by Dana Mentink
She forced a breath in and out and squeezed Angela’s hand. “Thank you for contacting Ridley.”
Angela squeezed back, her posture relaxing, and something inside Donna relaxed, too.
“Marco called,” JeanBeth said. “He’ll be back tomorrow. He’s been worried about everything going down here. I gave him an edited version, but I think he knows I’ve deleted some things. He seems to think,” she said with a smile to Brent, “that you might be nosing about in the family business,” she said. “Those weren’t his exact words, but I edited for decency.”
Brent chuckled. “He doesn’t trust me.”
“He doesn’t trust anyone,” she said. “Especially if he imagines they’re a threat. He’s a little protective.”
“Just a little?” Brent joked.
Ridley stuck his head in the doorway and rapped a knuckle on the jamb. “Is it okay to come in?”
“Of course,” JeanBeth said. “Please tell us you’ve got something positive to report.”
Ridley shifted under JeanBeth’s direct gaze. “Yes, Mrs. Gallagher. We ran the plates.”
They stared at him. Donna held her breath.
“The car isn’t registered to Darius Fields or Fran Mercer.”
Donna’s heart plunged. Had she been wrong? The accident was just that, an accident? “I was so sure it was Darius,” she murmured.
“It’s registered to someone else you know,” Ridley said.
“Who?”
“Jeff Kinsey.”
* * *
Brent blinked. “Not Darius?”
“Kinsey?” Angela said. “The guy who threatened you on the beach?”
“Yeah,” Brent said. “His prints are all over Pauline’s car, too. And he might have been the one we saw running from my sister’s house with a suitcase full of her things.”
“Why would he do that?” Sarah said. “Could it mean Pauline’s alive?”
“Imprisoned,” he said quickly. “I’m sure she’s alive and he’s got her stashed somewhere.”
Donna heard the spark of hope in his voice and she prayed that his words were true.
Brent finished his thought. “My sister might have hired Bruce because she was scared of Jeff. He didn’t want your father to go looking for her, so he forced your car off the road.”
“It doesn’t explain Darius’s bizarre behavior or the fact that I’m sure he was the one who threatened me at Dad’s office.”
“No,” Brent admitted. “It doesn’t.”
“This case is like some sort of science-fiction monster,” Angela said, her face grave. “You cut off one head and it grows another one.”
“We know Kinsey was trying to get something from Pauline, and his vehicle caused the accident. That’s enough, isn’t it?” Donna said.
Angela frowned. “I’m new at this investigation stuff, but I’m thinking that just because it was Jeff’s car doesn’t prove he was driving it.”
“We’ve already started tracking his movements,” Ridley said. “He came to the area last year. He’s been staying at different campgrounds along the coast until he hits his limit and then he moves somewhere else. We’ll find him and bring him in.”
“You said that yesterday,” Brent fired off.
Ridley glowered. “I’ve got these rules I’ve got to follow, Mitchell. It takes longer when you do things by the book.”
“My sister’s time is running out.”
“You don’t get to direct this operation. You’re not in control here.”
“Maybe if I was, Kinsey would be in custody and telling everything he knows.”
Ridley smirked. “You’re not going to be the hero and swoop in for the big save and that just sticks in your craw, doesn’t it?”
Donna saw a nerve jump in Brent’s tight jaw.
“I don’t care who saves her,” he said. “I just want my sister rescued, and I want to know the guy looking for her isn’t letting his personal feelings get in the way.”
Ridley’s nostrils flared. “Watch it, Mitchell. You’re close to an accusation that you don’t want to make.”
“Find my sister.”
“I will, but not because it helps you in any way.” The tension between Ridley and Brent was palpable, a crackling electric animosity.
“Just help her,” Brent said, tone harsh.
“I will.” Ridley nodded to the women, turned on his heel and left.
An awkward silence descended in the hospital room.
Brent stood like a coiled spring, hands on hips, staring at the floor.
“I’ll tell Marco everything we’ve learned as soon as he arrives,” Angela said. “He’s been doing this investigation thing a lot longer than we have. He’ll probably think of an avenue we haven’t explored yet.”
Brent finally looked up. “I’d appreciate that.”
More awkward silence. Donna broke it by kissing her mom and sisters. “See you at Candace’s.”
Brent raised a hand and offered a tight smile. “It was good to meet you all.”
“Will you come for dinner tonight?” JeanBeth asked.
Donna held her breath.
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You won’t be. We’ll need all the hands we can get because Candace is a notoriously bad cook.”
Brent smiled. “I guess I could come by, if you’re sure.”
“We’ll expect you at six,” JeanBeth said.
Outside in the hallway, Donna caught his arm. “Really, if you don’t want to go, I completely understand. I’ll make excuses for you.”
“Somehow I don’t think Mrs. Gallagher is the type to accept an excuse very readily.”
Donna laughed. “You’re right. But still, don’t come if you don’t want to. I know your heart is somewhere else.”
He sighed. “I guess there’s nothing more I can do tonight to help my sister. The least I can do is show up and help yours try and muster up some Christmas cheer.”
Donna felt a warm glow inside that partially dispelled the pervading sadness. A little cheer. It would not change anything or alter their horrific circumstances, but just having Brent with her would be another reminder that there was still reason to be grateful, a tiny glimmer of Christmas in a very dark season.
Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
Best of all, he let her.
FIFTEEN
Brent whiled away the hours making notes on his iPad of everything he knew about the case. It was a mess of facts and lies, he was sure. Pretty much everything Darius and his girlfriend said was not to be trusted. He searched the names of all three suspects on the internet without much result. Finally, he slumped over the deck rail, staring out at Glorietta Bay. Across the water, some small boats were taking advantage of the break in the rain, and he imagined he could hear the distant strains of holiday music from the nearby high-rises. Christmas, in all its finery, had arrived on Coronado.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured families strolling along the downtown boulevards, stopping at the elegant old Hotel Del, parents and children, husbands and wives. He pictured himself doing the same, guiding a lovely woman across the grounds of the Del, watching the fireworks as they bloomed in the sky, rejoicing together. With a start, he realized the woman he was imagining himself with was Donna.
He stood gripping the rail, letting the wind beat some sense back into him. He and Donna were working together. That was all. There would be no love connection, no joining of the souls and plans for future Christmases. He’d had that. And it had been taken away. He felt afresh the old ache of loss, as familiar to him as breathing, and he turned his anger toward the dimming sky.
God, why did You take Carrie and leave me?
An image of Donna’s tender gaze
floated in his heart.
God loves us. He loved Carrie, too, but He had other plans for her.
He wondered, just for a moment, if perhaps God did have plans for him, plans in addition to his rescue swimmer calling. What if those plans included Donna Gallagher?
A darker thought took its place. What if those plans meant he would lose Pauline? Another woman yanked out of his life. Another woman he had not been able to save. He stalked back to his stateroom and splashed water on his face. The image that greeted him in the mirror was stark and he could not ignore the fact that fear shone back at him in the reflection. Though he’d never tell her so, Donna was right. Brent Mitchell, the guy who could leap out of helicopters into the ocean, the hero who would risk his own life on a daily basis, was scared.
He slapped a palm against his reflection so hard it made the glass vibrate. “No more fear. Find your sister. Keep Donna Gallagher safe. End of story.” He changed into a nice pair of jeans and a button-up shirt and stowed the bottles of sparkling cider he’d decided to bring in the saddlebags on his motorcycle along with an enormous box of fudge. He wasn’t a chocolate guy, but he’d noticed that most of the women he met had a fondness for fudge. A memory of his mother flashed through his mind. Her fudge, with nuts, which required stirring with a long-handled spoon. “Clockwise, Brent,” she’d said, though he could never see what difference that could possibly make. She’d made him stand on a chair to do it. He’d never wanted to. There were trees to climb and bikes to race and he’d scurried away at the first opportunity. How he wished now that he hadn’t.
He started up the motorcycle and was about to reverse out of his parking place when he saw Jeff Kinsey step out of the bushes. Why here? There was no time to muddle it over.
Kinsey saw him and sprinted through the parking lot. Brent took off after him, quickly closing the gap, pushing the bike as fast as he dared. Jeff scooted through two parked cars and Brent wheeled around, tires squealing. He was nearly to the spot he’d seen Kinsey duck into. Now he was going to get some answers and he wasn’t going to hand Kinsey over to Ridley until he got them. He closed the gap; a few feet more.
A woman stepped away from her car right in front of him. One of her arms clutched a full shopping bag and the other the hand of her small son.
Brent jerked to a stop.
The woman shot him a startled look.
Engine idling, heart pounding, he waited for her to cross. As soon as she was safely out of the way, he raced on, stopping to look between the cars and even dismounting to peer underneath. No sign of Kinsey anywhere. Still, Brent edged along slowly, checking every possible hiding place. Nothing. He’d gotten away.
Brent squeezed the grips until his fingers ached. Right there, so close, and he’d let him run off. What was he doing there, anyway? Looking to toss Brent’s boat until he found the package Pauline was supposedly going to give him? It undermined his theory that she was in Jeff’s custody. If she was alive, why would he still be searching for her package? Pauline was the type who would hand anything over to a needy soul, anyway.
Gut tight, he dutifully called Ridley and filled him in. The officer’s responses were clipped and terse. No surprise there. As he disconnected, he got an email with a message reminding him to report in for a preliminary medical check Monday morning. He felt the twin pangs of longing to get back to his job and worry about Pauline’s whereabouts.
Setting the thoughts aside, he drove to the address Donna had given him. He arrived at a small well-tended condo set back from a square of immaculately cared-for lawn. Candace had made an effort, hanging glass ornaments from a stubby palm in her front yard and a beribboned wreath on the door.
He retrieved his offerings and knocked.
JeanBeth opened the door. “Come on in,” she said after giving him a hug. “Angela and Candace are busy wrestling with the turkey. At the moment, the poultry is winning.”
Candace waved from her spot behind the kitchen counter. “The thing’s been cooking for hours,” she said, pushing the hair back from her pink cheeks. “It’s gotta be done sometime.”
“That’s the spirit,” Angela said. “Let’s get this bad boy back in the oven.”
Donna entered through the back sliding door and his heart gave a little lurch. She wore a soft green sweater and her hair was caught up in a bundle at the back of her neck. Luminous was the word that formed in his mind.
“Hey,” he croaked.
“Hey,” she said. “I just put Radar in the backyard. He’s doing some reconnoitering. As soon as Tracy meets him, he’s not going to have a moment’s rest.”
“Somehow I don’t think he’ll mind,” Brent said. He offered the bottles of cider and the fudge. “A little Christmas cheer for the Gallagher family.”
“How thoughtful,” JeanBeth said. “Our own personal Santa.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” he said in his best Santa impersonation.
Childish footsteps pounded down the stairs. “It’s Grampy,” cried a little girl with curly hair and freckled cheeks. “I knew he would come.” She bounded into the room and looked around. “Where’s Grampy?”
Brent saw from the horrified look on Donna’s face that he had done something wrong. Very wrong.
“Tracy,” Candace said, putting down her pot holders and coming out to meet her daughter. “Baby, remember, we talked about that. Grampy...” She cleared her throat. “Grampy died, honey. He’s in Heaven now.”
The little girl looked at the floor. “With Daddy?”
A lancing pain struck at him at the look on her face. He stood frozen to the spot.
“Yes, Tracy. With Daddy,” Candace said through tears that she did not bother to wipe away.
Tracy still did not look up. Abruptly, she tore out of her mother’s embrace and ran back up the stairs.
Brent scanned the room. Angela’s mouth was drawn in a tight line and JeanBeth stood with her hands over her heart, as if she was holding the child in an invisible embrace.
“I...” Brent started. “Did I say something wrong?”
Donna shook her head. “No. No, not at all. It’s just that, uh, my father used to burst through the door every Christmas with an armful of toys, hollering ‘Ho, ho, ho.’”
His stomach fell. “She thought I was her grandpa.”
Donna nodded miserably. “She doesn’t understand yet that he’s not coming back.”
Candace stood, arms folded around her middle. “I told her. Explained it. I thought she understood.”
Brent’s stomach dropped to his boots. “I’m really, really sorry.”
Donna took his hand. “There’s no way you could have known about that tradition. Tracy is confused right now. Please don’t blame yourself.”
Brent took his keys out. “I should go. Will you tell her I’m sorry?”
“Don’t leave,” Donna pleaded. “We have to get through this. There has to be a first Christmas without Grampy.”
Just as there was a first Christmas without Carrie and without Tracy’s father. Tracy was barely two when her father was killed in action, according to Donna, so it probably would not impact her as much as the death of her beloved grandpa.
JeanBeth took a deep breath. “I’ll go talk to her.”
“I’ll do it, Mom,” Candace said.
“No.” The word came out loud and sharp. JeanBeth took a breath. “No one can understand the way she feels better than I. We’ll cry together for a while, and then we’ll pray.” Her eyes shone with tears. She pointed a finger at Brent. “Don’t you leave, sir, and that’s an order. We need you.” And then she marched up the stairs.
Brent watched the sisters carefully, perplexed. He’d been given orders by the senior officer, but he still felt lower than pond scum for upsetting Tracy. Ruining a kid’s Christmas? How could he be forgiven for that? Angela and Candace both offered
shaky smiles.
“Mom’s directives notwithstanding,” Angela said, “we would like it if you stayed.”
His eyes found Donna’s. Her vote weighed more than any other and he stepped close to her. “It doesn’t feel right for me to stay.”
She pressed a palm to his chest. “I’m so sorry that happened,” she whispered. “But please don’t leave, Brent.”
Part of his brain vaguely registered that it was not in his power to deny her anything. “Yes,” he found himself saying. “Okay.”
“I’m sorry, Brent,” Candace said as she pressed a glass of cider into his hand. Her face was pale, but she had pulled herself together, another tough Gallagher woman. The kitchen timer dinged. “There will be appetizers at some point, I hope, if those pigs in blankets didn’t just incinerate.” She bustled back to the kitchen. He heard her whispering with Angela.
“This just can’t set her back again,” Candace said. Then he heard them praying.
Donna leaned close, hair tickling his cheek. “Tracy had trouble when her father died. She had a bout of selective mutism. Have you heard of that?”
He nodded. “They don’t talk?”
“Yes. Candace...” Her voice was a whisper now. “She had to be hospitalized for a while due to the stress and Tracy stopped talking then. It lasted almost a year.”
“I can’t believe I did that stupid ‘ho, ho, ho,’ thing. I feel terrible.”
She cupped a hand to his cheek. “Don’t. These are the things we’ve got to experience right now. And I’m glad you’re here to walk through it with us.”
He took her hand and slid her palm to his mouth, pressing a kiss there, feeling his own pulse thumping hard in his throat. “I might just be making it all worse, but if you want me to stay, I will.”
A sweet smile curved her lips. “I want you to stay. We all do.”
In spite of her assurance, part of him still longed to sprint for the door. In five minutes, he’d managed to make a kid think her grandpa was still alive and watch her fall apart when she learned he wasn’t. That had to be some kind of record.
