Knowing You (30 page)

“And what if she's enjoying the drive? Enjoying being on a trip?”

Stevie sucked in a long, deep breath and let it out in a slow slide of frustration. “I hope she is. But the point of all this is, it's my fault.”

“Bullshit.”

“It is, Paul.” She pulled her hand free of his and clenched her own together until her knuckles whitened and her fingers cramped. “If I'd just stayed out of her life entirely, then she'd be safe at home with her friends. But no. I had to go running in. Didn't stop to question. Wonder if it was the right thing to do. No.”
She shook her head, unclenched her hands, and scooped them through her hair, scraping it back tight across her scalp. “I didn't even bother to wonder if she'd want or need a sister. I was only thinking about myself. I wanted to…” she took another breath and the last word shuddered from her,
“help.”

“Well, yeah,” Paul growled, clearly disgusted, “there's an act worthy of a firing squad. Good call.”

“She was
happy
, Paul.” Stevie'd been thinking of little else for the last half hour. As the signposts flashed by with bright bursts of light, only to fade into darkness as Paul's car hurtled past, she'd finally realized that Debbie's situation could only be blamed on
her
, Stevie. “Like you said the first time I told you about her. She had a nice life, a good home, a job she loved. And what did
I
do?” she asked, not really wanting an answer. “I rushed in like the Tooth Fairy or something and threw her whole life into turmoil. Hell, I made her
cry
the first time we met.”

“Jesus, Stevie,” Paul interrupted when she slowed down for breath, “climb down off your own back.”

“I can't. It's because of me that Debbie's lost and we're running around in the dark, chasing Death on the freeway.”

“Thanks for your confidence in my driving,” he noted as he darted in between two slow-moving cars to gain another car length.

She hissed in a breath at the maneuver. “And what if the police in San Francisco miss her? What if she slips past them without being noticed?”

“She won't.”

“But what if?”

He reached for his phone and tossed it to her, never taking his gaze from the iridescent lane markers. “Call Carla. Put her on alert. If Debbie gets past the police, we may need her and Abbey to do their search thing.”

“A search? In San Francisco? Can you say ‘needle in a haystack'?”

His jaw tightened. “If the needle's there, we'll find it.”

“Oh God.”

“For chrissakes, Stevie, stop rushing out to meet Trouble. Wait for it to find you, huh?” He punched the accelerator and zipped around a slow-moving SUV. “We're gonna make it. We'll beat her there and everything'll be good.”

She wanted to believe. She really did. Only the thought of Debbie alone in a big city absolutely terrified her. But her hero was driving. Moving in and out of traffic with the aplomb of a guy working his way through a crowded dance floor. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe they
would
beat the bus in. Maybe she should do like he said and just relax—“Brake lights!”

She shouted the words the instant her brain picked up on the fact that ahead of them, cars were stopped dead.

Seconds stretched into lifetimes.

Paul slammed on the brakes and a high-pitched scream rose up from the tires as they grabbed at the asphalt. The back end of the 4Runner swung to the left, but Paul fought the steering wheel to correct the slide. The car shuddered to a stop behind a white Toyota with inches to spare. Paul's gaze shot to the rearview mirror and his viselike grip on the steering wheel relaxed a bit as he saw the guy behind him slow to a safe stop.

A sea of red brake lights swam in front of them. The freeway was backed up and everyone on it looked like they were in a parking lot, fighting to get out.

“Must be an accident up ahead,” he muttered, and slapped his hand against the leather-wrapped wheel. “We're gonna be here awhile.”

So much for beating the bus into the city. Stevie shivered, took a deep breath, blew it out again, then said, “What was that about waiting for Trouble to find me?”

He slanted her a look, scowled, and said, “Call Carla. Put her on alert.”

Stevie's fingers curled around the phone. She stared down at the softly glowing buttons for a long minute, then stabbed out Carla's phone number. And while the phone rang, she sent up a silent prayer, asking any angels currently not doing anything special to fly over that bus to guard it.

And Debbie.

*   *   *

They were more than an hour late. The bus had arrived, disgorged its passengers, and left again on another run. Dozens of people walked in and out of the terminal, all of them in a hurry and none of them Debbie.

Stevie jumped off the escalator on the third floor and scanned what she could see of the place. The walls were gray on the bottom, white at the top, and crisp, clean navy blue trim finished it off. The station itself was neat and clean and not very big, considering the size of the city it served.

She and Paul turned right, checked out the few people crowded around the snack bar, then continued on into the main lobby area. At least sixty scrolled metal
chairs—the kind that looked lovely but were uncomfortable to sit in for very long—were sprinkled across the floor and a few vending machines lined against the far wall.

Dozens of people milled around, dragging suitcases and cocking their heads in an effort to understand the disembodied voice coming across the loudspeaker system.

Stevie's gaze swept the room and noted with dismay that there were five exit doors leading from the lobby and Debbie might have taken any of them.

“Now what?” She said it out loud, though she hadn't really meant to. Stevie knew darn well what was next. Turn the place upside down until they found her sister.

Paul's thoughts were right on the same track. “Let's talk to one of the ticket clerks, see what we can find out.”

There were five ticket windows lining the counter. They picked one and Stevie smiled at the friendly-looking blonde behind the glass. “Can you help me?” she said.

“I can try,” the woman answered, flicking a glance at Paul. “What do you need?”

“My name is Stevie Ryan. I'm here looking for my sister, Debbie Harris. She's eighteen, she has Down's syndrome, and she came in on the bus from Monterey. Do you know—”

“It's okay.” The blonde smiled as she interrupted. “She's safe. We got word from the San Francisco P.D. and we intercepted her when she got off the bus.”

“Oh, thank God,” Stevie muttered, and collapsed against the counter.

“She's okay?” Paul asked.

“She's fine,” the woman assured him, with a worried look at Stevie. “When someone needs help, we usually bring them back here, behind the counter. And we keep them here until we either find their people or get word from the police. My supervisor alerted security and they came up to get her. She's there now.”

“Where?” Stevie asked.

The kind blonde pointed. “Take the elevator down to the first floor and follow the signs.”

“Thanks,” Paul said as they headed off again.

*   *   *

Downstairs, their identification was checked out and then they were following a security officer to a small office. The man accompanying them was talking, but Stevie barely heard him.

“San Francisco P.D. said we were to hold the girl here until you arrived. She's been in the security office since Greyhound alerted us of her arrival. Tried to get her something to eat, but she won't talk to anybody. All she'll do is cry.”

“It's okay,” Paul said. “We appreciate the help.”

“We do,” Stevie added, but all she could think was, Debbie's crying. She was probably terrified by now at how her little adventure had ended up. But Stevie was so relieved, it was hard to stay upright. Her legs seemed to move anyway, though, despite the jelly in her knees.

“She's in there,” the big man beside them said, nodding to a closed door.

“Thanks.” Paul opened the door and the first thing Stevie heard was her sister. Crying.

Debbie's eyes were red-rimmed and her features
were twisted in a miserable scowl as she hugged herself and wailed like … well, like a lost child.

“Debbie.”
She said it like a grateful prayer, but her whisper was heard.

“Stevie!” The girl lifted tear-rimmed, miserable eyes to her and instantly, happiness washed across her broad features. Then she shot out of her chair and hurtled toward her big sister.

Stevie caught her and only swayed slightly at the impact of her sister's body against hers. Relief staggered her. Debbie was safe. And healthy. Oh, good. Very good.
Thank you, thank you
, she prayed silently. How was it possible? she wondered wildly while she soothed Debbie's heartfelt sobs. She'd known her sister such a short time and already the girl was a huge part of her heart. How did that happen so quickly? So completely?

Was it just blood calling to blood? She'd had so little real experience with
family
, she couldn't be sure. But the Candellanos had this … connection with one another. Something she'd always envied. Now that she'd found it, too, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep it. Pulling back, she looked at her sister's red-rimmed eyes and felt her heart turn over.

Sniffing, Debbie huffed in a breath. “I came to see you, but the bus went to the wrong place.”

“I know, sweetie, it's okay now.”

“And then a p'liceman came, but he didn't take me to jail.”

“Good. I'm glad.”

“And the lady upstairs gave me candy.”

Smiling, Stevie listened as Debbie rattled on for a
few more minutes, recounting her adventures but never letting go of her sister.

“I wasn't supposed to talk to anybody 'cause they're strangers, but they kept talking to me and then a p'lice-man told me that you were coming, but you didn't come and now I'm really tired, Stevie, and I wanna go home, 'kay?” She frowned and looked over Stevie's shoulder. “Who's that man?”

Without even turning around to look, she knew it was Paul. She could have sensed him there even if she'd been blindfolded.

“That's Paul,” she said. “He's my …
friend
. And he came to help me take you home, all right?”

Debbie grinned, then turned her gaze back to Stevie. “Now? 'Cause I wanna go home now. I wanna tell Margie I'm okay and then I wanna sleep in my bed and go to work and then I don't wanna be here anymore and can we go now?”

Words jumbled together into one long, drawn-out sentence filled with longing and misery and relief, and rather than try to sort them all out, Stevie just nodded. When Debbie hugged her again, burying her wet face in the curve of her sister's neck, Stevie looked over her shoulder to Paul, smiling at her. His gaze slammed into hers and Stevie knew that though this little episode had had a happy ending, Trouble had found her again already.

She was in love.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I
T WAS A QUIET
ride home.

Stevie phoned Carla and then Tony to thank them and let them both know everything was fine. Debbie called Margie to let her know she was safe and on the way back. Then satisfied and completely relaxed, the girl settled into the backseat and fell asleep. And in the quiet dark of the car, Stevie was too overwhelmed with her new realization to even talk to the man beside her.

What could she say?

Thanks for saving my sister, and by the way, I love you?

No. God, it sounded like a badly written play.

Besides, she couldn't
love
Paul.

That way led to disaster.

The Candellanos rose up in her mind. One after the other, their faces swam before her tired eyes, and each of them looked disapproving.

Big surprise.

God, what had she gotten herself into? How had this
happened? How had she allowed herself to fall in love with her best friend? And how in the hell was she going to get out of this unscathed?

Answer: She wasn't.

No matter what she did, how she handled this, there was going to be pain. If she stopped seeing him altogether, there would be the misery of losing not only her best friend, but also the man she loved. If she continued to see him, there would be the misery of being with her best friend and being unable to tell him that she loved him—because if she
did
tell him how she felt, then she would lose the rest of his family. Not to mention the fact that he might not
care
if she loved him.

Her head pounded in time with the thump of the car tires riding across the stand-up lane markers on the freeway. The hum of the wheels on the asphalt seemed to be just the right frequency to drive nails through her brain.

“Tired?” Paul asked. “Exhausted,” she said.

“Try to sleep. It's another hour or so to home.”

“Right.” She swallowed hard, turned her head on the seat rest until she was looking at him, and then, through slitted eyes, studied his profile in the darkness. Strong, quiet, responsible Paul. The man she loved. The man she couldn't have. The man who—No. Try to sleep, she told herself.

If she was lucky, her brain would shut off and she wouldn't even dream.

*   *   *

After dropping Debbie off with promises of e-mail and a nice long visit in a week or so, Paul and Stevie were back on the freeway headed for Chandler.

With Stevie asleep in the seat beside him, Paul blinked, rubbed his aching eyes, then shook his head to wake himself up. It had been a long night and he was ready to sleep for a day or two. Hell, the freeway was starting to blur and that wasn't good. He took the exit for his place. Stevie didn't wake up until he'd parked the car in his driveway.