"I forgot about them at first, but they weren't witnesses to anything. They were outside the whole time. I didn't think it was relevant."
"You saw two figures running down the street from your vantage point in the alley. They could have seen them, too."
"The people were far away, and they had on hoods."
"Where did the kids go when the shots rang out?"
"I don't know. I ran inside. I think they ran the opposite direction."
"You think, but you don’t know."
"No," she admitted.
"Why are you trying to keep the kids away from the police?" he asked.
"I'm not doing that."
"I think you are, and I want to know why."
She saw the resolute gleam in his eyes and knew she was going to have to give him a better answer. "I used to be one of those kids. I spent some time on the streets. I know what it's like to have a social worker put you in a foster home or a group home that sucks. I know what it's like to be scared and hungry and not trust anyone. I saw kids ripped apart from their siblings." She paused. "I didn't turn those kids in, because they asked me not to, and because I knew that there could be worse places to stay than the street."
"They're children. Just because you might have had a bad experience –"
"Two bad experiences," she said, cutting him off. "But we're not talking about me. I want to be very clear about something. If I thought the kids could help the investigation, I would have mentioned them. My – my boyfriend died that night. I want justice for Will. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I wasn't trying to hide anything, but those kids were not part of what happened. And by the time I remembered they were there, I didn't think there was anything to gain by talking about them. So is that it?"
"Not even close," he said, putting his hands on his hips, an aggressive stance that made it clear he had no intention of leaving until he was ready. "I need to know everything about those kids. One of them might be my daughter."
"I've told you everything."
"You seem to have a habit of remembering things later," he said pointedly.
"You haven't known me long enough to know about my habits."
"Then let's get better acquainted."
"Yes, let's," she said sharply. "You want answers from me? Well, I have a few questions for you. Why would a mother take her child away from the child's father? She must have had a damn good reason."
His face whitened, sharp points of anger lighting up his blue eyes. "She had no reason. She was a drug addict. A spoiled, selfish woman, who thought only of herself." He paused. "That's why the judge gave me full custody of Stephanie. That's right, Adrianna. My ex-wife violated a court order. She kidnapped my daughter. She took her away without even a change of clothes. She even left her favorite stuffed bear behind, the one that Stephanie couldn't sleep without. But that wouldn't have occurred to Jennifer, because she was only thinking about herself."
Silence followed his harsh words. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. "What else do you want to know?" he demanded.
"I – I don't know," she said, not sure where to go next. "Look, I don't want to get in the middle of this."
"You're already there. You want out, you're going to have to help me."
She felt torn, not sure what to believe. She needed time to think, but from the determined expression on Wyatt's face, it was clear she would not get that time now. "I don't know how to help you," she said. "I really don't know anything about the kids, and your personal situation seems to be very complicated."
"It's not at all complicated. I just explained it to you."
"Your side," she said pointedly.
"There is no other side. You want more answers, ask me more questions."
"I'm in the middle of something," she said, waving a hand toward her kitchen. "Maybe we could do this another time."
"I thought you didn't cook anymore," he said, his gaze shifting toward the stack of dishes in her sink.
"I'm testing some recipes for Vincenzo's."
"So you made it through the door?"
"Yes, I made it into the office. I wasn't quite ready for the kitchen." She paused for a long moment, as they looked into each other's eyes. There was something about his compelling gaze that wouldn't let her glance away. "I don't know what you want from me," she murmured.
He didn't answer immediately. Finally, he said, "I don't know either, but ever since our coins clashed, I feel like you're … important."
"In what way?" she asked, startled by his comment. As much as she wanted to say he was crazy, she couldn't deny that she felt the same intangible connection, as if this man had been brought into her life for a reason.
"That's what we have to find out." He walked over to her kitchen counter. "This looks good. Maybe I should help you test the recipes."
"You want me to feed you now?" she asked in surprise.
He gave her a brief smile. "Why not? You said you wanted to get to know me. That's going to take some time."
"I said I don't know you. I didn't say I wanted to change that," she corrected. "You could tell me anything you wanted. That wouldn't make it true."
"You're very cynical."
"I've met a lot of liars."
"Liars that were cops?" he asked.
She sighed. "Yeah, liars that were cops."
"Another reason you didn't call the police." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not a liar, Adrianna. And while I might be a police officer, I'm first and foremost a father desperate to find his daughter. You're my only link."
"To a little girl who may not be your child," she reminded him.
"That's what I need to find out."
She debated for a long moment. "I have to clean up. You can have some food, if you want. I'll try to answer your questions, and then we're done. All right?"
Without waiting for an answer, she walked around the counter and pulled a plate out of the cupboard. She hadn't put everything away yet, so she had a variety of dishes for him to sample.
While she was getting the food, she saw him get to his feet and amble around the apartment, checking out her photographs on top of the side table. She didn't have anything to hide, but still she felt a little uneasy under his scrutiny.
"Is this Will?" he asked a moment later, holding up a photo.
The picture had been taken the previous Christmas. They'd gone skiing in Lake Tahoe. Actually, Will had skied; she'd sipped hot chocolate in the lodge and sat by the fire.
"That's him," she said shortly.
"Was he a good skier?"
"Yes, he was excellent. His parents had a house in Tahoe. He spent every winter vacation on the slopes."
"What about you?" he asked, setting down the picture.
"I've never been on skis or a snowboard. I don't really like the idea of flying down a steep mountain."
"It's fun. You should try it."
She wasn't at all surprised he would think so. He looked like a man who enjoyed the outdoors and pushing his limits.
"Who's this?" he asked, picking up another photo.
"That's Lindsay," she replied, taking a quick look. "She's a sous chef at Vincenzo's and one of my good friends. We celebrated her birthday with a sail around the Bay. One of the waiters at Vincenzo's took us out in his father's boat."
"You don't have any photos from your past. No awkward moment captured in braces or braids," he commented.
"Never wore braces or braids," she said.
"No pictures of parents or grandparents."
"I never had any," she said.
"Never?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"I have one picture of my mother. It's in my bedroom. It's the only one in existence."
"That sounds like the beginning of a story."
"A very short one," she said. "Your food is ready."
He crossed the room and sat down at her counter. His gaze moved to the plate of food she set in front of him. "Wow, that looks amazing."
"It's a sam
pler. You'll be my guinea pig."
"I'm up for the challenge." He picked up a fork and took his first bite of the cannelloni.
She watched him chew, wondering why she was so interested in his opinion. She knew she was good. She didn’t need his validation. Still …
"Excellent," he finally said. "Incredible," he added after the next mouthful. "I think I'm going to run out of adjectives very quickly."
"Just eat," she said, feeling foolish pride at his compliment. Cooking had always been the one thing at which she'd excelled. She might not have gotten herself back in the restaurant kitchen, but at least she hadn't lost her touch.
While Wyatt ate, she loaded the dishwasher, happy to have something to do to keep herself busy. Wyatt took up a lot of room in her small kitchen, not just with his physical presence, but also with his personality. He wasn't a man who could be ignored, and that made her a little nervous. She felt like she needed to be on her toes around him.
It was a very different feeling than when Will had been in her kitchen. Will had been comfortable and easy, fun. He'd never rattled her. Never created an odd catch in the pit of her stomach, the way this man did.
But Wyatt wasn't here because he was attracted to her, and she hadn't let him stay because she was interested in him, she reminded herself. He was just here for his daughter.
"Who taught you how to cook?" Wyatt asked, interrupting her thoughts.
"I taught myself. I had a little more help later on."
"You said you spent time on the streets. What happened to your parents?"
"My mom got cancer when I was about six. She was sick for a long time. I started cooking for her," she said, drying her hands on a towel as she turned around. She leaned against the counter. "She couldn't eat much when she was going for chemo, so I learned how to make soup. It was all that she could keep down. I remember feeling so good when she could eat the whole bowl. Most food just made her nauseous."
"It sounds like a big responsibility for a little girl," he said, compassion in his eyes.
"I guess it was. I didn't know any differently. She was a great mom, but we were all alone, and we didn't have any money. That situation got worse the sicker she became. She couldn't work anymore, and she didn't have any insurance."
"What about your father?"
"He wasn't around. He took off when I was three. I don't remember him." She paused. "From soup, I graduated to breakfast food." She felt a pang in her heart at the memory. "My mom loved pancakes for dinner, and so did I. So we ate breakfast at night. It was fun. Sometimes we ate by candlelight."
"Because the electricity was turned off?"
"Yes. I didn't know that at the time. Mom made it sound like an adventure. She created a world of make-believe and wrapped me up in it as best she could. But then she got worse. And one day a policeman came with a social worker, and they took me away from her." She had to bite down on her lip to keep back the pain of that memory. "The cop grabbed my arm so hard he left a bruise. He had to drag me out of the house. I didn't want to leave her. They said she was going to the hospital, but I never knew if that happened. The next day the social worker told me she died, and I never got to see her again."
Wyatt shoved back his chair and stood up. He walked over to her, putting a kind hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
His touch warmed and comforted her in a way that surprised her. In fact, the whole conversation surprised her. She rarely told anyone about her past.
"It was a long time ago."
"No wonder you don't like cops. But you have to know somewhere in your head that those adults were worried about you."
"That wasn't the bad experience I was talking about." She stepped out from under his touch, feeling like she needed to move away before she started to like it too much. She'd been living in a cold, gray, emotionless world since Will had died, and she wasn't quite ready to jump back into life.
"So you went into foster care after your mother died?" Wyatt continued.
"Yes. The next couple of years were bad. I ended up in some rough homes, ran away a couple of times. Everything changed one night when I went scrounging for food at a diner called Joe's."
"I know that place. It's run by that cranky old woman who keeps a baseball bat behind the counter."
"Josephine Cooper," she said with a smile. "The restaurant was named after her husband, Joe. She is a mean bitch when she wants to be. But she gave me a job bussing tables when I was fifteen, and she let me stay with her when I didn't have anywhere else to go. She saved my life."
"You don't get the kind of food I just tasted at Joe's," he said dryly.
"Well, I learned a few more things after I left there."
He let out a sigh. "I think I understand why you didn't tell anyone about the kids."
"I knew where they were coming from. I wanted to help them the way Josephine helped me. I was trying to gain their trust, but I feel badly now that I didn't go back to the restaurant after the robbery. I didn't think about their welfare, and I should have. I was too caught up in my own trauma."
"You can make up for it by helping me now."
She grabbed his empty plate off the counter and placed it in the sink. "I still need to know more about you."
"Ask away."
"Why did you get sole custody?"
"Because Jennifer was arrested for drug possession and DUI. She had my daughter in the car with her at the time."
She gave him a long, thoughtful look. "You're a cop. You didn't know your wife was using drugs?"
"Not at first. She started with prescription drugs after a knee injury. I never imagined she'd get addicted to painkillers, that she would put everything aside in her determination to get high. When I finally realized the truth, I tried to get her help. I forced her into rehab. But after the DUI, I had to file for divorce. She'd risked my daughter's life."
He appeared to be speaking from the heart, but the cold ruthless note in his voice when he spoke about his ex-wife reminded her that there were two sides to every story, and she was only hearing one.
"I should never have let Jen see Stephanie without me being present, but she seemed like she was getting better, like she was the old Jen again. She was just playing me. She took Stephanie to the park. I had the nanny go with her, but Jen ditched her, and I haven't seen my daughter since."
"Two years is a long time," she murmured.
"A hell of a long time," he agreed. "But I'll fight forever to get her back. She needs me, and I need her."
She was touched by his determination and his devotion. She wondered how her life would have been different if she'd had a father who'd wanted her that badly – or at all.
"Tell me about the kids, Adrianna," he said, taking his seat again.
She sat down on the stool next to him. "They came by the restaurant twice before the robbery. Both times were on the weekend, a Friday or Saturday night. Ben assured me that they had a place to stay and that things were going to get better."
"He's the only one who spoke to you?"
She nodded. "The middle girl always seemed kind of sleepy and like a tag-along. The youngest was alert, wary, looking around." She paused. "I remember thinking that her eyes were so blue and the others were so brown."
"Blue like mine."
"Like a lot of people," she said. "I can't swear that the girl was the same girl I saw in the photograph of your daughter."
"But you can't swear she wasn't the same girl."
"No. So what now?"
"I've distributed photos of the kids throughout the department, and I'm checking with Human Services to see how many boys named Ben are in the system. I've contacted the schools, and I'll probably go back and canvass the neighborhood around Vincenzo's tomorrow. I'd like you to come with me."
"Why?" she asked, surprised by the request.
"Because the kids know you. If they see you, they might seek you out."
"They ran away from me earlier today," she reminded him.
"Maybe they won'
t the next time."
"It seems like a long shot."
"It's all I've got, so I'm going to take it."
"You're very determined. I'm a little confused as to why you haven't found your daughter before now. Your ex-wife must have had a pretty good plan to disappear so completely. She's hiding from a cop with a ton of resources at his disposal."
He frowned. "I hear the doubt in your voice again."
"I'm just trying to figure things out."
"My ex-wife came from money. Her parents swear they don't know where she is. I've had a private investigator on them for over a year, and I haven't been able to prove they're lying. But they could have helped her before she left, set up an account somewhere, gotten her a place to live, fake identity."
"Why would they help her if she's a danger to your daughter – to their granddaughter?"
"They don't see her that way. They see the little princess they raised, and Jen is a very good liar. She knows how to manipulate them."
"You have an answer for everything."
"Because you're asking questions I've thought about a million times in the last two years." He got to his feet. "I'm going to be at the fountain tomorrow, a little before three. You saw the kids about that time today, right?"
"I think it was a little after three."
"Which would imply that they might go to school somewhere. Anyway, I'd like you to meet me. You said you wanted to help them. This is your chance." He walked to the door, then paused. "When you do your Internet search after I leave, you'll find out that Jennifer accused me of domestic violence and child abuse during the custody hearing. She also made those accusations in the press, hoping to sway the court with public opinion."
Her stomach turned over.
"They were lies," he continued. "And the judge agreed that there was no evidence to back up her claims."
"Why are you telling me?" she asked, as she got up and walked across the room to the front door.
"Because you're going to find out anyway, and I don't want you to think I have anything to hide. I never hurt either one of them. You can ask Inspector Burton. He was the best man at my wedding. He's Stephanie's godfather."
"You guys protect each other," she said quietly.
"We also protect the innocent, and sometimes we even put away the guilty."
When Wishes Collide Page 5
