Reunited in Danger

by Joya Fields

  He tilted his head as if to say that was all the information he could share. “Let’s check upstairs. Preliminary report says nothing is out of order there. Maybe you can verify the thieves didn’t touch anything on the second floor.”

  Fine. She’d drop it for now. She glanced at him and noticed a shadow covering his jaw. He’d worked the night shift, and then without any sleep, he’d come to the hospital to see Ben and bring her here. And how had she repaid him?

  By laying into him.

  But she’d had to do it. Even now, when she looked at him, she felt the old familiar stir in her chest. She had to protect herself. A ping of guilt stabbed her gut. Self-protection didn’t mean hurting someone else. Her adoptive parents had taught her as much. And yet she wasn’t quite ready to apologize.

  He climbed the steps to the bedroom, Keely following. He stood to the side of the doorway and looked around. “Notice anything missing?”

  She glanced around her father’s organized room, with its sturdy, worn furniture. She walked around the perimeter, glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed and the small reading lamp on a nightstand. She opened a few drawers, but couldn’t find anything out of place. “It looks just like he always keeps it.”

  “Since your dad will recover, the police department is listing this as a robbery with aggravated assault. The two men didn’t have any weapons as far as we know, which makes it an even lower priority.”

  “But my dad was hurt. How could they do that? Just dismiss the crime?”

  “The classification doesn’t dismiss it. The case will be listed as ‘pending,’ meaning it will stay open. But unless more evidence turns up, the police won’t be actively investigating it, Keels. Not enough manpower. Dunnigan will go back to investigating higher priority cases. I’m sorry.”

  Well, she had a few ideas churning in her head. “Maybe this has something to do with Su Lin. Maybe there are copies of the files from his briefcase in his office at the rectory, and some of the Loving Arms board members might be able to help. I’ll make some calls.”

  Logan whirled around. “No, Keely. I don’t want you getting involved in any sort of investigation.”

  Yeah, right. As if Logan North had any power over her.

  Chapter Five

  A few hours later, Keely tested the straps on the car seat that was buckled in the backseat of her compact car. The early afternoon sun beat down on her shoulders, and she welcomed the warmth. She grabbed a clipboard with the official information on her current case, and moved beside Nevaeh to peer up at the brick row home. Most of the neighboring homes were boarded up, with front doors and windows covered in plywood and graffiti. In spite of the supposed horrific situation the children in the house were experiencing, Keely welcomed the distraction of work, even though her mind kept returning to her dad’s attack. She’d left Logan at her father’s place, their conversation unfinished but a plan forming in her mind.

  “The police should be here any minute,” Nevaeh said.

  No matter how many times Keely removed children from their homes to be placed in foster care, each incident was a sober moment. Another broken family. Another set of siblings that would probably be split up to find suitable housing for them. Another abusive parent.

  A one-year-old girl with two broken arms had been dropped off at the local Emergency Room. An elderly woman had filled out the papers with the help of a Spanish-speaking interpreter, then disappeared. From what Child Protective Services had learned, the baby’s mother was dead and the father, a drug dealer, had been arrested for child abuse before. Keely’s job was to get the baby’s three-year-old brother George and eight-year-old sister Melita out of the house and away from the father.

  Her job was to keep those children safe.

  A police cruiser pulled up and two uniformed Baltimore officers she knew well from other foster situations—Seth and Dennis—stepped out and joined them.

  Nevaeh and Keely climbed the two crooked, cracked cement steps behind the officers.

  “Baltimore Police,” Seth called out, pounding on the front door.

  Keely coughed as the strong scent of urine wafted on the breeze.

  A small hand moved the lace curtain at the window near the door, then the curtain swished back into place.

  The doorknob turned and the door creaked open a crack. Dim light filtered out from the house.

  Seth unholstered his gun. Shit. That would really freak these kids. She knew the cops had to be ready for anything, though.

  “Baltimore Police. We’re looking for Mr. Padilla.”

  The door opened wider and a small boy—about three years old—stood sucking his thumb, his other hand on the doorknob.

  “Sí?” a female voice called from inside.

  Keely bent, hands on knees, to be eye-level with the little boy who wore only a sagging disposable diaper in desperate need of a change. “Hi. I’m Keely. You must be George,” she said, then repeated her sentence in Spanish.

  The boy smiled, and Nevaeh stepped around him to enter the dark house, Seth and Dennis behind her.

  With the door open, enough sun poured in to light the foyer and small living room. The stench of rotting food and human waste assaulted Keely’s nose and stung her throat.

  Piles of garbage covered the floor. Nevaeh kicked wrappers and cartons to clear a path to an elderly woman who sat in a tattered chair, her foot propped on a three-legged table that should have had four legs. Was this the woman who’d dropped the baby at the hospital?

  Keely took the boy’s small hand in hers and led him to the living room. She addressed the elderly woman in Spanish. “Ma’am, we’re with Baltimore City Child Protective Services. We need to take the children to a safer place. Is their father here? Mr. Padilla?”

  Tears pooled in the old woman’s eyes.

  “There’s another child.” Keely tilted the clipboard to check the paper. A three-inch cockroach dropped onto the paper. Keely swallowed a scream, tilted her clipboard to dump the bug to the floor, and then squashed it with her boot. She’d learned long ago to wear sturdy shoes to work. “Melita?”

  George pulled his thumb from his mouth with a loud sucking sound. “Melita, Melita,” he parroted.

  “No. Melita no está aquí.” No, she’s not here. The old woman shook her head and a tear traveled down her wrinkled face. Rapidly, she spoke in Spanish, saying the little girl’s father claimed that Melita had run away.

  Eight years old was young to run off. Not unheard of, but definitely younger than most runaways. God help the little girl if she, like the rest of her family, didn’t know English well. “Did he report her missing?” Nevaeh asked in Spanish.

  The woman closed her eyes. Her chin dropped to her chest. “Lo siento,” she mumbled. She was sorry.

  Keely turned to the officers. “Can you do a sweep of the house to look for Melita or the father?”

  Seth nodded and moved toward the steps.

  “Nevaeh, can you follow up on that at the office while I take George to the Emergency Room for a checkup?”

  “Sure, I—”

  Something crashed in the back of the house. A door? Keely pushed George behind her, Nevaeh moved behind a torn wing-back chair, and the two policemen raised their guns. The woman jolted, suddenly alert.

  A man—six feet tall, unshaven, and wearing dirty jeans and a beater T-shirt—stumbled into the room from what Keely assumed was the kitchen.

  “Police. Freeze!” Dennis yelled. Both cops pointed their guns at the man.

  The man staggered another step, then came to a stop at the edge of the room. He pointed at George. “That’s mi niño.” My kid.

  Keely’s heart pounded. She had to get the boy out of here now. But not before at least trying to find the girl. “Where’s Melita, Mr. Padilla? Your daughter, where is she?”

  “Gimme mi hijo.” His took a step toward Keely.

  “Sir, don’t move. Put your hands on your head,” Dennis ordered.

  Keely repeated his order in Spanis
h.

  “Keely, Nevaeh, get out now,” Seth said, motioning with his head to the open door. He spoke into his radio to request backup and a Spanish-speaking officer.

  Nevaeh slid along the wall toward the front door, and Keely lifted George into her arms and ran.

  An hour later, Keely sat in the Emergency Room, holding little George, who was wrapped in two small blankets from her trunk. The police hadn’t found Melita at the house. Worry built in Keely’s gut. So young to be out on the streets.

  Like many times before when she encountered broken and abused children, she said a silent thank you to her mom and dad who’d taken her in, given her shelter and safety. And love.

  She smiled down at George, wiped a smudge of dirt from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open.

  “Quieres ser mi mamá?” he whispered. Will you be my mommy?

  Her heart squeezed and she closed her eyes at the thought of having a child. Pain ripped through her gut.

  Why, at the thought of being a mommy, had Logan’s face appeared in her mind?

  Don’t kid yourself. You know why.

  They’d almost been parents once.

  …

  Logan locked the front door of his row house and stood on the stoop, ready to head off to work. A late-evening breeze made the night colder than usual and he pulled up the collar of his leather jacket to block the chill. Dim streetlights and porch lights lit the sidewalk and neighboring stoops, and an occasional car sped down the side street.

  For the tenth time in the last hour, he pulled out his phone and scrolled to Keely’s name. Being with Keely over the last twenty-four hours had not only triggered memories of them being together but had affected him as a man and as a person. She wasn’t just the girlfriend he’d once dumped, but an attractive woman—competent and caring. Everything he’d ever hoped she’d grow up to be.

  She didn’t think Ben’s attack was simply a robbery, and neither did he. So what? That didn’t mean she should insist on joining his private investigation. He thumbed over her number, but still didn’t press Call.

  His shift started in thirty minutes. If he got to the station early, he could read the report on Ben’s attack again. Maybe he’d missed something the first time. He closed his Contacts list, palmed the phone, and pressed the button on his car key to unlock his SUV.

  His phone rang. A glance at the screen revealed Keely’s name and number. An odd fluttering twisted in his gut. He connected the call.

  “Can you get me into the city jail?” Keely asked, surprising the heck out of him.

  “It’s what I do for a living. What’s the charge?”

  Silence. Then she laughed. A sweet sound he hadn’t heard in years. A sound that brought memories screaming back to his head. Keely in the park, happy and jumping into his arms, Keely dancing on the sidewalk as he cranked his car radio.

  “Very funny,” she said. “I mean to visit someone. I had to pull two kids out of an abusive home today, but one of them wasn’t there. The dad was arrested, but he said his oldest daughter ran away. She’s only eight, though. Maybe he can tell me more, now that he’s had some time to cool off. I could go through the paperwork of a jail—”

  “No need. I’ll get you in.” He let himself smile. Keely could have called any of the cops she worked with on a regular basis, but she’d called him.

  He knew almost everything about her, knew what she’d been up to these past few years. He’d followed her progress through UMBC’s five-year master’s program to her first job at the Department of Social Services. Keely put her heart and soul into saving children. Helping her out with a case was the least he could do.

  “Around noon tomorrow? I’m bringing Dad home from the hospital, then running to church to find some files.”

  “Why are you looking at files?” he asked.

  “Looking for leads about who would attack Dad.”

  Damn her. Why wasn’t he surprised? But he knew Keely. She’d probably go off half-cocked, digging around the neighborhood for information. Maybe it was time he included her, if only to keep her safe.

  It was either that, or risk her getting hurt.

  And he’d never let Keely get hurt again.

  …

  The next morning, Keely parked her compact car in the front of the hospital, stepped outside into the crisp fall sunshine, and dashed to the sidewalk to help Dave with a knapsack of Ben’s clothes.

  “I’ve got it, thanks.” The church’s office manager wore a casual blazer over a black T-shirt that covered his slight paunch. He was standing next to her father, who sat in a wheelchair at the hospital entrance. Dave had a hand on Ben’s shoulder, holding him down, and Ben looked annoyed and impatient. She wanted to chide her father for acting petulant—Dave was only doing what he was supposed to do, which was to keep her dad settled down until she was able to bring the car around—but she wouldn’t have liked to have anyone pushing her around, either.

  Her father’s eyes were tinged deep purplish-black and his right eyebrow had dark black stitches that made him look angry. Earlier in the morning, after spending the night at the hospital again, she’d helped him dress. He’d been so battered he hadn’t even been able to put on his usual jeans. Instead, he wore loose-fitting gray sweatpants and a black Baltimore Ravens hooded sweatshirt. Easier to put on and softer against his bruised body.

  Ben stood, slowly walked to Keely’s Civic, then lowered himself, using the door for leverage. “Oh.” He paled and grabbed his midsection while his free hand gripped the door.

  Keely bolted forward.

  “No. I’ll do it. Forgot about these darn ribs.”

  She bit her lip. Not only his ribs, but the bruises that covered his entire body. He tried to mask it, but his stiff movement made his pain clear.

  “Listen, Ben, you sit in your chair and take it easy,” Dave said. “After I make sure you’re settled, I’m heading over to church to check on things. I’ll worry about work stuff, you concentrate on healing yourself.”

  Dave was basically saying the same things to her dad as she was, but Keely didn’t much like his dictatorial approach. But maybe that’s what her father needed right now. Otherwise Ben would go back to his normal routine and not give his body time to heal.

  After getting her father settled into the front and Dave in the back, she slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. Her dad shifted to face her. “Where’s Logan?”

  “Probably getting some sleep,” she said. “He was on nightshift last night.”

  “Is that how he found out about my attack? He was on duty?”

  She swerved to avoid a pothole. Never before had she been so aware of the need for repaving in Baltimore. “I’m not sure.”

  “Nice of him to stop by like that.”

  She turned her head slowly to look at him, then flicked her attention back to the road. “You make it sound like he dropped by for dinner.”

  His lips maneuvered into a small smile. “I like him, that’s all.”

  Time to change the subject. “I’m going to talk to some of your neighbors to see if they saw anything suspicious the day of your attack.” Attack. A word she heard at work. A word she heard on the local news. Not a word she ever thought she’d hear associated with her dad.

  “Probably a crime of opportunity, that’s all,” Dave said from the backseat. “We do what we can with these young people, but not all of them are smart enough to stay out of trouble.”

  Dave was probably right, but she couldn’t help the sensation burning in her gut that something was off about the robbery. The whole briefcase thing was too specific to be a random act. Keely pulled in front of her dad’s house and turned off the engine. She got out of the car and hurried to his side, but he already had a foot out the door.

  “You know what? I got a little banged up yesterday, but I’m not an invalid.” Ben dug in his pants pocket for the house key and shuffled up the three steps to the door. After opening it, he stood back so they could enter first. “So don’t t
reat me like one, or I’ll feel like one. Okay?”

  She stood on tiptoes and kissed his smooth ebony cheek. He’d grown up on the streets and alleys of Baltimore and he’d had his share of fights and battles. If he wanted to brush it off, she’d let him.

  The entry door on the right opened and Margaret stepped outside to the sidewalk. “Nice to see you, Dave. Hello, Keely.” She pulled up the collar of her tweed coat and moved next to Ben. “Let’s get you into bed, or at least into a comfortable chair. I’m making you some homemade soup.”

  As her father stepped inside his home, an unfamiliar noise had Keely looking up the street. Jalissa, the little five-year-old from next door, came down the sidewalk on a skateboard, calling out, “Look, Mrs. Beyer! Look Miss Keely! I can skateboard!”

  For a moment, the girl wobbled, then suddenly her body veered to the right and then left. Keely bolted toward the girl, but knew she wouldn’t get there in time. The girl spiraled to the sidewalk, her knee scraping the cement as she skidded against it.

  The door to the left of Ben’s opened and Jalissa’s mom, April, dashed out. She squatted next to her daughter, holding Jalissa as she wailed and clutched her leg close to her body.

  “Anything I can do?” Keely asked, coming closer.

  April scooped up her daughter and smiled at her. “Just another skinned knee. Is Ben back home?”

  “We’re just getting him settled now. Do you mind if I stop back later to ask you about the day of the attack?”

  “Yeah, sure. Hope Ben is better soon,” April said over Jalissa’s cries, then headed back into her own row house.

  “Everything okay?” Margaret asked, nodding at the neighbors as she and Keely headed up the stoop.

  “Skinned knee.” Keely glanced at the potted plants on the sides of her dad’s steps. Brown. Dying. Somebody needed to water them. Her dad split his time between church, Loving Arms, and helping others. He hardly had time to take care of his own property. The thought worried her. He had to make time for himself, or at least accept help from others.

  Margaret closed the front door behind them. “Your dad thinks he’s going to get straight back to work.”