Michael's House (Reunion: Hannah, Michael & Kate #2)

by Pat Warren

  Fallon sighed contentedly. “I couldn’t agree more.” And she wondered how she would come to this point so swiftly, she who’d never been impulsive or capricious or even very romantic.

  “I have a confession to make,” Michael whispered, one long finger drawing lazy circles around her breasts.

  “What would that be?” she asked, too relaxed to really care.

  “The first time I saw you, wearing that uptight little silk blouse, high-necked and long-sleeved, I wanted to rip it off you, to touch your skin, to touch you.”

  Fallon lifted her head, smiling. “Oh, my. That first time, in the backyard when I nearly fainted? Why, Mr. Redfield, aren’t you the Big Bad Wolf thinking of taking advantage of a woman in distress?” She felt his smile against her throat as his lips pressed a soft kiss just beneath her ear. “Do you want to know what I was thinking at that moment?”

  Michael raised his head. “I’d give up Saturday cartoons to know what you were thinking.”

  She chuckled low in her throat. “That you were too handsome and too damn sexy to be running a house for runaways. That half the teenage girls you meet must have tremendous crushes on you.”

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “Not so. I’ve not had one regard me that way. To them, I’m a helping hand, an authority figure, a big brother, maybe. Most of these kids are too troubled and mixed-up to think about schoolgirl crushes.” He shifted her on the spa’s seat, taking her onto his lap. “Besides, I’m much more interested in big girls.”

  “Who’re you calling ‘big,’ bud?” But she let him adjust her in the buoyant water so she was straddling him, close but not too close, teasing both of them.

  “Not you.” His hands skimmed along her rib cage. “You’re slender, soft, beautiful.” He dipped his head to kiss her shoulder.

  The moon slipped behind a cloud and they were left in shadow, the candlelight flickering across skin that was sleek and wet. The music thrummed, swelling with passion, the fragrance of oleander from the bushes nearby enveloping them.

  Playfully yet seductively, Fallon let her hands wander over him, then move down to close around him. “And you’re beautiful, strong, solid.” She heard his husky laugh, then gasped as he again shifted her and slipped inside. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her full breasts to his chest. His mouth was at her ear, filling it with his warm breath as he filled her with his heat.

  Michael murmured things to her — hot, passionate promises of the pleasure they would find together — and she whispered back in soft, sensual responses, the meaningless-yet-meaningful words that lovers share when they’re as close as two people can get. He thrust gently upward, aided by the churning water, and felt her tighten around him. He was patient, not greedy, for they had the whole night to love and be loved.

  The word echoed through his thoughts, reminding him that he’d deleted it from his vocabulary, recalling what a velvet trap love could be. He turned from the wayward wandering of those thoughts and instead, concentrated on feelings — the feelings that Fallon brought to him.

  Passion and fulfillment, gentleness and desperation, awakening needs and trembling wants. She made him feel so much, want more than he should, reach for a happiness he wasn’t certain existed. The weary warrior in him wanted to pull back, to retrench, to withdraw himself from a battle he was sure to lose. But the man in him, the lover inside that man, wanted only the tenderness she and she alone had shown him, the fantasy of a future with her always at his side, the happiness of a shared life.

  He heard a low sound drift from deep in her throat and could hold back no longer. Taking her mouth first, he then took her — wildly, like a randy teenage boy who could never get enough.

  Together, they drove each other on, moving toward the madness that would burn them like the smoldering flames. When at last release came, they shuddered, sighed and then kissed with generous affection.

  Michael hit the button on the spa and adjusted the motor’s speed. Bathed only in moonlight and gently rippling water, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms while the candles guttered out in a breeze that soon became a gusty night wind and finally sent them scurrying for big, fluffy towels to wrap around themselves.

  Hand in hand, they crept like naughty children, quietly so as not to awaken Eldora, up to Michael’s bedroom where they discarded the towels and snuggled under the covers. There they found that powerful waves as mighty as the sea now pounding against the shore engulfed them again. Insatiable, ravenous, greedy, they kissed and devoured, plunged and plundered, both swept up in a sensual battle that had no winner and no loser.

  Afterward, exhausted but smiling, they cuddled together and dozed.

  Until the bedside phone rang, disturbing Michael in the midst of a marvelous dream. Grumpily he answered, noticing that the digital clock showed that it was almost eleven.

  “Michael —” Opal’s serious voice came on “— I hate to disturb you, but I thought you’d want to know about this.”

  Immediately alert, he sat up. “What is it, Opal?”

  “Wendy wasn’t feeling well, so I was up with her. When I walked her back to her room, I noticed that Daryl’s door was ajar. I went inside and saw that he was missing, his bed neatly made and his few belongings gone, except for his new white running shoes. They were sitting on the floor next to the bed. Michael, I’m afraid for him. You know he’d never have left those shoes behind, unless...” Opal sounded very worried. “Well, I don’t even want to hazard a guess.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’m on my way.” Michael hung up and tossed back the covers before glancing over his shoulder.

  Fallon lay with her hair tousled on the pillow, her eyes sleepy and satisfied, blinking to bring herself fully awake. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice thick.

  Concerned though he was, he leaned down and kissed her, wishing he didn’t have to leave her. Quickly, he told her about his conversation with Opal. “You stay here and rest. I’ll be back as soon as I find Daryl.” He rose and went to the closet.

  Fallon, too, got up. “I’m going with you.”

  Michael reached for his jeans. “You don’t have to. I —” “Yes, I do,” she said, gathering up her clothes. “What is your problem is my problem.”

  When had that happened? Michael asked himself.

  “Is this usual for you, to go out looking for every kid who leaves unexpectedly?” Fallon asked as they pulled away from Michael’s House after talking with Opal. “You did tell me once that no one stays if they don’t want to.”

  “Daryl’s different,” Michael answered, heading for Balboa Park, which he figured was the best place to start looking. “I’ve known him awhile and I talked with him just yesterday about his problems. I thought we’d worked out a plan and, although he hadn’t seemed real excited about any of my suggestions, he’d indicated that he’d go along with them.”

  “Sort of like me with Laurie,” she reminded him. “These runaways can really get skittish.” She glanced at his profile, saw the tension. “Do you have any idea why Daryl might have felt the need to leave again?”

  “I wish I did. That’s another thing — these kids get so used to hiding their feelings and thoughts that you can’t even read their expressions.” He turned onto Sixth Avenue, heading north.

  Fallon agreed, remembering how she’d tried to figure out what Laurie had been thinking when they’d talked that brief time. Her expression had been guarded at best; not unfriendly, but not trusting, either. Almost as if she no longer trusted any adult. “I suppose, after years of mistreatment by adults, Daryl’s unwilling to trust any grown-up who tells him everything’s going to be all right. He simply doesn’t believe anymore.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid you’re right. And once you stop believing, once you lose hope for the future, what is there?” A muscle in Michael’s jaw tightened. “I just hope he doesn’t do anything crazy.”

  Fallon frowned. “Like what?”

  He didn’t want to put a voice to h
is fears. “The thing that worries me most is that he left those shoes behind. He really loved those shoes. I don’t think he even has another pair.” The nights were getting cooler. He remembered that the frail young boy had gotten sick once before, living on the street. If only they could find him before that happened again. If only he could convince Daryl that he did have a future.

  If only, Michael thought. Two of the saddest words ever.

  He pulled the van to a stop alongside the wooded area where most of the kids gathered at night, near the picnic table that Sherlock had designated as his own. As they stepped out, Michael saw that the heavy-set man wasn’t around.

  “Why don’t we separate?” Fallon suggested. “I’ll go one way and you can take that other path.”

  “No, it’s nearly midnight. I don’t want you walking alone in this park at night.” He took her hand. “Just keep your eyes peeled. If he’s here, one of us should spot him. He’s smaller than most boys his age.”

  They walked all the way up to Laurel, then turned and swung back, strolling through the grass, ending up near the Organ Pavilion. It was there that Michael spotted Sherlock and waved him over.

  “What’s up, man?” Sherlock asked, nodding to both of them. “You’re out kinda late.”

  Michael got right to it. “One of our kids left and we need to find him. His name’s Daryl and he’s pretty troubled.” He gave Sherlock a description. “Seen him around tonight?”

  Without thinking it over, Sherlock shook his head. “Nobody like that’s been around here. But I heard down the grapevine that that other guy you’re looking for is a local.”

  Fallon came alert. “You mean the bearded man that we had sketched?”

  “Yeah, him. I hear tell his name’s Wesley Greiner. Used to be a P.I., but he lost his license coupla years back. Some trouble with cops over ethical behavior, or so I heard.”

  Michael tried not to show too much interest. He had to deal with Sherlock occasionally, but he didn’t trust him a hundred percent. “So, who told you about him?”

  Sherlock shrugged one shoulder in the direction of the street. “A guy I know, name of Curtis. He’s lived on the streets longer than me. He saw the poster you taped on that pole over there.”

  “Did Curtis tell you where this Wesley Greiner lives or where I could find him?”

  “He’s not exactly in the phone book, you know.” Sherlock gave him a sly smile. “Curtis asked me if there was a reward coming.”

  He should have guessed. “Tell him if he can pinpoint the guy and when I go there, it’s really him, I’ll pay both of you.”

  Satisfied, Sherlock nodded. “I’ll tell him. Meanwhile, I’ll pass the word about Daryl. For him, it won’t cost you. I know you mean to help the kid.”

  “Thanks, Sherlock.” Michael tugged Fallon’s hand away before she could say anything. He’d felt the tension from her while they’d been talking. They were almost to the van when he finally asked, “Something wrong?”

  “That man bothers me. I can’t help it. What a way to live.”

  Michael slid open the van door. “It’s his life, Fallon. He probably wouldn’t want to sell women’s clothes like you do. Choices. Right or wrong, we get to make our own.”

  She wasn’t exactly selling women’s clothes these days, either, Fallon thought. She’d been gone less than two weeks and already it felt like two years—in one way. As Michael started the engine, she looked over at him. In another way, it seemed like only yesterday that she’d come here and unwittingly fallen in love.

  “Where now?” she asked him.

  “I’m going to drive around places I’ve seen Daryl in the past. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Fallon buckled herself in and settled down for a long night.

  They were climbing back into the van at about one in the morning, after walking the area around Daryl’s school, when the van phone rang. Michael picked it up. “Yeah, Opal, what’ve you got?” He listened for several moments. “He didn’t say anything else? Okay, thanks. I’ll call him.”

  He glanced at Fallon. “Opal says that Sam called me, wants me to meet him at the station. I hope that means they’ve picked Daryl up again.” His mouth a thin line, he shifted into gear. He had a bad feeling about this one.

  Sergeant Damien looked tired as he glanced up from his desk when Michael and Fallon walked into his office. Wearily, he removed his glasses and ran a hand over his eyes as with the other, he motioned them to sit.

  “It’s bad news, isn’t it?” Michael asked, unable to rid himself of the sense of foreboding.

  “’Bout as bad as it gets, Michael,” Sam said, unable to muster the energy to be gentle. He’d been home and in bed only two hours when the call had come. He’d been a cop working with kids too long, had seen too much. Some days, he was sure it was a hell of a way to make a living. This was one of those days. “Daryl stepped in front of a truck rolling down Harbor Drive. Probably died instantly.”

  “Oh, no,” Fallon said softly, and reached for Michael’s hand. It was cold, clammy.

  Sam went on. “I got the driver downstairs, but we’re going to let him go. There were two eyewitnesses who were strolling back to the Marriott. They said the kid was standing shoeless on the curb, looking like he was planning to cross the street. They watched him because he looked so young to be out alone so late. Next thing they know, Daryl calmly stepped in front of the barreling truck.”

  Wordlessly, Michael closed his eyes on the mental picture. He was vaguely aware of Fallon squeezing his hand. He drew in a deep breath, then opened his eyes. “I’ll...I’ll see to the funeral.”

  “You don’t have to. I...”

  “I want to.” Michael stood. “Thanks for letting me know.”

  Sam put his glasses back on and studied the man he’d known for fifteen years, from boyhood to the present, and he ached for him. “Michael, it wasn’t your fault.”

  Dazed, Michael nodded. “I’ll be in touch.” He walked down the hall with Fallon, letting her lead him back to the van, his eyes picturing a young boy’s smashed body under an eighteen-wheeler. What had been going through that poor despairing child’s mind when he’d stepped off that curb?

  “I’ll drive,” Fallon said at the van, holding her hand out for the keys. She’d thought he would fight her, but Michael handed the keys over and slid into the passenger seat. She got behind the wheel, wondering what to say, how to comfort him. When she’d been exhausted and feeling bruised, he’d taken her to his beach house, held her and healed her. She would do no less. She put the key in the ignition.

  Michael lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling, his face filled with pain. Next to him, Fallon lay on her side and twined her fingers with his, simply letting him know she was there, willing to talk if that was what he wanted, able to be quiet if that was what he needed. She struggled with her own demons, picturing her sister facing such despair, unable to find a way out so she would just give up. She chased the image away and concentrated on Michael.

  “Once, about five years ago,” Michael began in a low, soft voice, “we lost another one of our kids in much the same hopeless way. Her name was Rebecca and she’d run away from home because she was pregnant and afraid to tell her parents. I talked with her, Paul tried to help her, we all did. But there was no getting through to her. Finally, she found someone who did a shady abortion and she bled to death.” He turned to Fallon, gripping her fingers. “I had some bad times on the street, but not like these kids do today. I never once thought of killing myself, only of surviving. Where’d I go wrong with Daryl?”

  “You didn’t. You tried, but he was beyond help, probably by the time you met him. You’re not the problem, Michael, and you’re not the solution. Aren’t you the one who told me that when I first arrived?”

  He let out a ragged sigh. “I guess so.”

  “You deal daily with troubled kids, most of whom have pretty awful lives. You have to know there will be some losses. You can’t save them all, but think of the o
nes you do save. Think of Wendy who’s recovered from losing her baby and back in school now, and Roxie who loves living at Michael’s House, and all the others. They know you care about them and it makes a big difference in their lives.”

  “Yeah, I care. That’s the problem. If you let yourself care too deeply, you can’t help people. You need to be like cops and doctors, to stay emotionally uninvolved. Then, maybe you don’t hurt so much when something like this happens.”

  She touched his face and made him look at her. “You don’t think losing a patient hurts a doctor deep inside? And did you see Sam’s face tonight? How many kids like Daryl has he seen and then had to call someone to come pick up the broken pieces?”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “That’s exactly my point. If you don’t let yourself care, then you won’t get hurt.”

  “No, you’ll just be a robot, an unfeeling machine, an automaton. Is that what you want to be?”

  His eyes were anguished. “Love’s too damn difficult, Fallon. It makes life too hard.”

  She gave him a gentle smile. “You’re wrong. Love’s the only reason for living.”

  He wrinkled his forehead, realizing he had a pounding headache. “I don’t want to think about this anymore tonight.”

  “Then don’t.” She eased his head over until his cheek rested on her breast, her hand gently massaging his temples, soothing away the headache she could see in his eyes. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

  He felt himself drifting, needing to escape. “I don’t need love, Fallon. I really don’t. I do just fine without it.”

  She rested her cheek on his soft hair. “Sure, you do.” In all her short life, she’d never known anyone who needed love more.

  Chapter 12

  The man known as Curtis was small, wily and smarmy, with little fox eyes, Fallon thought. She hung back as Sherlock introduced them. Michael stood at least a head and a half taller than this creep who supposedly had information on the bearded man passing himself off as Raymond Tompkins.