by Pat Warren
“The girl in the picture is my sister and I’m looking for her. I was wondering where kids her age, sixteen, might gather around here. A particular restaurant or store or park... you know.”
The waitress screwed up her face thoughtfully. “You could try Baileys’ over on Ash. He sells fast food to go. And the Denny’s over on Front Street. Maybe the bowling alley over on Beech. Best place is Balboa Park. Place is filled with kids, day and night.”
Fallon thanked the woman and when her sandwich arrived, she ate it quickly, anxious to be on her way. Fred, the owner, gave her the okay and she taped her first flyer on his bulletin board, paid her check and went out into the muggy afternoon. Clouds had moved in, filtering out the sun, and it looked like it might rain. But it was warm so she decided to walk a few blocks, putting up flyers wherever possible.
In an hour, she’d posted all the flyers from her bag, taping them up in the lobby of a small slightly disreputable-looking hotel, two more eateries, a grocery store, and a fence that ran the length of an entire block. Whenever possible, she asked permission, although she figured if someone really didn’t like what she’d done, they would just remove the flyer. She had plenty more.
A light rain began to fall when Fallon was still a dozen blocks from her car. Out of flyers, she started back, not rushing since the rain actually felt good and she was already quite damp. She was just passing the coffee shop where she’d had lunch when two people arguing across the street caught her attention.
A young girl with long chestnut hair pulled into a ponytail was getting a dressing-down from a tall, thin youth with blond hair almost as long as the girl’s. Fallon couldn’t tell if the girl was crying or if her face was wet from the rain. But there was something familiar about the way she stood, the timber of her voice as she finally answered him back.
Fallon’s heart skipped a beat. It couldn’t be. Yet...
“Laurie?” she called out. The traffic was light, but the two young people continued to argue, apparently not hearing her. “Laurie!” she yelled more loudly.
Both of them turned then and looked at her. The boy had his hand on the girl’s arm. He said something to her and the girl shook her head. Quickly, he propelled her around and they hurried off down the street.
Fallon wasn’t about to give up without a closer look at the girl. “Wait!” she yelled. Finally there was a break in the slow-moving traffic and she ran across the street. She saw the boy turn and glance over his shoulder, noticing that she was rushing after them. His hand still on the girl’s arm, he broke into a run, all but pulling the girl along with him.
If the young woman was Laurie, she was obviously in trouble, Fallon decided. She stepped up her pace, zigzagging amid the few people hurrying by in the rain, trying to keep the two heads in sight. If only Michael were here with her, he would undoubtedly be able to catch them, she thought, anxiety starting to grip her.
“Did you tell her I asked her to stay here and wait for me?” Michael’s voice as he faced Opal revealed his annoyance.
“Yes. I even told her you wouldn’t like it if she left without you.” Opal kept her features even. It was uncommon, seeing Michael openly exasperated.
“Damn! She doesn’t know that area. It can be dangerous .”
Opal decided to tell him the rest. “She mentioned something about you not asking but ordering.”
Michael saw Opal’s questioning eyebrow. Maybe he was a little demanding, but Fallon McKenzie was too independent for her own good. He wouldn’t forgive himself if she got hurt. “I don’t suppose you know where she was headed?”
“She inquired about a print shop. I told her about the one on Cedar that we use occasionally.”
A print shop. Of course. She had Laurie’s picture, so she’d impatiently decided to have some flyers made for Sergeant Damien. That sounded logical, although he didn’t know just how logical Fallon was.
“I’ll go check it out. In case she comes back before I do, try to get her to wait for me, will you?”
Opal’s face revealed her skepticism. “I’ll try.” Short of tying Fallon to a chair, she doubted that she could. She. watched Michael skip down the porch steps and hurry into his van.
Why, she couldn’t help wondering, was he so anxious to help this woman find her sister when others had come searching and he’d more or less referred them to a couple of other homes for runaways and wished them luck? Of course, Opal had to admit, most of the others hadn’t been nearly as attractive as Fallon McKenzie.
Michael interested in a woman to this extent was in itself unusual. He probably had dated, for the man was certainly not a monk, but he’d kept his personal life very private and separate from Michael’s House. Yet even Sukey had commented on his attentiveness to Fallon.
Interesting, Opal thought, as she dropped her gaze and went back to work.
It is beastly hot, the humidity saps our energy. Mexico is not the same country as the one I remember as a child. The terrain is more rugged, the mountains seem to loom higher, the insects are ferocious and unrelenting.
Sloan and I have devised a plan. We catch a few hours of restless sleep by day during the hottest hours of the sun and we walk at night. We left the rented car on a dirt path outside Durango and we climb on foot where no vehicle could. We carry our supplies and bedding, making the trek more laborious, but we have little choice in the matter.
Sloan finally located someone who knows Al Torres, the man his ex-wife, Monica, lives with. They have a small house deep in the mountains. I was glad to be along to interpret for him, as few people in the outlying region speak English. I’m familiar with the area we’re headed toward. The inhabitants are a mixed group — some poor people, some bandidos hiding from the law. Sloan has told me that Monica and Al kidnapped little Christopher not because they want him, but for money. He showed me the note she sent him and it shocks me. How can a woman kidnap her own son, then hold him for ransom from his father? I can’t imagine such a thing.
Their marriage ended bitterly, Sloan confides. Mine ended sadly, so we are both victims — a pitiful thing to have in common. He has had custody of Christopher since Monica walked away three years ago. They were better off without her, he admits; then one day, she suddenly returned. He became immediately suspicious when she asked to see the boy. But even as experienced as Sloan is, he didn’t dream she would take their son.
In the late morning when the sun becomes fierce and we stop to rest, to make camp in caves or under cover of bushes and low trees, he still cannot rest easily. He thrashes, talking in his sleep, crying out Christopher’s name. My heart goes out to Sloan for I, too, yearn for my children, dream about finding them, pray they are well.
We have far to go yet and little to go on but one slovenly man’s directions to the house. I am ashamed of my selfishness, for I want badly to find Sloan’s boy so we can return home and begin looking for my children. I will help him to the best of my abilities, for he is a good and caring man.
But I count the days until my own search begins.
Chapter 5
The rain had picked up and was now falling in what could only be called a downpour. Fallon hardly noticed how wet she was as she ran along the sidewalk, her sneakers splashing in the small puddles. She had to keep the two heads, one dark and one blond, in view ahead of her. She mustn’t lose sight, she told herself as she forced her feet into a burst of speed. She had to get to Laurie.
The boy’s height helped, but Fallon was getting concerned at the nasty way he was dragging the girl along, apparently against her will. She seemed to be having trouble keeping up and almost slipped a couple of times. But he quickly grabbed her and kept them moving forward.
What strange hold did the blond kid have over the girl? Fallon wondered as she scooted around a skinny dog. She’d heard about pimps keeping girls in line by physically threatening them, and shuddered at the thought. He looked almost as young as the girl. Surely not.
Suddenly, they rounded the bend and disappeared from s
ight. A rickety truck drove by and splashed water all over Fallon’s left side. Furious, she didn’t stop but turned the corner and saw the two now nearly a block ahead. How would she ever catch them?
Then she saw them stop, dash up some steps and disappear through a door. She ran up to the building and read the sign above the arch: Fenwick Apartments. The place had definitely seen better days. The lock on the door had been cut out in a jagged circle. At least the tenants wouldn’t have to worry about forgetting their keys. Fallon yanked open the door and found herself in a dank, dim hallway.
A small overhead bulb provided precious little light. On each side of the hall, there were three doors, all closed. At the far end was a set of stairs leading up. A radio was blaring Spanish music and a baby was crying. The smell of cabbage and fried onions permeated the walls where green paint had peeled off in great chunks. Not a soul was in sight.
Fallon hesitated, torn between wanting to pound on every door until she found the girl, and wanting to run far away from this tired old building. As she was trying to decide what to do, the tall kid’s blond head appeared over the upstairs railing, his dark angry eyes peering down at her.
“What do you want with us?” he yelled.
Gathering her courage, Fallon stood her ground. “My sister. I’m looking for my sister. Her name is Laurie and ... and she looks like the girl who was with you.”
“Her name’s not Laurie. Go away and stop following us.” His voice broke as if he were barely past adolescence.
Fallon felt a chill race along her spine, whether because she was soaking wet from the rain or because she found herself in a tense situation, she couldn’t be certain. But she wasn’t about to back down on just this kid’s say-so. “Tell her to come to the railing. I need to see her up closer.”
The kid’s eyes narrowed. “Get the hell out of here.”
“No. Not until I see the girl.” Fallon was being incredibly stupid, a part of her mind told her. Any moment, someone could come out of one of the apartments and put her in further danger. Yet something made her stand up to this pimply-faced boy.
“You’re not ordering me around,” the kid shouted, then turned and came racing down the stairs, a long board in his hand. “Get out, now!”
Fallon stared at the board. There were two rusty nails sticking out of it. Fear had her turning back to the door and grabbing the edge with wet, slippery fingers. She couldn’t get a grip. The kid was almost on her. She tugged again and jerked at the decaying door. It opened finally, and the timing couldn’t have been better. The edge caught the blond kid in the shoulder, causing him to drop his weapon and fall backward onto his rump.
Roaring mad now, he swore and tried scrambling to his feet just as the girl he’d been with came whirling down the stairs.
“What’d you do to him?” the dark-haired girl asked Fallon, her voice a shriek.
In the space of an instant, it registered with Fallon that the girl wasn’t Laurie. She was shorter, her face rounder, her eyes brown. Fallon shot around the door, slamming it behind her, and raced down the steps and out into the street, certain the blond kid would come after her. She almost ran right into a blue van that was slowly cruising by. She dashed around it, nearly skidding on the wet street, glancing over her shoulder and noticing that both the boy and girl were on the stoop angrily watching her. She picked up her pace and had run half a block when she heard her name called.
Risking another glance, she saw Michael standing alongside the blue van, then running toward her. Never in her life had she been so glad to see someone. Sobs broke from her throat as she reversed and sprinted toward him. In seconds, she was in his arms, her chest heaving with hiccuping breaths as the rain poured down on them.
He held her there, motioning the occasional car to go around them, allowing her nerves to settle. Ten minutes ago, he’d run across her Mustang parked in front of the print shop, but the owner had told him that Fallon had left hours before. Michael had been driving the streets ever since, hoping Fallon hadn’t gotten into trouble. This wasn’t the worst area in town, but it was far from the best. “What were you running from?” he finally asked.
As if remembering, Fallon ducked her head around Michael’s shoulder and squinted at the building two doors down. There was no one in sight on the steps or in front of the place. The last glimpse she’d had was of the blond boy, having retrieved his stick, standing on the top step menacingly, the girl alongside him. Apparently, catching sight of Michael, they’d hurried inside.
She gave a quick shudder and stepped back from him. “They’re gone now. I owe you. Thanks.” On the one hand, she was glad he’d shown up when he had. On the other, she hated the fact that she’d had to be rescued. And he hadn’t even apologized for taking all day to show up.
Michael saw that her breathing had relaxed some, but she was still trembling. And she was soaked to the skin. This close to the ocean, the September air had cooled considerably with the onset of the rain and the waning afternoon. She needed to get dry, and to feel safe. Explanations could wait. “Come on, get in the van. You can tell me about it on the way.”
Fallon brushed damp hair from her face and saw that her hand was shaking. It didn’t please her. “On the way where? My car’s back there and—”
“I saw where it’s parked. I’ll phone Donovan and have him arrange to drive it back to the house. I’m taking you somewhere else tonight.” His arm at her back, he urged her toward the van.
Stubbornly, she stopped in the street two feet from the door. “You do that a lot, you know. Order people around, issue commands and expect people to do everything you say, as if you knew what was best for everyone. Like this morning. I waited three hours for you and when you finally called, you didn’t even have the courtesy to talk to me in person. What did you expect me to do—work on my needlepoint until you decided to return? I’m not on vacation here, you know.” Nerves jangling from her close call, she gave in to her temper. “You’re not my father, my brother or my keeper. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen and I can think for myself, thank you.”
He felt foolish arguing with her in the middle of the street in the middle of a downpour. Foolish and annoyed. What he wanted was to pick her up, set her inside, and be on his way. But he knew better than to get physical with her just now.
He locked his hands behind his back to keep from touching her and nodded. “All right, then. I thought we’d have time for explanations when we were in out of the rain. But now’s fine. I apologize for not showing up sooner so we could begin the search together. Wendy lost her baby and she didn’t take it well. I thought it important that I stay with her.”
Fallon closed her eyes and tilted her head up to the heavens, wishing she’d kept still. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t blame you for being impatient to get going, but as you apparently discovered, this can be a rather dangerous section of town. A woman alone who obviously doesn’t belong here is easy prey. I wanted to spare you that. But, as you say, you can and do think for yourself.”
He watched her eyes open and saw the regret there. “Now if you’d rather, you can walk back six blocks to your car in the rain and drive back to the house. Or you can get in the van and let me take you to my place where we can get out of these wet things. I’ll build a fire, arrange some dinner and we can discuss what you accomplished today, and then formulate a plan. Your choice.”
He watched her struggle with her conscience, between her desire to tell him to go to hell and satisfy her temper and her need to change course and turn a small measure of her problems over to him just for tonight.
The apartment door they were in front of banged open and two rough-looking men walked out, turned up their collars against the rain and started down the street, their appraising eyes boldly roving up and down Fallon. She shivered. “All right, I’ll go with you. Since you asked so nicely”
Hiding a smile, well aware that her capitulation had cost her, Michael opened the van door and helped h
er up.
The living room of Michael’s home faced the back of the property and had a wall of glass that looked out on the ocean; a sloping lawn trailed down to a sandy beach where angry waves rumbled in as the storm escalated. Wearing a huge white terry-cloth robe with a towel wrapped around her hair, still wet from the shower, Fallon stood in the large dim room watching the surge and swell of the rampaging sea. It was fascinating, beautiful, awesome. And a little frightening.
“You have your mountains in Colorado,” Michael said, walking in to join her carrying two glasses, “but we have the ocean. Both are magnificent.”
“Mmm, you’re right,” Fallon answered without turning around. “But you Californians can have them both.”
“Yes, up north we have mountains and even snow. I prefer warm weather and the ocean.” He held out a glass of shimmering dark red liquid. “This is port, not all that popular a wine. But Jonathan says it warms you like no other. Tonight, I think we can use a little warming.”
Slowly, she turned toward him. He was wearing an unbuttoned blue shirt the color of his eyes, and tan cords. His feet were bare. His hair, damp from his shower, was very blond, lighter than the hair on his broad chest. Fallon swallowed as she took the glass. “Then here’s to Jonathan,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“I’ll drink to that.” He sipped slowly, watching her over the rim, noting that she hadn’t totally calmed since the frightening incident, but she was putting on a good front. A head shorter than he, she looked fragile in the generous folds of his robe. Her feet were bare since her shoes were soaked, and her toenails were painted a bright pink. He inhaled deeply as he studied her and caught from her the fragrance of his own soap and shampoo.
King chose that moment to gallop into the room, having finished his dinner. Big, white and shaggy, as most sheepdogs are, he trotted over to Fallon and shamelessly nuzzled her hand.
