Safely Home (13 page)

And when Pastor Gates tied the sermon into the sanctity of love and marriage,
Alex sat straighter in his seat, daring anyone to think he might even be interested in such things after the debacle he’d witnessed with his mother and father.

Nope.

No way.

No how.

So what are you building that big house for?
his conscience niggled.

Shut up.

Four bedrooms. Three baths. A kitchen any woman would love and a great room that screams Christmas morning and wrapping paper.

Investment. Investment. Investment.

You planning on selling soon?

Of course not.

Soooo…..

That brings us back to family. Room to play, grow and run. The very things you were never able to do.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose, thwarting the mental images with pain therapy.

His mother leaned in. “Headache? You okay?”

“Fine,” he whispered. “Sinuses are acting up.”

She nodded, commiserative. Moisture-laden chill
ed nights bothered a lot of people, so Alex knew the excuse would work. He’d have to talk with God about outright lying in church a little later in the day.

And were those alligator pumps she was wearing?

They were, even though he promised himself not to peek.

Alligator pumps, polka dot underwear, tiny pink bows…

An internal thunk to the head brought his attention back to Pastor Gates. The older man offered a smile of understanding, making Alex want to sink out of sight like an errant adolescent.

Why her?

Why now?

Why…

Anything?

He was doing fine on his own, making a good living, unfettered, unbound
.

Unfulfilled.

Alex frowned at the unwelcome thought. Hadn’t he witnessed enough bad marriages over the years? Even in their small town, divorce was too much the norm. Just look at Lindi and Mac, the latest in a chain of national statistics.

The rea
lization that he never saw Lindi and Mac grace the doors of the church hit him. Always too busy, too tied up in day-to-day to set aside a few hours on a Sunday morning, get the boys ready, trek into town.

His eyes strayed right once more.

Last week Cress had looked perturbed. Restive.

Not today. Something in the words, the music, the feel of the old church soothed her today.
Alex found himself thankful for that, wanting to chase the edgy look from her eyes, unfurrow her brow. Inspire her smile.

And maybe, just maybe, some more of those kisses because if what Pastor
Gates was selling about marital love rang true, kissing Cress Dietrich senseless could easily make the short list.

Someone cleared her throat nearby.

He turned slightly.

Audra, grinning, her smile too knowing.

He sent her a scolding look, but couldn’t hold the frown. Returning her smile, he let his gaze rest on Cress once more, then shifted back to Audra with a ‘what on earth am I thinking?’ expression.

She winked, surreptitious, her little smile offering support.

Great.

Her easy manner shouted approval when what he really wanted was for someone to bonk him over the head and explain in words of three syllables or less why this was a terrible, horribl
e, no good, very bad idea.

Because he was starting to realize that on his own, he was half-ready to run forward full tilt and let the chips fall where they may, a m
ove he’d never expected. It had started the morning he’d found her on Gran’s floor, frustrated and embarrassed over her lack of mobility, an inner fragility softening the anger she projected.

But there was Gran to protect. Her image, her marriage, her husband, Cress’s grandfather. How could he juggle the secrets he held close and risk a relationship with Cress?

And why was he even considering such a thing? She was angry and taut, tart and sharp-tongued, quick with the smack-down when things didn’t go her way.

But…

He saw the softer side of Cress, the woman within, the girl seeking her own way in her own time. At the moment he’d have been just as happy to have remained clueless, to go blindly along ignoring her thrusts and jabs, and living his quiet life as a successful small town entrepreneur.

He sighed.

No such luck.

Chapter Eleven

Cress’s
conscience niggled all the while she played in Audra’s paddock later, the young gelding tempted by her ease, her treats.

“That’s it, old man,” she crooned as he
casually accepted the sugar cube from the flat of her hand, his eyes averted as if pretending she weren’t there. “Whatever it takes, big guy.”

He nodded understanding, ears up, gaze trained out, wondering what? How he got here? Why his leg hurt? What he could have done differently?

She and the horse were on the same page.

He accepted the lead she snapped into place and didn’t balk when she offered to walk him.

Walking him gave her time to think. Images of the little boy in the local grocery nudged her. Who was he? What lay behind the old lady’s gruff treatment? Her disregard for the boy said the attitude was pervasive, not situational, which meant she wasn’t simply disciplining a kid who’d misbehaved. Those short minutes told Cress the kid was most likely living a life of want and need, invisible. Or was she simply a frustrated detective, hunting for things that didn’t exist?

Her gut said no and Cress’s gut was known to be
spot on. Still, she was under stress and that could cause problems in timing, in perception. She swept her leg a frustrated glance. She’d found that out first-hand.

But what if something was really wrong with the
situation? What if her instincts proved true? Then someone needed to figure it out, the sooner the better.

Thoughts of past cases came to mind, stolen children kept captive at the hands of predators for illicit use. Rarely did those children turn up alive, but every once in a while
—

She headed for her car once the horse was settled. Audra caught her on the way out.

“He looks more peaceful.”

Cress nodded.

“So do you.”

“My leg’s feeling better.”

“Mm hmm.”

“And Gran was calmer today. After church, anyway.”

“You looked great in church. Nice dress.”

“Sabotaged.”

“How so?”

“Gran was washing my good pants.”

Audra’s smile widened. “Perfect timing.”

Cress turned. “You think she did it on purpose?” At Audra’s grin, Cress scowled. “Of course she did. So I’d wear the freakin’ dress.”

“But you looked good.”

“Who cares?” Cress mustered up the most bravado she could.

Not enough. Audra angled her gaze, laughing. “Alex, for one.”

“In a pig’s eye.”

“Right.” Audra made a face at her and swept the B&B a quick look. “You think the house doesn’t have windows? That I missed the whole lip-lock he put on you the other day?”

“Doesn’t anyone in this town mind their own business?”

“Not when it’s in my back yard,” Audra retorted. “I mean, seriously, girl, if you wanted discreet, the paddock wasn’t it. So…” she moved in, softening her voice. “How was it?”

Cress stared at the horse, huffed a breath of indignation, then caved. “Amazing.
Totally, absolutely, positively amazing. The jerk.”

Audra grinned. “Really?”

“Indubitably.”

“Oh, man. Now you have to stay.”

“Now I have to heal quick and go,” Cress corrected her. “There’s nothing for me here, Audra. No job, the farm’s gone.”

“You have family and friends. And
Alex. And there are jobs here. Just not with the MPD.”

The image of
Cruz Westmore in his uniform crossed Cress’s mind. And the sheriff’s department, a strong, tried and true branch of police work.

Then the sound of that bullet cracked through her mental image, making her realize that until she could move beyond that, she had no business in police work anywhere.

“Think about it. Please.” Audra bumped her shoulder into Cress’s. “I love having you here.”

“Really?” Cress didn’t mean to let the surprise show, but it did.

Audra sighed and gave her a look of exasperation. “You’re such a dolt, Cress. Of course I do. That’s what sisters are for. They love you even when you’re grouchy, grumpy, grumbly…”

“Witchy and self-absorbed.”

“Exactly. Sisters forgive and forget.”

“Because?”

“Next time it will be our turn,” Audra assured her.

Cress grinned. Audra was never grouchy or grumbly. Least of all witchy. But… “Nice of you to say. Although I take more than my share of turns lately.”

Audra smiled and nudged her again as they headed toward Cress’s car. “Always did. That’s why I’m the nice one. But I learn a lot from your strength, so it’s all good. What are you planning to do back at Gran’s? I know she’s out for the afternoon with the Dumereses.”

“R
esearch on my laptop. Something that keeps tweaking me.”

“Something that isn’t
Alex, from the all-business look in your eye.”

Cress acknowledged that with a nod as she climbed into the low-slung car. “Exactly. And we’re going to let that whole
Alex business slide under the radar, aren’t we, sis?”

Audra’s laugh belied her words. “Right. Of course. Got it.” She shut Cress’s door and nodded in the direction of the horse. “See you tomorrow. And thanks.”

Cress wasn’t stupid. She knew her sister engineered the horse time to help Cress under the guise of helping herself.

And she loved her for it. “I’ll be here. Love you.”

The words deepened Audra’s smile. “Love you too.”

*

When she got back to the house she called in a favor from a friend on the Minneapolis force. “Felix? It’s Cress. I need you to run a check for me. Quietly.”

“You doin’ okay? Getting better? We miss you here.”

His words carried the sincerity of a true, fellow cop. “Still healing, but thanks for asking.” She gave him the plate number and the name she’d gotten from the sheriff’s department. Felix called back within the hour. “No kids of record. No family in the area. A loner. I’m sending you a pic.”

Cress stared at the
image, indecisive. “It could be, but I’m not certain. This woman seemed shorter and more hunched, and twenty-some years makes a difference. I’m looking beyond the difference in clothing, but can’t say yes or no.”

“The picture’s not the greatest,” Felix noted. “No
school records on the kid?”

“
None. Homeschooled.”

“Updated? Are they doing assessments and evaluations?”

“Kid does the test at home, they send it in and it gets graded then applied to his record.”

“So no one knows if the kid is really
doing the tests, right?”

“Felix, you know how things a
re with home-schoolers these days. No one wants to step on toes and end up on the front pages of the paper for infringing on individual rights.”

“You need a way in. To see the kid.”

“Or I need to be able to find out who the kid is. Kids don’t change that quick. He’s only seven or eight. Send me everything you can find about a missing kid the past few years. Male, age five and up.”

“Anywhere?”

“Let’s start in the Midwest. These guys like their comfort zones. More often than not they hide in plain sight. We’ve seen it happen time and again, haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“So we stay in the mid-section. See what comes up. Go back three years. No, make it four.”

“Making the kid pre-school age.”

“Or kindergarten. In that area. No one seems to know when the kid appeared or how long he’s been around.”

“I’m hoping
the old gal’s legit and just a bit cranky.”

“I’d love that to be true.” Cress stared at the wall and drummed a finger against the laptop base. “But
I’m not banking on it.”

“And I never bet against you.” Felix paused a moment, keys tapping in the background. “All right, I’m on it. I’ll get back to you ASAP.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.
Take care of yourself.”

Something in his voice told Cress he knew too much. That didn’t surprise her but it did depress her. The idea that more of the force knew what she’d done, what she’d been willing to put up with?

A total downer.

But you’re not that girl anymore
, the inner voice chided.
Check out that mirror again, chickie. A new day is dawning.

Memories of
Alex’s appreciative looks, her reflected image, her features softened with time spent home…

Maybe she wasn’t that girl. Maybe she’d learned a valuable lesson. But part of her still felt like a total loser and Cress had no clue how to put that to rest. She cleared her throat. “I will Felix. You too.”

Quiet descended as she disconnected the phone. The computer light winked an invitation to her, but she’d be smarter to let Felix instigate the search. He had access to programs she couldn’t navigate from home.

But the sudden quiet made her antsy.

She stood and headed toward the back door. Shep raised his head and thumped his tail. “You want a walk, old man?”

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She smiled and opened the door. “Let’s get you past your fencing unit and take a walk. Sound good?”

Shep pushed up, his tail
wagging an enthusiasm he didn’t often show anymore, but Cress understood. The prospect of walking in the late afternoon sun made her feel pretty much the same.

She grabbed a thin hoodie from a hook and shrugged into it, then led Shep to the car. The sun was still warm but an approaching low had rain predicted. Cooling temperatures.
Once she’d passed the parameters of the invisible fencing system, she parked the car, climbed out and called Shep’s name.

He looked vaguely irritated that he’d no more than found a comfortable position and she was routing him off the soft seat.

“I know, I know, it doesn’t seem sensible to you, old man, but that’s how they do it. Can’t walk you over the line. Come on.”

Shep acquiesced with a yawn and a shoulder roll, looking a bit gimpy as he climbed out of the car. Yawning once more, he gazed around, the apathetic look waxing into something more youthful and energetic.

As if he sensed…

Freedom.

The dog took off like a shot, headed for town.

Cress took off after him.

Shep dodged right.

So did Cress.

He went up.

Cress followed.

Shep made an abrupt left turn into Alex’s upscale development.

Cress bit back really bad words she wanted to say. What was acceptable from cops on the streets of Minneapolis wasn’t considered good manners in Watkins Ridge.

She chased up the winding sidewalk, deploring her leg and the ascent. The people up here probably weren’t big on old farm dogs trekking up their walks, dancing in the flower beds or peeing on their grass.

“Shep!”

He paid her no mind, leg cocked, intent on watering a half-dead azalea bush.

“Shoo, you! Shoo!”  A woman came running from the house, brandishing a fly swatter in defense of the azalea.

“Shep, come!”

Shep did no such thing.

The woman glared at Cress, the fly swatter aloft. “Is that your dog?”

Duh.
Cress bit her tongue.

Shep took off down the street, barking frantically.

Cress offered the woman a friendly shrug, a commiserative look and shouted, “My grandma’s dog. The old rascal.”

The old rascal?

Where on earth had that come from?

Still barking, Shep headed deeper into the track,
black asphalt climbing the rolling hill that had been a cornfield when Cress was a girl.

A couple of folks headed out to check the commotion. They must have made quite a sight, the old dog
maintaining a thirty-pace lead, Cress puffing behind, yelling commands the dog ignored.

When Cress was pretty sure her lungs would explode, Shep raced up a driveway, barking up a storm, tongue lolling, feet
braced, as if he’d just treed …

Alex
.

Alex Westmore
strode out of the house as if he owned it, unperturbed, unflappable. A woman followed, her hair caught up in a clip, blonde wisps of curl framing a pretty face, every smidge of make-up in place. She grabbed Alex’s hand, nodded toward Cress and sent the dog a look of disbelief, as if big ol’ ugly dogs like that didn’t dare invade her pristine world of faux brick.

Which made Cress hope the dog peed on something relatively new and quite valuable. The blonde’s shoes,
perhaps?

But then the blonde laughed, sank to her knees and gave Shep a good long petting instead of the scolding he richly deserved.