room service tray aside. Despite the fact that she’d had nothing to eat since yesterday, breakfast had been as appealing as those tortilla chips she’d pulverized during her conversation with Barrett Lyon. She’d forced herself to eat, but somehow it only made her feel emptier. How was that possible? And why—when it had always worked before—hadn’t she found the relief that came when she packed a bag and jumped into her car?

“You’re running away?”
Wes’s words rushed back, bruising her further.

She’d been alone for so many years. Needed that protective solitude, stubbornly clung to it. And now, inexplicably, being alone felt . . .
lonely. I’m so lonely.
How could that be?

Wes.
She closed her eyes, remembering the awful moment when she told him about her son. His gasp of shock and that look in his eyes. She’d seen it, hadn’t she? Revulsion, loathing, unforgiveness. It had to be there. Because it was exactly the way she’d felt about herself all these years.

She drew her knees up, resting her face against the terry fabric of the hotel robe. Then let herself recall the conversation she’d had with Wes at the old Braxton well. The day he’d told her about his training, the test to prove he had the “right stuff.” She’d revealed that she’d run away from home and hinted at that terrible year. She told Wes she didn’t think God would listen to her prayers because she’d made so many mistakes.

And then . . . Kate squinted her eyes, remembering. He’d talked about grace. He’d said,
“We all make mistakes. We’re human. We’re flawed. That’s where grace comes in . . . an undeserved gift.”

What if that were really true?

Kate stared at the muted TV, then reached for the remote. It was a national news broadcast with a ticker banner that read,
Bones identified as missing Austin TX nurse
. She hit the button just as the cameras zoomed in on the faces of a middle-aged couple.

“We’re heartsick,” the man said, putting his arm around his wife. “It’s been such a long, painful journey. No parent wants to hear this kind of news.” He glanced at his wife, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re grateful, too. For everyone who has searched, for all the prayers. And for our daughter’s friends—all the good folks at Austin Grace who never gave up . . .” He hung his head.

Kate held her breath, trembling inside as Mrs. Sprague continued for her husband.

“Sunni was blessed by that team; she was grateful every day to be part of it. Being a nurse was her calling. Even the times it broke her heart . . . and . . .” She swiped at a tear, then smiled. “It was a nurse who found her. The same nurse who filled in when Sunni went missing—she’s the one who found our girl. And now she’s keeping our daughter’s legacy going forward.” She nodded as her husband drew her closer. “We have to believe that God planned it that way.”

Kate listened for a few minutes longer as a law enforcement spokesman gave updates on the renewed search for Sunni’s killer. He sounded cautiously optimistic. Kate switched off the television and stared at the blank screen for a long time. She let it all tumble, mix, sort . . . and tumble again. She struggled to find the connecting thread she knew was there. Something that linked so many tragedies, so many losses: her mother, Baby Doe, Harley, Judith’s husband, Sunni Sprague . . . Kate’s son. And caused people to make so many mistakes: Ava, Trista, Judith, Wes’s mother. Even that homeless woman holding up the fake sign for a baby’s funeral.

What was it the woman had said when Kate confronted her? She said she was “only trying to get by.” That it was all she knew right now. And she was hoping for better someday. That she’d heard it was possible.

Kate hugged her arms around herself, unable to stop the trembling as the truth finally settled around her: Desperate people. Painful mistakes . . . tragic losses. And a plan? Was it also true what Sunni’s mother said? That God had a plan to connect all these things?

Kate closed her eyes. “God,” she breathed, “you know I’ve made one mistake after another. I’m not even close to having the ‘right stuff’—maybe I did once, but I threw it away. Or wrapped it up and hid it in a closet. I don’t know. All I know right now is that I can’t live like this. I can’t go on feeling so lost. I want to stop running.” A tear slid onto her lips. “I want you to point me in the right direction. I need you in my life. Please help me.”

By 3 p.m. Kate had cleared Dallas security and slipped her shoes back on. There would be just enough time to hit Starbucks and send Lauren a short text message; that would have to do for now. Though she ached to know how her friend was faring in Houston, Kate wasn’t ready to talk yet. Everything that was happening seemed too new and fragile. She needed to focus on what lay ahead. It felt more important than anything she’d done. Even so, Kate couldn’t remember ever feeling so free, so much at peace. And strong, too—like anything at all was possible now. She smiled.
Thank you . . . oh, thank you.

She hitched her duffel over her shoulder, new hope warming her heart. No GPS needed for this trip. Kate knew exactly where she was going.

M
ATT DISCONNECTED FROM THE CALL.
Leaving a message was futile. Kate wasn’t answering her phone. And she hadn’t replied to the message he’d sent on Saturday asking if she’d been affected by what had happened with the abandoned baby and that ugly discovery in the park. From what he’d seen on the news today, he was sure of it now. It had to be Kate who’d found that nurse’s bones. His throat tightened as he recalled the image of the murder victim’s parents; he knew only too well how it felt to have a missing child. Matt was so grateful that Kate had come home—so to speak.

He set the phone down. He’d be at an AA meeting tonight, and according to her habit, Kate would very likely leave a message then.
“Work’s great. . . . I’m fine.”
Messages left in place of conversation. He prayed for so much more.

With a pang, Matt reminded himself that the Sprague family would never have even that much.
Thank you for this blessing, Lord.

He glanced toward the Crock-Pot on the kitchen counter, sniffing the air with appreciation. Chicken with carrots, red potatoes, and a package of frozen peas waiting to be stirred in later. He’d added a few stems of the rosemary bush that had taken over Juliana’s vegetable patch. Sadness nudged again, whispering that he’d lost so much more than his job. It was good there was a meeting tonight. He’d find fellowship, offer hope to another lonely and desperate person.

The doorbell rang once, twice. Followed by rapping on the wooden door. Light like the small knuckles of a neighbor child or—

A voice from the porch. “Daddy?”

Was he imagining it?

Another knock. “Are you there, Dad?”

Matt raced to the door, barely able to breathe, and flung it wide.

“Kate . . .” His heart stalled at the sight of her bruised face.

“Hi.” Tears welled in her beautiful eyes. She blinked up at him with a tentative smile. “I was in the neighborhood and . . .” Kate pointed to the sign on the lawn. “You sold the house?”

“I—”

Before Matt could say another word, his daughter dropped her bag and flung herself into his arms.

-  +  -

“I’m okay,” Kate reassured her father for the third time in twenty minutes. She sat back against the chenille couch pillow. “Really. Just bumps and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal.”
The broken heart will take longer.

“It looks like a lot more,” her father said as if reading her mind.

Kate’s throat constricted at the concern in his eyes—all for her. He hadn’t said it outright, but she suspected that it was debt from her mother’s medical care combined with Kate’s college that had stressed her father’s finances. Even before his retirement plan took a huge hit. Now he’d lost his job, his house.
And a grandson. How do I tell you this, Daddy?

“Well . . .” Her father gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll feel better after I feed you. The kitchen’s pretty well packed into boxes, but I have a couple of plates, forks, and a chicken in the slow cooker. The way your mom did it, with a can of mushroom soup.” He rose to his feet. “The rice is only the kind you heat in the microwave and we might need to use paper towels for napkins, but—”

“Wait.” Kate caught his hand as he turned toward the kitchen. “Can we just have tea right now? I need to talk with you about something, Dad.”

The look in his eyes said he’d been expecting it. There was no backing down now.

Kate hugged the pillow close, heard the water in the kitchen, the dings of the microwave.
Grace . . . an undeserved gift. Please help me find the words, God.

Her dad returned, handing her the daisy mug, the one she’d left behind all those years ago.

“When you came to Texas,” she began as he settled beside her on the couch, “I told you I wouldn’t talk about the year I was gone, that I couldn’t. But I need to now.” She met his gaze. “I should have told you this a long time ago. Maybe it would have changed some things. I don’t know. I only know that I want things to change now. Between us and in my life.”

He took the mug from her trembling hands, waited.

Kate closed her eyes. “There was this man in Las Vegas, a manager
at a casino. He said I was too young to work there, but that he and his wife needed a nanny for their children. They let me stay with them, drive their cars . . . even made me a birthday cake. I thought it was all good. But then his wife went away for the weekend, and—” She shivered.

“Kate . . .” Her father reached for her hand. “I’m listening. It’s okay.”

She met his eyes and forced herself to continue. “He drugged me, I guess. I only remember feeling sick. And crying. Begging him to please let me go home. Nothing after that.”

Her father’s jaw clenched.

“Dad . . .” Kate took hold of his hands, captured his gaze. “I had a baby. I couldn’t even let myself believe I was pregnant . . . and then I was in labor. I didn’t get to a hospital in time.” Her father’s face blurred through her tears. “I was s-so scared. It was dark. And I was alone. So alone. And then there he was—this tiny little boy. I panicked.” Tears began streaming down her face. “So I wrapped him up and left him at the fire department. I rang the bell and ran away. I hid behind a car until I saw someone take him.” A sob tore loose from Kate’s throat, but she kept the connection with her father’s eyes. He had to understand. “I took him there . . . so he’d be okay . . . safe.”

“Dear God . . . Oh, Katy . . .”

In an instant, her father’s arms were around her, warm, strong, holding her like he’d never let go. She burrowed her chin into the hollow of his neck, her cheeks wet with tears—whether they were hers or his, she didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, unable to stop her trembling. “I’m so, so sorry. You said you wanted grandchildren. I took that from you. I—”

“Wait,” he said, grasping her shoulders and leaning back. “All
that matters now is that you’re here—that I still have you.” He stroked her hair gently. “I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything. I feel like . . .” His voice choked. “I’ve finally found a missing part of my heart.”

Kate couldn’t speak. She could only nod and settle into her father’s arms again. He gently rocked her, and soul-soothing peace came at last.

-  +  -

“You’re sure you’ll be okay here?” Matt smiled as Kate used a fingertip to nudge rice onto her fork the same way her mother used to do. He shifted the Bible under his arm, finding it hard to believe that an hour had passed. He wanted time to slow down. “I’d skip tonight, but there’s a young man I’m sponsoring and he’s been through some tough things this week.”

“Go.” The empathy in Kate’s eyes melted his heart. “I’m good, I promise. Full of chicken and tired enough to sleep for a week. Between the time difference and not sleeping last night . . .” A yawn swallowed her smile. “Go.”

“Okay.” He watched her for a moment, almost afraid that if he left, she’d be gone again. But he knew that wasn’t true. So many things had changed for Kate, giving far deeper meaning to her “I’m good” quip. She’d told him she prayed last night. And that it was what led her here today. “Good” couldn’t begin to describe that; Matt knew it only too well. But the peace in her eyes said it all. Or almost all.

Matt had a feeling there was something else she hadn’t told him, something less momentous, but that it weighed on her heart. An unspoken sadness. He wouldn’t intrude. She planned to stay through Thanksgiving. It might be Chinese food on paper
plates, but there would be time to talk. And to listen. One step at a time.

“There’s a blanket in the hall closet if you want to curl up on the couch.” He fished his keys from his pocket. “And a fresh pint of Chunky Monkey ice cream.” He smiled at her raised brows. “Can’t give up everything.”

He told her he’d be back by nine and headed out the door. The streetlights were on, a welcoming glow in the darkness. He smiled to himself, thinking that for the first time in so very long, Happy Hollow Lane’s name actually suited—

“Mr. Callison?”

Matt heard a car door close. Watched as a man strode past the nearest streetlamp and began heading his way. Tall, broad-shouldered. It couldn’t be, but he looked like—

“It’s Wes Tanner, sir.”