Because of a Boy

by Anna DeStefano

  “When your brother ran, he came here.” Stephen turned and steered her out of the kitchen, back toward the bedroom. “He moved into an apartment less than ten minutes from you. And the first time he needed help, you were the one he speed-dialed.”

  “He was hurt.”

  “He needed you.” Stephen stopped in the middle of her bedroom and drew her to her toes, so they were face-to-face. “You were there for him. He knew you would be.”

  “Yeah, he needed Nurse Kate.”

  “No, he needed you.” Stephen kissed the tip of her nose. “Your heart. Your grit in a fight, and, yes, your ability to face the world honestly. He may not have been ready for that before, but he needs it now, and you’re there for him. I need it, though I can assure you I need a whole lot more.”

  “More can be a very scary word,” she said, as she tried to believe.

  “Yes, it can be.”

  “As scary as the possibility we won’t find Dillon and his father before they run for good…?”

  “We’ll find them. And we’ll work through the rest of the scary stuff, too.”

  Stephen’s bone-deep confidence gave her hope enough to ask…

  “And this—” she motioned to him, then back to her “—whatever this is. What about us?”

  “Us is what I want to work through the most. As long as you’re sure.”

  He waited, his expression guarded.

  The choice was hers.

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I think I’d like that. A lot.”

  He nodded, too. Took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder to the master bath.

  “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today, if we’re going to take Atlanta apart looking for our runaway Colombians. How big is that shower of yours?”

  “Want first dibs?”

  “Actually, I was thinking we could save time if we showered together. I’m always willing to sacrifice personal comfort for a good cause. How about you?”

  She linked her arm around his and led the way.

  “I just love the way your logical mind works.”

  “THANKS, MAN,” Stephen said over his cell to Neal as he pulled fresh jeans and a pullover sweatshirt from his chest of drawers. “I’m sorry to keep busting into your time off.”

  The man had been gone less than forty-eight hours. “It’s a Small World” was playing in the background, for heaven’s sake!

  “Don’t worry about it,” Neal assured him. “The girls have their day planned, and I’ve got my laptop and wireless cell card back at the hotel. Do what you have to do to find Manny and his son. I’ll head back and work with Kelly on the INS precedents.”

  Stephen and Kate had stopped at his apartment on their way to the Midtown Shelter so he could find something to wear besides trashed business clothes that looked like they’d been slept in. While she was hanging out in his living room, he’d bitten the bullet and called in reinforcements.

  Use all your available resources, Neal kept saying. I don’t expect you to be a one-man show. And he’d been as good as his word. If anyone could find them what they needed to protect the Digarros, it was Neal.

  “What about the rest?” his boss asked.

  “Martin Rhodes has his ex-chief on board, pushing DEA to play enough of their hand to agree to a meeting—that is, once I have Manny back and know what the hell we’ll be meeting about. Jenkins is working whatever he has to internally to convince the APD it’s in their best interest to protect the Digarros while they’re in town. If a Colombian drug lord’s visiting with a hate-on and an eye on doing some damage, we’re looking at a violent scene. Local police should be willing to extend themselves a little to keep that from happening. Especially if it’s a good bet a federal agency will be footing the bill soon.”

  God forbid the point of protecting the family actually be to keep a sick kid’s father alive, not to mention getting Dillon the medical care he needed. But Stephen would work whatever angle he had to. Whatever got the job done.

  Except where Kate was concerned.

  With her, he wanted it all. No quick deals. No angles. He’d laid it all on the line that morning, showing her everything he had to offer, and everything he didn’t. And she hadn’t flinched.

  She was as off balance as he was, but she’d come out swinging.

  “So, what’s your next step?” Neal asked.

  “What?” Stephen yanked himself back into the conversation.

  “Are there any new leads?” Neal prodded.

  “Not yet. But we’ll dig something up. He’s got to be with someone either connected with the homeless community, or to his life in Bogotá, or both. Kate and I are going door-to-door today. If we find someone who even looks like they’ve got something to hide, we know the buttons to push.”

  “Manny Digarro is pretty damn lucky Kate thought he was hurting his kid. Otherwise, we’d never have known to look beyond his immigration problems.”

  “Yeah.” Stephen sat on the end of his bed.

  As lucky to have met Kate as he was.

  “Let me know when you find the guy,” Neal said. “I’ll keep in touch through Kelly.”

  “You got it.”

  Stephen hung up and began stripping off the clothes he and Kate had made a mess of—the kind of mess he realized he’d welcome every day for the rest of his life.

  He’d told her he wasn’t sure if he could make a relationship work long-term. That he couldn’t make her any promises.

  What a cop-out!

  He’d finally found something he could be more passionate about, more committed to, than the legal system he’d built his life around. He finally knew what loving someone that much felt like. And the thought of losing that love was even more inconceivable than losing Manny and Dillon Digarro to whatever demons were hounding them.

  “You ready to go?” Kate called from the living room, eager to get started—to keep fighting the latest battle she refused to give up on, despite the odds against them.

  He rushed into his clothes, grabbed his tennis shoes and headed for the den.

  “Let’s do it,” he said.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DILLON HAD NEVER STOLEN anything in his life.

  He felt the wallet in his pocket bumping against his leg. The manager at the shelter had left it on his desk that morning—beside the phone. Dillon had snuck up from the basement to call Kate. He’d taken the wallet instead.

  He’d pay the man back. He’d left his car in exchange. It wasn’t worth much, but it was all he had to trade. He’d heard Papa telling the manager they should have left days ago. The manager wanted to loan Papa money for the bus. But Dillon was still too sick for the bus. Papa wouldn’t leave.

  So Dillon was leaving instead. Nurse Kate would help him get better. Maybe over the phone she’d have said no. But if he just showed up, what choice would she have?

  Waving down a cab wasn’t easy when you were short, with one arm in a cast, ribs that ached and zero energy. But Dillon kept waving his good arm and trying not to put weight on his sore ankle. He had to get out of there. Someone would notice him missing any minute.

  He ripped a shrill whistle, just like Papa taught him. The next yellow car that passed by screeched to a halt at the end of the street.

  “Take me to the Midtown Shelter,” he said after scrambling into the backseat.

  “Huh?” the guy behind the wheel grumbled. “You got any money, kid? ’ Cause I ain’t taking you nowhere, if you can’t—”

  Dillon tossed the wallet through the scratched-up plastic window separating him from the front seat.

  “What the—” The man opened it and stared, then slowly nodded. “Okay. Where did you say you wanted to go?

  There was all kinds of ID inside, but that didn’t seem to matter. If Dillon had learned anything watching Papa and his boss in Colombia, it was that money took care of things.

  “The Midtown Shelter.” He laid his head on the seat.

  What if Kate wasn’t there…?

  H
e’d worry about that later. He’d head for the hospital next. Whatever. As long as he found her. As long as he got better.

  As long he and Papa could get out of Atlanta before it was too late.

  “If you hurry,” he said, “someone will pay you more when we get there.” At least he hoped they would.

  The driver pulled a bill from the wallet and tossed it back. Dillon let it land on the seat beside him. He didn’t even bother to check to see how much the man had taken. It didn’t matter, because they were finally moving.

  The tires screeched, as the driver left rubber behind.

  KATE HADN’T MISSED a shift at the hospital in years—not since she’d rushed to Oakwood after Martin’s shooting. But she’d begged Marsha to cover her hours for the rest of the weekend, so she and Stephen could track Manny and Dillon together.

  They weren’t going to stop until they found them.

  She glanced across the Midtown Shelter’s kitchen. Stephen had busied himself with the industrial coffeemaker, brewing steaming coffee for every volunteer in the place, while Kate talked with anyone she could find who might have seen the Digarros.

  They were a they now. The fact was both amazing and terrifying at the same time.

  “So, first we’ll hit the other shelters in town.” He leaned back against the counter and crossed his legs. “We’ll have to work on description. Who knows what name they’ll be using.”

  “I wish we had a picture to show people. Though Dillon’s cast and bruises should be enough to identify him. I just—”

  Stephen stepped closer and drew her head to his shoulder, same as he had after their shower, when she’d had too long to sit and think about their slim chances of actually finding the family, no matter what they did differently today.

  “We’ll come up with something.” His fingers caressed the sensitive skin on the side of her neck. His gentleness, the unexpected playfulness that cropped up when she least expected it, it was all too new. Too perfect. “We’ll leave notes on the message boards that only Manny would understand. Somehow, we’ll talk him in, so you can take care of Dillon.”

  “And you can figure out a way to get the Feds working with Manny, instead of against him.”

  She closed her eyes against Stephen’s kiss.

  “I’ll figure something out,” he promised. “I’m a damn good lawyer. So is Neal. Trust me.”

  She wrapped her arms around his waist, distance never less important to her. “I do tr—”

  “Kate?” Randall poked his head through the kitchen door. He tried not to look interested in the sight of Kate in Stephen’s arms. “There’s someone out here asking for you.”

  Regulars looked for her all the time. Any other morning, she’d be happy to offer whatever TLC she could. But—

  “We’re heading out in a few minutes.” She moved out of Stephen’s reach. “Would you mind taking care of it for me?”

  “You’ll want to see this one,” Randall insisted. “I think it’s the kid you’ve been looking for.”

  “Dillon?” Kate raced out the door, Stephen at her heels. “Dillon!”

  He was slumped in a chair, away from the others who were waiting for breakfast to be served. He wasn’t just pale. His complexion was on the pasty side of grey.

  “Kate!” His familiar accent was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. “I knew you’d be here.”

  “Hi, kiddo.” She lifted him from the chair, appalled at how easily she could do it. “Let’s find you some place you can rest up a bit.”

  An average ten-year-old should weigh at least seventy-five pounds. The hospital scales had put Dillon hovering around sixty, and he’d clearly dropped even lower over the past few days.

  “Excuse me.” A burly stranger she hadn’t noticed followed as she walked toward the office. “The kid said something about more money if I got him here fast.”

  “He drove me,” Dillon explained while Kate settled him on the office’s cot. The center kept it made with clean sheets in case someone needed to rest in private.

  Stephen scowled at the cabby’s outstretched palm, pulled out his money clip and peeled off a bill without looking to see whose picture was on it. It was an overly generous tip, if the man’s double take was any indication.

  “I’ll need a receipt for that,” Stephen said.

  Kate shot him a questioning look as the cabbie ripped a blank receipt off a pad, handed it over and beat a path to the door.

  “So I have his contact information if we need it,” Stephen explained, pocketing the slip of paper.

  “Where did you get the money to take a cab?” Kate brushed Dillon’s sweaty bangs back, kneeling beside him.

  Guilt washed over his features, mixed with the kind of worry no ten-year-old should have to shoulder.

  “Here.” He held up a man’s wallet.

  Kate took it and flipped it open to find the ID of another shelter’s manager. Nodding, though she didn’t understand what was going on, she passed the wallet to Stephen.

  “We’ll make sure it gets back to its owner,” she assured her young visitor.

  “I didn’t want to take it, but—” Dillon glanced at Stephen and the still-hovering Randall.

  “Could you give us a minute?” she asked Randall, shaking her head when Stephen motioned with his shoulder, asking if he should back off, too.

  “Sure,” Randall said and left.

  Dillon swallowed, his eyes round as saucers as he sized up the man now kneeling beside the cot along with Kate.

  “You remember Stephen from the hospital, right? He brought you that car from your dad.”

  Dillon jerked his gaze back to her. “You were really mad at him. You were mad at Papa, too.”

  “I didn’t understand how much he and your father wanted to help you. I was wrong.” Her glance of apology to Stephen was rewarded with a soothing caress at the back of her neck.

  “Stephen’s been helping me look for you,” she explained. “He’s trying to make it possible for you and your dad to stop moving around as much as you have. To stop hiding.”

  Dillon blinked. She could see him weighing her assurances against survival instincts that should also be foreign to a kid his age.

  “We have to hide,” he said, his accent stronger as his fear visibly rose. “Papa and me…He…He could be in a lot of trouble if we don’t. And he won’t leave Atlanta while I’m sick. Kate, you have to help me get better. We have to leave.”

  “Your father’s in trouble with the authorities here in the United States?” Stephen asked.

  Dillon didn’t look away from Kate as he nodded.

  “And he’s also in trouble with someone who’s following you from back home, isn’t he?” Stephen’s patience finally earned him Dillon’s attention.

  The boy nodded again.

  “But Papa won’t run this time.” Dillon fingered the hem of the blanket Kate had tucked around him, then he kicked it away and sat up with a wince. “It’s because of me! It’s always because of me. He’s going to get caught because he doesn’t think I can keep going.”

  “You can’t,” Kate said gently. She urged him to lie back down. “You’re hurt pretty badly, and you’re going to need a lot more time and rest before you can do much of anything. You shouldn’t even be out of the hospital.”

  “I got myself here, didn’t I?” Dillon challenged.

  Kate smiled at his tough-kid comeback.

  “You couldn’t even get back out of that chair a minute ago, Dillon. You need to stay put for a while.”

  “My…” He sniffed, then wiped at his nose with his good arm. “My dad can’t get caught because of me. He…he…”

  “How much danger is he in, son?” Stephen cupped Dillon’s shoulder. “Is it the man he worked for back in Bogotá? Is that who’s after you?”

  Dillon nodded. “He’s going to find us if we don’t go.”

  Admitting his secret seemed to steal the last of Dillon’s strength. He melted into the mattress.

  His
eyelids drooped, blinked, then opened more slowly, only to close again.

  “I knew I could trust you, Kate,” he said as he drifted off.

  Stephen’s hand slipped away from the thin shoulder as he stood.

  “Still beating yourself up for ruining his life?” He drew Kate to her feet beside him. “The kid needed help, and he ran to you.”

  She glanced down at Dillon. She needn’t have worried about him overhearing. He was out cold.

  Stephen motioned for her to follow him to the hallway. Once there, he shut the office door behind them.

  “He should be in the hospital,” she said.

  “How many people do you think saw him come in here?” Stephen was staring at the floor, the way he often did when he was thinking hard. “Besides the cabby—and all that man saw was the green Dillon and I flashed under his nose.”

  “This place is crazy in the morning.” A bomb could go off in the shelter’s dining room, and no one would think anything awry, as long as the chow line opened on time. “It’s a stroke of luck that Randall even recognized Dillon.”

  “So if we were to get the boy out of here quietly enough, how likely is it that anyone but Randall would remember seeing you here with Dillon?” When she didn’t immediately respond, Stephen smoothed her bangs from her eyes, his expression serious. “How much do you trust this firefighter friend of yours?”

  “I’ve worked with him for years. I’d trust Randall in anything.” She realized where Stephen’s questions were leading. “People are going to know Dillon’s resurfaced as soon as he’s readmitted to pediatrics.”

  “He’s trusting you to help him without putting his father at more risk.”

  “Helping him means getting him to a doctor.”

  “Not at Atlanta Memorial. Dillon’s a minor. Technically, his only parent let him wander away. I’m assuming the hospital would be required to file a report. That means APD would start looking for the boy’s father all over again, and that’ll put Manny in even more danger from—”

  “The people Dillon said are after them.” Dear God. “And if there really is someone closing in on them, and they get their hands on Dillon before they find Manny…”

  “And they’re as dangerous as I think they are? They won’t blink at using him to get to his father and whatever Manny knows or has that they want back so badly.”