Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (30 page)

23

I
can’t thank you enough for taking me home, Logan—I feel like such a ninny.” Caitlyn picked at her nails in the front seat of Logan’s black Mercedes Phaeton, gaze fixed on the lit tower of the Ferry Building at the far end of Market. She thought of poor, sweet Maddie, cheeks burnished with fever and eyes rimmed with tears over missing the party, and guilt slashed anew. “I should have stayed home like originally planned.”

“And miss one daughter’s birthday party while another sleeps the night away?” Logan grunted. “The little sweetheart is probably out cold, Cait, and you’re worrying for nothing.”

“I hope so . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I know so, Mrs. McClare, so relax, all right? I told Allison to bring the cake and presents along when they’re ready to head home.” He reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze, an action that endeared Logan McClare to her all the more. An endearment that seemed to be growing of late, she suddenly realized, a situation that didn’t alarm quite like before.

“Thank you,” she whispered, giving his hand a gentle press back. She studied his handsome profile, amazed at how much stronger she felt with him by her side. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me—I’ve been edgy all evening.”

“Oh, really? Haven’t noticed,” he said with a sideways grin. “Come on, Cait—a
bully
?”

She nibbled the edge of her smile, her look sheepish at best. “Well, you do tend that way at times. Just look how you treated poor Andrew last week when he stopped by with his report.”

Logan scowled, a natural reflex where Andrew Turner was concerned. Cait stifled the urge to smile. There certainly was no love lost between Logan and his former best friend from college days, especially now that Andrew dropped by more often for Vigilance Committee business. As a dedicated board member, it appeared he took the role as seriously as he did that of district attorney, his passion to clean up the Coast seemingly as strong as hers. Cait bit the edge of her lip. A “passion” that appeared to arouse jealousy in Logan. Which was not all that unfounded, she realized, given Andrew’s increasing flirtations and repeated requests to take her out to dinner. She expelled a quiet sigh. But she had no more interest in becoming romantically involved with Andrew Turner than she did with Logan McClare. Her gaze flicked to the hard line of Logan’s jaw, now clamped as always when Andrew’s name came up. Her committee relationship with Andrew was definitely becoming more difficult given the intimate friendship she was developing with the man beside her, upon whom she seemed to depend more and more.

He shot her a look that could have singed the satin cloak on her shoulders . . . or Andrew Turner’s eyebrows had the poor man been present. “Blast it, Cait, why do you give that rogue license to come by whenever he wants? I guarantee board business is not all he has on his mind.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Logan,” she said with soft chuckle. “Andrew Turner is as devoted to the cause of cleaning up the Coast as you and I, and as far as your insinuation that Mr. Turner is a
rogue, I’ve seen no evidence thus far.” She tilted her head, hoping to disarm him with a tease. “But even if I had, if that were cause to ban the man from my house, I’m afraid you might find the locks changed as well, Mr. McClare.”

His gaze narrowed. “Hardly—I’ve abdicated the title to him in case you haven’t been paying attention.”

Her smile turned tender. “As a matter of fact I have, and I admit, it’s quite becoming.”

“Good,” he said with a mock frown. “I worried it may have escaped your notice.”

“Nothing escapes my notice where you are concerned, sir, which brings us back to my original comment. You have to admit—you tend to bully when family is involved.”

His grin took a slant. “Last time I studied the law, it wasn’t a crime to protect your family, Mrs. McClare. If it were, you and I might well be sharing a cell.”

Heat dusted her cheeks at the very thought of her and Logan sharing anything that confined them to close quarters. She quickly averted her gaze to Lotta’s Fountain as they passed by, the cast-iron pillar drinking fountain donated by entertainer Lotta Crabtree causing her to lick her parched lips. “And you
are
rather hard on poor Nick.”

The smile on his face slid into a scowl. “ ‘Poor Nick’ is right. The man’s almost as penniless as the bums he investigates on the Coast, which is too reminiscent of Luepke to suit, not to mention that other freeloader Allison almost married.”

Caitlyn sighed, Logan’s concern for her daughter at odds with her growing affection for Nick. “Honestly, I’ve gotten to know Nick fairly well these last few months, and I have to say I like the man. But more importantly, Allison likes him as well—a lot.”

“We all liked Roger Luepke too, if you recall, and the man
was as phony as the warrants Henry Meiggs stole to finance the wharf.”

“I suppose . . .” Her gaze trailed out her window as Logan shifted lanes to pass a clattering milk wagon before he signaled a right turn on Powell. “But Miss Penny thinks the sun sets and rises on Nick, and I certainly trust her judgment on people.”

Logan shot her a hard glance before he turned onto her street. “Need I remind you Luepke had no bigger advocate than Monsignor Milton? There are some men who could fool the Pope himself, and I have a gut feeling Barone may be one.”

Limbs paralyzed in her seat, Cait wasn’t listening as her eyes locked on a patrol wagon outside her home halfway up Nob Hill. Her hand flew to her mouth to squelch a tiny cry. “Logan—
hurry
—something’s wrong!”

Gaze flicking up to her house, Logan wasted no time, nearly colliding with a cable car before rounding Caitlyn’s corner on two wheels. He ground to a stop behind the police wagon and jumped out, rushing to assist Cait who almost leapt into his arms.

“Oh, Logan, if anything happened . . .” Her voice trembled as much as her legs as she bolted up the brick steps to the marble portico, hands shaking on the brass knob when she hurled the door wide. “Rosie? Hadley?” She rushed into the foyer, panic in her cry.

“Oh, Miss Cait!” Rosie jumped up from the sofa with a limp handkerchief in hand, nearly toppling Caitlyn with a fierce embrace. The warmth of Logan’s hand steadied Caitlyn from behind as Rosie sobbed in her arms. “Maddie’s gone, and we can’t find her anywhere.”

All blood drained from Caitlyn’s face as she teetered, close to fainting dead away if Logan hadn’t braced her from behind. She tried to speak, but fear stole the sound from her throat.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” Logan snapped.

Rosie looked up, face blotchy from tears, unconcerned for once with her enmity toward Logan. “Sh-she was upset when Miss C-Cait left for the party and tried to f-follow her out the door. I had to run after the little m-mite and rock her t-till she fell asleep, putting her down around six. But when I checked on her not an hour ago, she w-wasn’t in her bed . . .”

“Have you searched the house—under her bed, in her closet?” Logan gripped Rosie’s arms, voice steady but manner tense.

Hadley stepped forward, his dignified demeanor intact except for an abundance of worry lines etched in his brow. “Yes, sir, both Mrs. O’Brien and I scoured the house top to bottom to no avail, so we called the police. Two officers are searching upstairs this very moment.”

Caitlyn could barely breathe, visions of Maddie’s tear-swollen face choking her air. She grappled for Logan’s hand, unable to stop her nails from gouging his palm. “Oh, Logan,” she rasped, “what are we going to do?”

He surrounded her with strong arms, steadying her body with a vise hold and rock-steady tone. “We’re going to remain calm and rational, Cait, and think this through, step by step. She’s a little girl of six, for heaven’s sake—she can’t have gone far. We’ll find her.” Her ragged breathing slowed as he kneaded her back, the confidence in his voice vibrating in her ear as her head lay against his chest. “Hadley, I assume you searched every room including the attic and cellar, calling Maddie loudly as you did so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I take it all doors were locked except for the front entrance, so did you search outside, out back, at the neighbors?”

“Everywhere, sir,” Hadley said, his response bearing the faintest hint of a waver.

“And none of the neighbors saw her, heard anything at all?”

“No, sir, not one, but I only queried a house or two. And Mrs. O’Brien and I were in the kitchen finishing chores, so neither of us recall hearing anything amiss.”

Logan’s voice echoed in the foyer, taut with authority. “Rosie, I want you to brew a large pot of chamomile tea with mint for Miss Cait, all right? Hadley, I need you to go house-to-house on both California and Powell to ask if anyone has seen Maddie. See if they saw anything suspicious in the area, then give them Cait’s number to call should any information come to light.”

“Yes, sir,” Rosie and Hadley said in unison, darting off to their respective duties.

“Oh, Logan . . .” Caitlyn sobbed, and Logan bundled her close. “We’ll find her, Cait, I feel it in my bones, and she
will
be all right, trust me.”

Trust him?
Her heart lurched at the thought of Maddie in harm’s way, but oh, how she wanted to trust that Logan was right!

No, trust
Me.
The thought, so soft and so still in the midst of her fear, immediately calmed like nothing ever could—not trust in the man who held her now or the protective warmth of his embrace. Her eyes sank closed as she exhaled a frail breath, knowing full well her trust would be far better spent in the hands of God rather than in the arms of Logan. Breathing in the sweet breath of hope, she gently pushed him away, palms resting on his gray silken waistcoat while she gazed into worried eyes very nearly the same color. “Logan, will you . . . pray with me?”

———

Pray?
He stared, prayer the very last thing on the long list of steps his proficient mind told him to do. He needed to grill the police for information and call in reinforcements to widen the
search. There was Cait to settle down and an unsuspecting family who would soon walk in that door, devastated by the news that one of their own was missing. He had a house to tear apart, brick by brick if necessary, to find a little girl who held his heart in the very palm of her tiny hand—all the while his pulse pounded and sweat slicked the back of his collar. And Cait wanted him to
pray
? The man she accused in Napa of having little or no faith? And to the very God who’d denied his many pleas for a second chance with the woman who now invoked His name? He swallowed hard, recognizing that for all his valiant composure, it was Cait’s eyes that reflected a peace he desperately longed to have. Drawing in an unsteady breath, he gripped his hands over hers as they lay on his chest and gave a short nod.

Her words seared him as much as the touch of her palms as she closed her eyes, brow furrowed in pain and tears glazing her skin. “Oh, God, our hearts are breaking—please keep Maddie safe and please help us to find her. We ask for Your guidance to where she might be and Your holy wisdom to know what to do. Please, God—bring her back to me—to us—
please
.”

Head bowed, Logan spotted a surge of gray out of the corner of his eye when two uniformed officers appeared at the top of the staircase and made their way down . . .
without
Maddie. Squeezing Cait’s hand, he approached as they descended into the foyer, offering a handshake. “Gentlemen, I’m Logan McClare, Maddie’s uncle, and this is Caitlyn McClare, her mother. Have you uncovered anything to help us find her?”

The officers shook Logan’s hand and apprised him of the little they knew about Maddie’s disappearance. With somber faces, they assured him they would file their report and requisition a foot search through adjoining neighborhoods once they interviewed the immediate neighbors.

“Ma’am,” one officer said, addressing Caitlyn, “is your daughter prone to running away or ever leaving the house?”

Caitlyn shuddered, and Logan shored her up with a protective arm around her back, causing her to lean into his embrace as if desperate for the strength he offered. “No, Officer,” she whispered, her voice steadier than her body, which trembled within his hold. “Maddie is only six and a good girl who has never caused us a moment of worry before this.”