Squaring her shoulders, she forced herself to keep walking. She wasn't sure she could make it all the way inside the restaurant, but she was hoping to make it to the front door.
It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon, no fog on the horizon, just a few wispy clouds to mar the light blue sky. As she headed down the hill, she could see the Golden Gate Bridge and the colorful sails on the boats dotting the bay. Turning the corner, she walked toward a beautiful cobblestone square where four streets met.
Vincenzo's was on the far corner, across from St. Margaret's Church and the Fountain of Wishes, a popular North Beach destination. The fountain was owned by the church and had been built more than a hundred years earlier. It had survived the earthquake of 1906, and had been part of neighborhood lore for as long as anyone could remember. Throwing a coin in the water was supposed to bring luck and good fortune.
Over the years, numerous people had come forward sharing miracle stories of wishes that had been granted. She'd never been a big believer in wishes – maybe because none of her wishes had ever come true. Her prayers had also gone unanswered. She'd learned early on in life that she was on her own, that the only one she could depend on was herself.
For the most part, she'd been strong. But today, she felt weak, uncertain … and she had to find a way to shake it off. Cooking was her livelihood. It was all she knew how to do. Her savings was running down fast. She needed to get over her fear of going back into a kitchen.
On impulse, she walked across the square, pausing by the fountain. She could really use some help from the universe right about now. She opened her purse and pulled a quarter out of her wallet. The practical side of herself told her that quarter could buy her seven minutes on a parking meter, which might be a better investment then throwing twenty-five cents away on a foolish wish.
While she was considering her options, her gaze caught on two girls on the other side of the fountain. Her pulse began to race. They looked like two of the kids she'd met up with in the alley behind the restaurant the night Will had been shot. Since then she had wondered many times if things would have been different if she hadn't taken the pizza out to the kids, if she hadn't stopped to question them, if she hadn't been avoiding what she thought might be a proposal. Would she have been able to save Will, or would she be dead, too?
The girls looked just as ragged as she remembered. She wondered what had happened to the boy who had been with them – Ben. And had they gone hungry without her leftover offerings?
She felt a wave of guilt that she hadn't thought more about their welfare.
She walked around the fountain. The youngest girl looked up, and her blue eyes widened in recognition. She said something to the other girl, who quickly glanced her way. Then they both turned and ran.
"Wait," she called, breaking into a jog as they sprinted across the square and darted through an alley.
It suddenly seemed imperative that she catch up to them. She needed to fix something, to save someone, because she hadn't been able to save Will. Maybe if she could help these children…
Five minutes later, she realized the girls were gone. They'd vanished down one of the many narrow alleys that ran through this part of town. Turning, she walked slowly back to the square.
The sunlight was streaming through the spray of water coming off the fountain, beckoning her forward. She still had the quarter clenched in her hand. She just needed a wish – the right wish – one that would really make a difference.
She was stalling again, anything to postpone going into Vincenzo's, but at least she was getting closer…
* * *
Another August, and he was no closer to finding his daughter. Wyatt Randall stared at the calendar on his computer. Two years had passed since he'd seen Stephanie, and he still had no idea where she was. Familiar frustration sent a wave of anger through his body. He was an inspector with the San Francisco Police Department. He located missing persons and solved crimes for a living. He was damn good at his job. He'd closed more cases than anyone else. But he couldn't close the one case that meant the most to him. And he was starting to think he might never find his daughter again.
He didn't want to give up, but time kept marching on. He picked up the photograph that he kept on his desk. Stephanie's blue eyes stared back at him. The picture had been taken on her sixth birthday. They'd gone to the beach, barbecued hot dogs and roasted marshmallows. For that day they'd been happy. It made him feel marginally better now to see the smile on her lips as she waved her marshmallow at the camera, the color in her sunburned cheeks, the traces of sand in her hair left over from when they'd made sand angels. What a great afternoon that had been. He'd never imagined it might be the last they would have together.
Stephanie had his eyes, the same direct, intense expression. Looking at her was like looking in a mirror, but she didn't have his dark hair, she was blonde like her mother.
Her mother …
Fury ripped through him as he thought of his ex-wife. It was Jennifer who had stolen Stephanie from him, who had violated the custody agreement, who had turned his life into a living hell. Crazy, messed up Jennifer, who had somehow believed their daughter was better off with her. The only thing that had kept him from losing his mind completely was the knowledge that Jennifer loved Stephanie. He had to hope that she was being a good mother, that she'd found a way to shake the drugs and the bad friends, but he couldn't count on that being true. And he would never be able to relax until he had Stephanie back in his arms.
Most of his friends and family had given up. They tried to pretend otherwise, but he knew the truth. It had been two very long years of false leads, dead ends and crushing disappointment. Stephanie's disappearance had once triggered Amber alerts, search parties and news media coverage. For months they'd set a place for her at family dinners. His mother had bought presents for every occasion, stashing them in a closet for some day. But some day seemed to be getting further and further away. He set the photo down on his desk, silently promising his daughter that he would never give up, no matter how long it took.
Even as he made the promise, his gaze tripped over the stack of file folders on his desk. There were other missing kids, other victims, other people who needed his attention. As much as he wanted to devote himself full time to the search for his daughter, he also had to make a living. He'd spent the first year of Stephanie's disappearance crisscrossing the country, following endless clues that had ultimately gone nowhere. Eventually, he'd had to go back to work, if for no other purpose than to make enough money to keep a private investigator working on the case. Unfortunately, that investigator had also come up with nothing and had moved on to other clients. Two years of work and he was back at square one, as lost as he'd been that very first afternoon.
"Wyatt, I have something you should see," Josh Burton said, waving him over.
He got up from his desk to see what his friend and former partner had to say. He'd met Josh in the police academy eleven years earlier, and they'd worked their way up the ranks together. They'd once been partners, but during his six-month leave, Josh had partnered with someone else. Once Wyatt had come back, he'd been assigned a new partner. He was always happy to collaborate though. He'd done some of his best work with Josh.
"I was reviewing the security footage we picked up from cameras in the area around Vincenzo's restaurant," Josh said.
He nodded. They'd all spent some time working on the robbery/homicide at the popular North Beach restaurant. "What did you find?"
"Take a look." Josh hit a button on his computer and the grainy video of the outside of a liquor store appeared. Three kids walked out of the store, pausing on the sidewalk to open a box of candy. There was a boy and two girls, all of whom appeared to be under the age of twelve. A moment later, the smallest girl turned her face toward the camera. In a split second, a pair of familiar blue eyes met his. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart began to race. Then she looked away, and the kids ran out of range of the camera.
Josh did as requested, pausing on the frame of the little girl. "She looks a little like Stephanie, don't you think?"
A knot was growing in his throat as he stared at the computer screen. "More than a little."
"She's older, and her hair is darker."
"It's been two years since we saw her, and who knows what Jen did to her hair."
"But why would Jennifer bring Stephanie back to San Francisco? She has to know you're still looking for her. And you have a lot of support and resources here. It's not logical."
"Jen was never known for her logic."
"It's more likely she'd be in Los Angeles where she grew up, where her parents still live. Someone has to be funneling her money, and they're the most likely suspects."
Jen's parents had definitely been on their daughter's side, but then they'd spoiled Jen rotten. She was their only child and they believed she was perfect in every way. The problems in their daughter's marriage had all been his fault.
"Tom has been following Jen's parents for months," he said, referring to the private investigator. "He's never been able to connect them to Jennifer. He's never been able to find a money trail. I don't know who's helping her live, but it doesn't appear to be Greg and Wendy Miller."
"Well, I still think it's doubtful Jen is here in the city. To be honest, I debated whether I should even show you this video. There have been so many false sightings. We've seen Stephanie in a lot of little girls who turned out not to be her. I hate to see you chase another bad lead."
Everything Josh said was true. It didn’t make sense that Jennifer and Stephanie would be in the city, and the girl whose image had been captured by the security camera wasn't an exact match to his daughter, but there was something about her eyes that made his gut clench. He had to follow up, even if this lead turned out to be as bad as the others.
"Don't ever debate showing me something that might be important," he said sharply. "You don't need to worry about me. Stephanie is the only one who matters. Can you print out a screen shot for me? I'll take the picture by the liquor store and see if the clerk knows anything about these kids."
"Already done," Josh said, handing him a photo. "I'd go with you, but I have a witness to question."
"It's fine," he muttered. "I don't have anything pressing at the moment."
Josh sent him a warning glance. "Don't let the captain hear you say that. You're already on his last nerve."
He was well aware of that fact. In the beginning, the captain had been generous about giving him time off and looking the other way when he used department resources to look for Stephanie, but their caseload had increased in recent months, and the captain had warned him that if he continued to take time off, he might need to resign. It seemed unthinkable that he could lose his daughter and his job, but right now Stephanie was his main concern.
"Fortunately, we just wrapped the Delgado case," he said. "And I have a lot of overtime on the books."
"Are you going to Summer's engagement party tomorrow night?" Josh asked, leaning back in his chair. "I wish I could go, but I have to work."
"We'll see," he said vaguely. "There's going to be a big crowd. My sister won't miss me."
"She will definitely miss you, along with the rest of the family. Taking an hour out for yourself and your family doesn’t make you any less of a dedicated father," Josh said pointedly.
He'd heard the same argument from his mother, his father, his brother and his sister. Two years was a long time to run head-down at a dead sprint toward a finish line that kept moving farther away. But he didn't know how else to live. Every time he found himself thinking about something else or he caught himself smiling or laughing, he felt guilty. He couldn't have a life without his child.
"Just think about it," Josh said.
"I will. I want Summer to be happy, and Ron seems like a good guy, but who knows? I certainly never imagined Jennifer would turn into a monster."
"Neither did I," Josh said, regret in his eyes. "She was so sweet at your wedding. She looked up at you with adoration, like you were the only man in the world. I wanted what you had."
"Well, thank God you didn't get it," he replied. "Getting married was the biggest mistake of my life, and no doubt Jen feels the same way. Once the dream wedding was over, our lives turned into a nightmare."
"Her expectations were too high," Josh said. "After a moonlit wedding with a horse and carriage and a thousand perfect roses, reality was bound to suck a little."
"No kidding. That's why I told my sister when she announced her engagement that she should elope or go down to City Hall and skip the big wedding. It's not supposed to be about a day; it's supposed to be about a lifetime. But Summer wants the dream, too. You'd think she'd learn from my example." He paused. "I'll check in with you later – hopefully with some good news."
Chapter Two
As Wyatt drove across town to the liquor store, his gaze automatically scanned the streets for Jennifer and Stephanie. It had become a habit, especially when he drove through the Tenderloin, a run-down area of the city. A magnet for addicts and drug dealers, the Tenderloin had drawn Jennifer like a moth to a flame.
It had seemed unthinkable at first that his well-bred wife who had been raised in an expensive home, and educated in private school, would even consider venturing to such a bad neighborhood on her own. But maybe he should have seen it coming, because Jen had always needed to cling to someone, to be taken care of, to escape from any reality that wasn't quite to her liking, and she'd found the perfect way out with an array of painkillers that became her best friends in the world. It had become clear that every thing and every person in her life would take a back seat to her high, and that included Stephanie.
His daughter was both the reason he'd tried to stay married and the reason why he'd finally filed for divorce. A bitter, angry battle filled with hateful lies had ensued, but by the end, he'd won sole custody of Stephanie. He'd wanted to keep Jennifer in Stephanie's life though. He'd thought it was important for his daughter to have her mother around, which was why he'd given Jennifer generous visitation rights, especially after she'd agreed to go to rehab.
He'd thought she'd recover, that she'd regain the part of herself that he'd fallen in love with. But his decision to keep her around had come back to haunt him. It was on one of those visits that Jennifer had taken Stephanie and gone on the run. Two years later, they were still missing. How Jennifer had managed to disappear so completely still baffled him.
He parked his car at the end of the block and walked down the street. The liquor store was empty when he walked inside, the afternoon lull, he suspected. The clerk was a middle-aged man, who appeared to be more interested in the Giants game playing on the small screen behind the counter than what was going on in the store. He didn't bother to get up from his stool until Wyatt flashed his badge. Then he hopped to his feet.
"What can I do for you?" the clerk asked.
"I'm looking for these kids," he said, pushing the photo across the counter, "in particular, the smallest girl. Have you seen them?"
"I don't know."
"This picture is from your security camera. They bought candy here."
The clerk shrugged. "There's an elementary and a middle school two blocks away. Kids come in here all the time for candy. There was a dozen or more of them in here half an hour ago. I might have seen them. I don't remember. Kids look the same to me." He handed the picture back to Wyatt. "Maybe you should check with the school."
He'd checked all the schools in the city several times in the past two years, but it was obviously time to check again. "I'll do that." He pulled out his wallet and took out a photo of Stephanie. "What about this girl?" The picture had been taken when Stephanie was six years old and just starting first grade. "She's a few years older now, so she might look a little different."
"Sorry," the clerk said. "She doesn't ring a bell."
"Are you su
re?"
"Like I said, I don't pay much attention to the kids."
Wyatt blew out a breath of frustration. Eleven years as a cop had made him very aware of the fact that most people preferred not to look too closely at things going on around them, which made his job more difficult. "If you see any of the kids again, I want you to call me right away," he said, handing over his card.
"All right," the clerk promised.
"Thanks."
He headed out the door, pausing on the sidewalk to regroup. Pulling out the picture of the three kids, he studied it again. There was no evidence of fear in their faces, but there was intensity. They were sharing one box of candy, and the boy seemed to be disciplined in the division of the pieces, which spoke to the idea that these kids didn't have much money. Their clothes also looked worn, as if they had come from a second-hand store. Focusing his gaze on the youngest child, he felt angry with himself for not being able to definitively say that she was his daughter. If only the image was sharper. He felt like he was looking through a cloudy lens.
Other questions ran through his mind. If Stephanie was one of the kids, who were the other children, and why was she with them? And if she was out on her own, away from her mother, why hadn't she tried to contact him, or ask someone for help? She was eight, but he'd taught her how to dial 9-1-1 when she was five.
The obvious answer was that either Stephanie didn’t think she was in trouble, or she didn't believe he would want to help her. God knew what lies Jen had told his daughter about him.
Putting the photo back in his pocket, he spent the next hour canvassing the neighborhood. He talked to store merchants and the staff at the nearest elementary and middle school. Some people thought they had seen the kids, but no one could say for sure. By four-thirty, he realized his new lead was fizzling out fast – just like all the others.
Heading back toward his car, he entered McClellan Square. In the center of the square was a large fountain that had been built by the nearby church, St. Margaret's. It was a popular spot for tossing coins and making wishes, but it wasn't crowded today. Only one other person stood on the far side of the fountain, a pretty brunette dressed in skinny white jeans, and a bright blue top under a darker blue sweater. Her long, curly, dark brown hair, drifted halfway down her back, and her gaze was intensely focused on the coin in her hand. She was putting some pretty serious thought into whatever wish she was about to make.
When Wishes Collide Page 2
