If he’d have been caught, he’d have been grounded. Not allowed to go with his mom and dad to their functions.
Mostly, though, he’d worried over earning his father’s disappointment.
A father’s opinions were important to kids.
His kid would need to know that Riley supported them. Was proud of them. Valued them.
How did a loner like him accomplish such a thing?
Children needed their fathers’ approval.
Charlize said the child would need consistency. That Riley’s involvement would need to be on some kind of schedule.
The only schedule he’d kept since he’d started with the FBI had been case by case. As determined by the case.
Same with CI. He and his siblings met as determined by the cases they were working. When a life was in danger, you didn’t clock out...
Being a father...a guy couldn’t change that. He could only determine how good of a parent he was going to be.
A guy couldn’t change whether or not he was one...
There’d been no indication that Wes Matthews had children. None of the interviews over the past week had turned up any conversation with Matthews in which the banker had referred to any family at all. There’d been no listing of a marriage—at least not in Michigan.
Back in his office, he sat at the computer. Called up one of the hundreds of databases to which he had access.
Typed in Wes Matthews’s name and stared at the loading signal on his screen.
It was a long shot. Most times that was what it took to solve a case. Clues didn’t usually leave notes on the doorstep...
A listing flashed up on the screen. A date. A city in Michigan. And a name—Abigail. Born...he did the quick math...twenty-eight years before. With Matthews listed as the father.
Wes Matthews had a twenty-eight-year-old daughter.
Riley finally had his break. And work to do.
For the rest of that night he was on the internet. Searching. Going from site to site, database to database, mostly finding nothing or very little. But he knew that the woman was out there.
And so he kept looking. Sometime after seven he found a phone number. Dialed. And was sent to voice mail.
Every hour for the next two hours was the same result.
A little after ten he found an email address.
Urgent matter regarding your father, Wes Matthews, he wrote. Please contact the Grand Rapids Police Department, Detective Emmanuel Iglesias, or myself, Riley Colton, Colton Investigations. He signed off with his phone number and CI’s address and closed his laptop.
He could check email on his phone.
He was tired. The headache he’d been nursing all day was making itself more of a nuisance, but he wasn’t going to take any of the pain pills he’d been given.
He went to find a beer instead.
And landed on his favorite couch in the family room, with the television on. There were ways to combat silence. And loneliness.
Simple, really.
You spent the night downstairs.
Chapter 19
Charlize slept in Sunday morning. Might even have spent the first half of the day lazing in comfy shorts and a T-shirt if she was one who allowed herself to wallow. Relaxing was all good, but not when it was accompanied by a sadness so deep you could get lost in it.
She was a very lucky woman. Alive. Free. Healthy. Pregnant with the start of her new life.
She had a job she loved. A job she was good at.
A home.
Aunts who adored her, and, when she was ready to let them know she was pregnant, would adore her baby, too.
And...she’d met her soul mate. The love of her life. So he wouldn’t be living with her, or she with him, but Riley was going to be in her life, in her child’s life. That was good, right?
Or did that mean she’d never fall in love with someone else? Never get married?
Was she thinking she was going to spend the rest of her life alone?
And would that be the worst thing that ever happened? Aunt Blythe had been alone much of her life and she was happy.
Realizing that all she was doing was confusing herself, taking on the world when all she really needed to face was the next hour, then the next day and week and month, Charlize dressed in lightweight leggings, a comfy white shirt and flip-flops and went into the office for a while to catch up on the little things that had been put aside during the past week.
And to prepare for the week ahead, the added appointments to make up for those she’d missed. And then she went for a long walk at Heritage Park. Until the families having Sunday fun days together started to depress her. Then she went to sit in the sand on the shores of Lake Michigan and watch the waves. It wasn’t even noon yet.
Of course, the beach was overflowing with families, too, that warm, blue Sunday in July. Families and couples everywhere she looked. Still, the air, the white noise of voices, the happy shrills of children, weren’t all bad. They were life. And she was part of it.
What part she played was up to her. She knew this stuff. Counseled women every day she went to work. Riley Colton wasn’t going to be the man in her life. She had to accept that.
And move on.
In her mind and in her heart.
Or risk forever being the woman alone on the outskirts, watching everyone else living. She had to take control. To make a plan.
She wanted a family. At least two children. And she didn’t want to raise them alone. She wanted to be married. To have a partner in good times and in bad.
So maybe her grandparents had been wrong. Maybe there wasn’t just one love of your life. Okay, so Aunt Blythe hadn’t found anyone else, but as far as Charlize knew, her aunt had never looked, either.
She knew people who’d been widowed who’d found other loves...
One true love wasn’t a genetic concept. It was a belief system. So maybe that was it...she just needed to open her mind to other possibilities. Change her beliefs a bit.
Her phone rang while she was trying that concept on. Riley.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
“Hello.” She tried to keep all intimate intonation out of her voice. Yet, be friendly. Practicing for the future when she was married to someone else and they were co-parenting with Riley.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“Did you get some sleep?”
“Yes.”
As badly as she needed to know how he was doing, if his head hurt, how his siblings had taken the news of the Simms attack, if Pal was okay, and anything else that had gone at CI since she’d walked out of Headquarters’ doors the day before, she didn’t ask.
Taking charge of her life was up to her, and she was going to do it.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’ve got a lead on Matthews,” he said next. “We’re having a Colton PI meeting later this afternoon to determine our next moves, and I don’t have the guy yet, but we’re going to get him, Charlize. And when we do, I’m going to do everything in my power to get as much of your aunt’s money back as I can.”
“Have you heard anything from Brody?” It was about the case. Her aunt was involved. So she allowed the question.
“No. None of us has. I’m hoping that means he’s taking care of himself out there. Laying low.”
She hoped so, too. Because Brody Higgins was a human being. And her aunt had liked him.
“I...wanted to reassure you that I’m going to get this guy,” Riley said, and if she’d been at Colton Investigations with him, still in his life, she’d have smiled.
The man was as big and tough as they came. And he showed a vulnerable side, too, if you knew what to look for. At least he showed it to her. Or she knew what to look for.
He’d mentioned reassuring her about Matthews twice. Tel
ling her, and maybe himself, that was the reason for his call. The first mention, she’d bought the reason. The second had given him away.
He had nothing else to say, but wasn’t hanging up. He wanted to talk to her. To be connected. But he refused to allow himself. So he was repeating the one thing he could allow. It had only taken a day or two of living with him for her to figure him out.
“Was there anything else?”
He’d say no. They’d hang up. And she’d be one step closer to getting on with her life.
“That schedule you talked about previously...do you have any examples of how that might look?”
Schedule? It took her a few seconds to figure out what he was referring to. And then she remembered telling him that his involvement in the baby’s life would have to be consistent.
“Set days that you’d visit. Or have the baby over.” Typical visitation, like she’d been scheduling and overseeing for clients for years.
“When I’m on a case, if a life is on the line, I might not be able to get away.”
So what, he was backing up on the baby now, too? She wasn’t going to let him get away with that as easily as she’d let him push her out of his life. Her baby deserved more from his or her father than that.
“So we’ll reschedule,” she said. “Parenting schedules are often fluid when the parents can get along well enough to make that happen. It actually works best for the child that way. You work within the schedule anytime it’s possible, so there’s consistency, something to count on, and you’re flexible when required, because that’s life, too.” She was all business, fighting for the future emotional health of her child as she fought for all the children in her care.
“You’re really all right with that?”
Frowning, she watched as a six-or seven-year-old boy chased down his toddler sister who was running as fast as she could in the sand and shrieking with delight. The children were keeping her grounded. It was Riley who was upsetting her.
“Of course I’m all right with it, Riley, why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, taking a breath to give him a real piece of her mind. To call him on trying to find an excuse to get out of...
“You said set schedule,” he told her. “That kids need consistency and since you’re in the business to know, I was assuming there’d be a little negotiating.”
The boy caught the little girl. Picked her up with both of his arms under her pits and hauled her back to their parents. Or whom she was assuming were their parents. As soon as he let her go, she ran off again, giggling, and he chased after her.
A game? Or a chore?
Thinking of Riley as a thirteen-year-old with newborn siblings, and then a fifteen-year-old with newborns and two toddlers, she figured the answer would have been chore.
And yet, even decades later, he was still tending to those little sisters. To the point that his freezer and refrigerator were filled with their choices. Home-cooked and all...
“You still there?”
She was. But couldn’t be. She had to move on. Away from loving him so damned much.
“By consistency, I meant regular visits, Riley,” she said. “Twice a week every week, for instance. Whatever days work for you. And if you have to be gone—as many parents do who travel regularly for work—then you miss a week. Make up for it when you’re back. Consistency provides the security to be flexible when life happens or jobs get in the way. The child doesn’t worry when you have to reschedule because your consistent visits have taught him that you’ll be back. That he or she can count on you. As long as you keep in contact, and reschedule rather than just not showing up.”
“But if there’s an emergency, if I’m fighting a Ronny Simms or at the hospital getting checked out...and can’t call right away...”
“Then the consistency you’ve already established will have your back.”
“Okay, good.”
If she hadn’t already been in love with the man, she’d have fallen hard just then. He was bringing to fatherhood everything he’d brought to everything else to which he’d committed his life. His siblings. His career. And now his child.
But not her.
Never her.
It was a fact she was going to have to learn to live with. And somehow keep her heart from breaking.
* * *
“She’s not returning phone calls or emails, and isn’t answering her door. I say the next step is to visit her at her place of employment in the morning.” Griffin frowned as he spoke. The younger man wasn’t eating any of the raisin and cranberry snack mix Riley had put out for the late-afternoon meeting at CI.
“She works at Danvers University,” Riley told the team. He’d found out a plethora of information on the woman who’d been unfortunate to have Wes Matthews for a father and would have continued to fill in his siblings if Griffin hadn’t interrupted him.
“I go right by there on my way to work,” Vikki piped in.
They were as persistent as rabid dogs and didn’t even know the most incriminating part yet. Riley almost smiled at the team he ran. Every single one of his siblings did him proud. As human beings. And as investigators.
“Iglesias is planning to be there when Abigail Matthews arrives at her job in the morning,” he told them. He’d just finished informing them that when uniforms went to her house earlier that afternoon no one had answered the door, when Griffin had interrupted. “Nothing came up in a search for Matthews’s marriage records, but it’s possible he wasn’t married,” he continued with his report. “They’re checking on the identity of Abigail’s mother now.”
“She works at Danvers?” Pippa asked. “What does she do there?”
Exactly. Riley looked around the table. “She’s a research scientist...”
Everyone burst into conversation at once. Including Griffin. Everyone but Riley, that was.
Kiely was the one who looked to him first. “Wait a minute. The report from seminar attendees stated that the scientist who was there, speaking to them, was male...”
He nodded again.
“So you think he was fake?”
“Or someone this Abigail woman conned into going in her stead, to give her some distance, since Matthews is her father.”
“He could be someone who works with her.” Pippa looked around the table as she spoke.
“A graduate student, maybe,” Griffin agreed.
It was good to see his brother fully on board again. Eagerly on board. As his team talked, making suggestions with the goal of coming up with an investigative plan, Riley listened, letting them do what they did best.
All of them were dressed casually, shorts, T-shirts. All should have been out enjoying a sunny Sunday afternoon.
But he knew every single one of them was exactly where they wanted to be.
And, again, he felt satisfied with the work he’d done. At CI, and, years before, at home with his siblings, too. They’d spent a lot of their growing-up time with him and they’d all turned out fine.
If he didn’t have to be relied upon every day, if he could maintain his single, dedicated-to-his-career life, then maybe, just maybe, he could be a good dad...
Pal barked, a ferocious warning with no regard to having just come home from the hospital and before Riley could do more than stand, a frantic banging sounded on the back door. He glanced to see each of his siblings brandishing guns, which they’d removed from their holsters. They stood as one, all five of them having his back, and Riley hurried through the kitchen, his back to the wall, until he could view the security camera newly mounted not far from the door, giving him a view of the back.
He recognized the woman standing there immediately. He’d been staring at various photos of her on and off for most of the afternoon.
“It’s Abigail Matthews,” he said under his breath to his team. And then, with a frown, looked over his shoulder at them. “She’s
pushing a baby carriage.”
He dropped his gun to his side as he pulled open the door, but knew that at least two of his siblings still had theirs up and pointing. He could see the tips of the barrels in his peripheral vision.
“I’m unarmed,” she stammered hurriedly, stepping in front of the stroller, as though to protect anything inside from any bullets that might fly. The entire CI team lowered their weapons as Vikki, their soldier turned lawyer, stepped forward to half frisk the woman, and take a peek in the stroller behind her. When Vikki nodded, everyone moved back to allow the clearly agitated woman room to pull her stroller inside behind her. She was taller than Riley had first thought, and was tan and had blond-highlighted dark hair. Dressed in shorts and a blouse, with flip-flops, she could have been any one of his sisters’ friends.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you all,” she said, looking from one to the other of them. Riley, with a wave of his hand, directed his siblings back to the table, pulling up a chair on a corner between him and Vikki for Abigail. The stroller, with a sleeping baby in it, sat beside her.
Riley couldn’t help staring at that stroller, at the small body inside it, picturing himself at the helm of one of those things, with one of those little ones inside it. The stroller looked like it could double as a bed and high chair, too, with all of the pads and bars. It resembled very little of what he’d remembered from his sisters’ infancy. He started to sweat.
And felt an odd kind of anticipation, as well.
Maybe he should think about getting a car seat. And a stroller. Just to have for his stipulated visitation times. And get them soon so he could learn how to use them by the time the child came.
Abigail glanced at the stroller, too, seeming to draw some kind of courage from it.
“This is Maya,” she said, pointing toward the baby. “She’s my foster daughter. I’m in the process of adopting her.” The words were offered as though they’d somehow explain why she’d failed to answer Riley’s attempt to reach her. And then had just suddenly shown up on their doorstep late on a Sunday afternoon.
Riley glanced at Griffin, knowing the adoption attorney’s ears would be perking up, and wasn’t disappointed when he saw his younger brother studying both the woman and the child with intense professional interest. If he’d had any doubt that Griffin was fully engaged in helping them get Brody home, that doubt had just been allayed.
Colton 911--Family Defender Page 20
