“I’m awake.”
She sat up a little straighter and took a look out the window. The area was residential, just like the one they’d left behind near the hospital. But here, the houses were a little farther apart, and the yards were more spacious. There was evidence of family life nearly everywhere. Swing sets and slides. Bikes and scooters set aside for later use. It made her both envious of the outwardly easy lives on display and more eager to see her own son. So much so that when they coasted to a stop and Remo gestured toward the exit, she had to restrain herself from running straight out the door. Thankfully, he appeared to be in almost as much of a hurry as she was. As soon as they’d stepped from the transit vehicle to the street, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and moved quickly along. In under two minutes, they were standing in front of a waist-high fence. The whitewashed wood panels framed a short, squat structure with cream-colored stucco siding and cheerful blue shutters. It was easy to see that the building was more than just a house. It was a home.
Flower patches lined the path that led past the gate and up to the front steps. The little porch was also covered in flowers—they were in long boxes and stubby planters, and even an empty cottage cheese container. A dozen or so colorful wind chimes hung from the soffits, and a handmade sign heralding a welcome to visitors.
Warmth filled Celia’s chest. Even if she hadn’t already had good reasons to appreciate Wendy DeLuca, this added another one. She was glad that if her son was forced to run off with a stranger, it was with the woman who owned a place that looked like this. Smiling at Remo, Celia reached for the latch on the gate. But then went still with shock as a familiar shriek filled the air, carrying from somewhere around the back of the small house.
Xavier.
Thoughts of coziness gave way to fear, but panic delayed her for only a moment. Then protectiveness kicked in, and she shoved the gate so hard that it slammed against the fence on the other side. As her feet beat against the stone walkway, she was vaguely aware of Remo calling out to her. Urging her to wait. She ignored him, afraid he’d try to stop her altogether if he was given the chance. A second scream made her move even faster.
Please, no! Celia begged silently.
She pushed past the side of the house, crushed rock crunching under her shoes and her mind racing with terrible thoughts. Xavier, being dragged into an unknown car. The salt-and-pepper-haired man glancing into the rearview as his tires spun. Or worse.
But when she rounded the rear corner, there was no car. No man. And no Xavier. There was just Wendy, sitting in a lawn chair with a book in one hand and a mug in the other.
Celia was so startled that she stopped short, sending Remo crashing into her back. As a result, she lost her balance and went tumbling over. Her fall brought the big man down with her. Together, they fell against the ground, and she was sure that the only thing that stopped her from breaking an arm was the fact that Remo made a last-minute adjustment, putting him underneath her.
“Well,” said Wendy with a laugh. “You two sure know how to make an entrance, don’t you?”
Celia was relieved that there wasn’t any worry at all in the other woman’s voice, and she knew it meant her son was fine. But it didn’t quite quell her anxiety. Her pulse still pounded a little, and she knew it wouldn’t stop until she had Xavier wrapped in a hug. She started to push to a sitting position, but stopped halfway as her son’s body suddenly appeared. Up high. Seemingly suspended in the air.
“Mooooooo-oooooom!” he yelled, his voice full of delight. He disappeared, then reappeared again. “Look at meeeeeeee!”
“Sorry,” said Wendy, her voice easy. “The little guy next door has a trampoline.”
Celia collapsed back, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Was she really so tightly wound that she couldn’t tell the difference between her own son’s shrieks of fun and his shrieks of fear? The thought horrified her. But the sweeping relief that he was okay set that on the backburner.
“A trampoline,” she repeated.
“Mooooo-oooooom!” Xavier called again.
“I see you, baby!” she yelled back, watching as he disappeared once more, and a black-haired boy took his place.
“That’s my neighbor’s son, Danny,” Wendy explained with just a touch of ruefulness. “I know it’s early, but Xavier took a nap for about an hour, and when he woke up and spotted Danny out there, he begged to have a look. How could I say no?”
Deciding it was best to let her fear go, Celia made a second effort—this time successfully—to sit up. “I would’ve said yes, too. Doesn’t Danny have school today?”
“He’s not quite five,” Remo said, standing up and holding out his hand to help her to her feet. “Kindergarten in the fall.”
A pang of envy hit Celia. She made an effort to keep a low profile in the apartment where she and Xavier lived. As a result, she barely knew her neighbors’ names, let alone the details of their kids’ lives. Unexpectedly, tears stung her eyes. But before she could reach up to brush them away, Remo’s palm pressed to the small of her back.
“Mom,” he said, “is there coffee inside?”
“Full pot,” Wendy replied.
Suddenly, Celia desperately wanted a cup. It seemed imperative that she get to sit with a mug clasped between her hands, and the pleasant aroma wafting up. Ten minutes of not thinking about anything. Just enough time to let go of the frantic pace of the last twelve hours.
Twelve hours. How can it have only been that long?
“Do we have time?” she asked, unable to keep the hope from her question.
Remo’s fingers flexed. “We’ll make time. Come on. I know where Mom keeps her secret, vanilla-flavored creamer, and I’m sure she’ll let us know if she sees anything we need to worry about.”
Celia cast a glance back toward her bouncing, laughing son, and then let Remo lead her to the house.
* * *
Remo could tell that Celia needed a minute or two to decompress, so he poured her coffee first, then kissed her cheek and excused himself to grab his mom’s laptop from the den. When he came back, she was hunched over her mug, eyes closed, silent tears streaking her cheeks.
“You wanna talk about it?” he asked gently.
She didn’t lift her head as she answered. “I’m envious of this life.”
“This life? What do you mean?”
“The cozy house. The best friend for Xavier next door. We live in a decent apartment. Two bedrooms. Cute little window seat in the living room. But I don’t send him on playdates. I don’t give the other moms my number. I keep a burner cell, for crying out loud.”
Remo’s heart squeezed, and he bent down to fold her into an embrace. “You know it’s not your fault.”
“I do know. I’m just keeping him safe.” She sounded like she meant it, but there was a desperate edge to her voice. “But it doesn’t make the life we have anything like the life I’d like for us. When I heard him yelling out there... God. I can’t even describe the panic. And now I’m sitting here, asking myself what kind of mother assumes her child is being kidnapped when he’s just out having fun.”
Remo leaned back and used his thumb to tip up her chin. “The kind who would run straight into danger to protect her son. You thought the worst, just then, and you still went running.”
She sighed. “Can I admit something to you?”
“Anything.”
“Part of me wants to just grab Xavier and make a run for it right now.”
“And then do what? Hide again? Never recover your memories? Feel like this for the next twenty years?”
“I don’t even want to feel like this for another twenty minutes,” she replied.
“So let’s look for some answers and a permanent solution,” he suggested.
He didn’t add his other, selfish thoughts. What about me? What about that date I promised you? What about
exploring the idea of an ‘us’? Instead, he dropped his hand and dragged the laptop over so that the screen faced her.
“Here,” he said. “Instead of running, we can start with tracking down the not-so-nice detective, and see if it jars anything for you.”
Quickly, he typed in the corrupt cop’s name, and was pleased when the effort was rewarded right away. A dozen newspaper articles popped. Arrests and interviews. Accompanying thumbnail photographs that confirmed they had the right man. There was even a feature on Teller, dating back about two years. When Remo clicked on it, a quick scroll through it showed a teeth-grindingly perfect record. So squeaky that the person writing the piece referred to the man as “Midas.”
Celia shook her head, clearly having read the line at the same time as Remo. “I somehow doubt that everything he touches turns to real gold. Maybe more like gold-plating.”
“At best,” Remo agreed, clicking back to the search results. “Any of those stand out to you?”
She leaned forward, but shook her head again. “None of the headlines are familiar. Maybe the image search?”
He switched screens, and the man’s face filled the screen in another dozen poses.
“Sure likes to have his picture taken, doesn’t he?” Remo said, scrolling down.
“Staying above scrutiny by staying in the spotlight,” Celia murmured.
“But still nothing?”
“No. Unfortunately.”
Remo ran his hand over his hair and started to close the laptop, but Celia’s hand shot out, stopping him.
“Wait,” she said, a tremor in her voice and her finger stretched out to point at the screen. “What’s that?”
Remo followed her gesture with his eyes. “Mom’s live news app. Why?”
“Can you make it bigger?”
“Sure.”
He complied, clicking on the small square. The breaking story immediately came to life, and even though the sound was down, the ticker across the bottom gave away the subject matter—the bomb threat at the hospital. A local councilman—who’d recently become well-known because of his bid for mayor—was giving an interview in front of a crowd. The camera panned out, giving a view of the construction area they’d fled just a short time ago. Celia’s sharp inhale was immediate, and Remo moved to turn it off.
“You don’t need to watch this,” he said. “It’s just going to—”
Her whisper cut him off. “That’s him.”
“That’s who?”
“Xavier’s father.”
“Who is?”
“What do you mean, ‘who is’? That man, right there.” This time, her finger actually hit the screen, smacking into the councilman’s head.
“That’s Neil Price.”
“Should that name mean something to me?”
“He announced his bid for mayor just a week or two ago.”
“I’m a hundred percent sure he’s Xavier’s dad.”
Remo still found himself frowning. “Are you sure you couldn’t have seen him on TV? Somehow mixed that up with your memories?”
He felt bad as soon as he asked it, but Celia just met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. The only hint of nerves was in the way she sucked in her lower lip before speaking again.
“I don’t remember the relationship, Remo, but I remember things. He has a scar on the inside of his left elbow,” she told him softly. “It’s diamond-shaped, and I can remember the way it feels. When his beard starts to grow in, it’s such a dark shade of brown that it’s almost black, but he has a patch just under his chin that’s almost completely white. Should I go on?”
Remo stared at her. There was no denying her conviction. No denying that the details were intimate and believable.
But it doesn’t make sense.
He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until she answered him.
“Why not?” Celia asked, her expression more guarded than he’d seen it since she first awoke in the hospital, and he immediately felt guilty.
“I’m not doubting you,” he said quickly. “It’s just that Neil Price is Mr. Good Guy. Hard stance on local crime, good...” He trailed off as he felt something click.
“What is it?” Celia asked, reading his expression.
“I was going to say that he has a well-known, well-established connection with the local PD. But if his connection is with the corrupt side of things...”
“You mean like a tag team effort between Midas and Mr. Good Guy?” In spite of the way it sounded, there was nothing humorous about the question.
Remo nodded grimly, then pulled the laptop closer again. His fingers flew over the keyboard, opening the search engine again and plugging in both Teller’s and Price’s names. This time, the relevant result was singular. A news article that featured the two men. The caption announced the dawning of a new day—a crackdown on petty crime and the promise of more to come. There was a photo in the middle of the article, too. A black-and-white shot of Teller and Price that showcased their smiling faces and a handshake. Beneath their clasped palms was a bench, embossed with a dedication to the City of Vancouver itself.
Before Remo could scan the contents of the article, Celia sucked in another breath.
“He’s married,” she said. “And it says that putting family first is one of his main campaign points.”
Remo pulled his attention from the laptop to her face, and he nodded reluctantly. “Yes. That’s right.”
Her eyes held his. “What else?”
He inhaled a breath of his own and decided it was better to come out and say what he knew. “His wife is expecting a baby.”
The color drained from Celia’s face so fast that Remo’s hand shot to her waist to hold her up in case she fainted. She leaned into his touch, but her eyes stayed open.
“How long?” Her two-word question was laced with an emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but which made him want to pull her closer nonetheless.
“How long to which part?” he asked.
She swallowed. “How long has he been married? Did he... Did we...”
Then he clued in to what she meant. “No. You didn’t have an affair. He’s only been married to his wife for two years, and this is his first marriage.”
Celia sagged hard against him, and now her eyes did sink shut. “I know I’ve said this ten times before, but this is so incredibly frustrating. I keep second-guessing myself, again and again.”
Keeping his hand on her hip, Remo adjusted so that he was facing her. “And I know I’ve said this ten times before. You’re a good mother. Tough as hell. I’ll tell you that a thousand times again, if I need to.”
Her lids lifted, and her gray eyes held him just as they seemed to every time she looked at him. The smallest smile tipped up her kissable lips.
“It’ll probably get tiresome,” she said.
“I can be a patient man.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned forward, and her knees parted to let him press his hips between her thighs. A pinpointed want washed through him, and it wasn’t the physical one he would’ve expected. It was much more than that. It was that yesterday morning, he’d woken up having no clue that Celia Poller existed, while today he couldn’t stand the thought of going back to not knowing her. It was the way she protected her son so fiercely. That she fit so perfectly against him. The way she tipped her lips up to his, welcoming and ready, trusting and demanding. It was everything about Celia that made him want her even more.
He tightened his arm on her, pushed his fingers to the narrow space between her T-shirt and her pants, then lowered his mouth to hers. He barely got in a brush of a kiss, though, before the sound of a throat being cleared pulled him back again.
“Remo,” said his mom. “We’ve got a little bit of a problem.”
He turned to face her, every mus
cle in his body tensed for bad news.
Chapter 15
Too worried to be embarrassed at being caught in the slightly compromising position, Celia grasped Remo’s wrist tightly, and her gaze darted around his mother, searching. When she didn’t immediately spy her son, she brought her eyes up to the older woman’s face.
Wendy lifted her hand right away. “Xavier’s fine. I asked Danny’s mom to take them in and give them some juice.”
Celia relaxed her hand, and Remo gave her knee a squeeze, then stood up and said, “You probably should’ve led with that, Mom. What’s wrong?”
She offered an apologetic shrug, then launched into a quick, concerned explanation. “A navy blue car pulled up to the barricade at the back alley. I wasn’t too worried until a second, almost identical one pulled up, too, and both drivers got out.”
Celia’s heart jumped nervously, and Remo spoke up, voicing her own foremost concern.
“Did they see Xavier?” he asked.
Wendy shook her head. “Not the right angle to see into the neighbor’s yard. Doubt they even saw me.”
“And where are the two guys now?”
“I only watched until Xavier was safely in Danny’s house, but I did see the second man get back into his car. Far as I know, the first car is still there.”
Fighting full-fledged panic, Celia pushed up from the stool. “We need to get to Xavier before they do.”
Remo put his hand on her elbow. “Hang on.”
Before she could argue, he slipped out of the kitchen at a light jog. Celia scrunched up her toes in an attempt to keep herself from chasing after him.
If whoever’s out there is anything like Detective Teller...
Remo would sacrifice himself. She knew it. And the thought didn’t just make her chest compress; it made her whole body compress. She’d barely had a chance to find out what life might be like with Remo, but the idea that she might not get any more time was almost more than she could bear.
“He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Him and Xavier both.” Wendy’s voice gave her a start, and she was embarrassed to admit that in the last ten seconds, the other woman’s presence had slipped her mind.
First Responder on Call Page 15
