When Wishes Collide (6 page)

Josh glanced up at him in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"Because I ran into the chef from Vincenzo's, Adrianna Cavello. She told me she went into the alley to give some kids pizza. That's why she wasn't in the restaurant during the robbery. And she identified these children as being the ones she spoke to."

"Hold on. She didn't say she saw anyone in the alley when I interviewed her," Josh replied with a frown. "And where did you talk to her?"

"By the fountain near Vincenzo's. I showed her the photo, and she identified the kids. She also said that the youngest girl bore a resemblance to Stephanie." He paced around the desk, adrenaline surging through his veins.

Ever since he'd talked to Adrianna, he'd felt renewed energy. He'd spent an hour searching the streets around the fountain, and while he'd come up empty, he still felt more hope than he had in a long time. "This is the break I've been looking for, Josh. We find the kids, and I think we find Stephanie."

Josh didn't appear convinced.
 
 

"What?" Wyatt demanded. "You've got something to say – say it."

"You don't know the youngest girl is Stephanie. The photo is blurry. And why would she be running around San Francisco late at night with two other kids? It doesn't make sense, Wyatt."

"It may not make sense, but it's all I have. I want to get this photo out to every officer in the department. Even if Stephanie isn't one of the children, these kids may be witnesses to the robbery and homicide at Vincenzo's."

"All right. Hang on a second." Josh flipped through a file on his desk. He ran his finger down the page. "Here it is. When I interviewed Adrianna, she said she was in the alley by the garbage bin when the shots rang out. She didn't mention anyone else. I assumed she was taking out the trash." He shook his head, annoyance in his eyes. "I should have asked more questions, Wyatt. She was so traumatized when I first interviewed her, I couldn't get much out of her. The second time we spoke, she was still fuzzy on the details. But I should have pressed harder."

"She should have volunteered the information," he said with a frown, wondering why Adrianna hadn't included the children in her statement. Had she been trying to protect them? But she hadn't been concerned enough about their welfare to call for help when they first showed up at the restaurant.

The click of heels lifted his gaze from Josh to the sparkling, irritated green eyes of his partner, Pamela Baker.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked. "You told me you'd be back an hour ago."

"I have a lead on Stephanie," he said.

She immediately softened. "Seriously? What is it? Can I help?"

"Josh will fill you in. I need to make some calls.
 
I'm sorry I bailed on you today."

She waved away his apology. "It's fine. I was just annoyed you left me to do all the paperwork on the Delgado case. I didn't realize something more important had come up. You should have told me."

"I wanted to check things out first." While Josh was filling Pamela in, he headed back to his desk. His first call was to a friend at Human Services. Adrianna might not have thought to call for help when she talked to the kids, but maybe someone else had.
 
 

Adrianna stared at the foil containers of food sitting on her kitchen counter. The aroma made her mouth water and also triggered a lot of memories, some beautiful, some painful.

As a child, she'd grown up hungry. She'd gotten used to an ache in her stomach that never quite went away. Food had always been a focus for her – how to get it, how to pay for it, how to stretch noodles into a full meal, how to make sure she had something for the next day. Like the three children who had come to her in the alley behind Vincenzo's, she had also had to scrounge for food at the back door of restaurants or supermarkets.

Wyatt Randall had wanted to know why she hadn't called the police. Will and Lindsay had asked her the same question. But she'd felt a connection to those kids, and when Ben had pleaded with her not to say anything, she'd heard her younger self making that same plea.

But she should have been thinking like an adult instead of like a scared twelve-year-old girl. She should have contacted someone to take the children in. Or at the very least, she should have asked more questions. Should have, could have … guilt was getting her nowhere.

Opening the first container of spaghetti, she pulled a fork from the drawer and twirled the long strands of pasta around it. Her first taste was good, but not great, she thought with a frown, wondering what was missing. She took several more bites. The flavors were close but not quite there. Turning to the mushroom pizza next, she had the same feeling, and also with the lasagna and the cannelloni. The flavors were hinted at, but they weren't bold, or magical.

Setting down her fork, she stared at the containers. She wanted to fix the dishes, to add seasoning, to heat and stir, and love them into magnificence. But that would require her to cook. She could do it here. She didn't have to go into Vincenzo's. She could deconstruct the ingredients and figure out what was missing.

Jumping to her feet, she started pulling out pots and pans and ingredients. For the first time in a long time she actually felt like cooking again.

Two hours later, her kitchen smelled like garlic, onions, oregano and other delicious herbs.
 
Pots and pans were stacked high in the sink, and she'd cleaned out her pantry and refrigerator in search of ingredients, but it had all been worth it. She'd teased the dishes into brilliance, and she was happy with her efforts.

In fact, it was the first time in a long time she didn't feel, sad, angry or guilty.

Cooking had always been her therapy. Which was exactly why she should go back to work.

The restaurant needed her and she needed the restaurant.

The doorbell rang sharply and abruptly, startling her out of her thoughts. Like most apartments in San Francisco, visitors had to be buzzed in. A quick glance at the clock on the wall said it was nine-thirty. Lindsay would still be at work, and she really didn't have any other friends who would just drop by without calling.

She pushed the Intercom and said, "Yes?"

"It's Wyatt Randall. I need to speak to you."

Her heart skipped a beat.
Wyatt Randall
? What the hell was he doing here? "Why do you want to talk to me?" she asked.

"I have a few more questions about the kids you saw the night of the robbery."

"I told you everything I know."

"Can you let me in? I won't take up much of your time."

She hesitated. He was a police officer. He should be trustworthy, but she was scared of shadows these days, and letting a strange man into her apartment didn't seem like a smart move. She also suspected she would not like the questions he wanted to ask.

The buzzer rang again, reminding her that he was waiting, and not patiently.

"All right," she said, buzzing him into the building. Then she moved through the living room to the front door.

Her one bedroom apartment was small and cluttered, a mix of colors, styles and furniture she'd picked up from a furniture consignment store. It wasn't much by anyone's standards, but it was home, and it was all hers. Will had suggested they move in together, pool their income and get a bigger place, but she'd put him off. While it had sounded like a lovely idea, she hadn't been ready to give up the first place she'd ever called home. Nor had she been interested in sharing her home with Will. That probably should have told them both something about the depth of their relationship, but it wasn't a subject they'd spent much time discussing.

A knock came at her door, and she quickly opened it, relieved to have a distraction from thinking about Will and the home they would never share.

Wyatt strode through the door, not waiting for an invitation. A man of action, she thought – the kind of man who could turn a woman's life upside down. Not that he was here because he was interested in her, she reminded herself. He was a man on a mission, and she'd somehow become part of that mission.
 

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Why didn't you tell anyone about the kids being in the alley at the time of the robbery? Inspector Burton and I reviewed your statement, and you made no mention of the children."

She'd realized her omission after her first interview with the inspector, but she hadn't come forward, because the information wasn't relevant. The kids had had nothing to do with the robbery and they couldn't have seen any more than she did. She hadn't wanted to put them in the middle of a situation that didn't concern them.

Guilt must have shown on her face, because Wyatt's gaze narrowed. "What's going on, Adrianna? Why did you lie?"

"I forgot about them at first, but they weren't witnesses to anything. They were outside the whole time. I didn't think it was relevant."

"You saw two figures running down the street from your vantage point in the alley. They could have seen them, too."

"The people were far away, and they had on hoods."

"Where did the kids go when the shots rang out?"

"I don't know. I ran inside. I think they ran the opposite direction."

"You think, but you don’t know."

"No," she admitted.

"Why are you trying to keep the kids away from the police?" he asked.

"I'm not doing that."

"I think you are, and I want to know why."

She saw the resolute gleam in his eyes and knew she was going to have to give him a better answer. "I used to be one of those kids. I spent some time on the streets. I know what it's like to have a social worker put you in a foster home or a group home that sucks. I know what it's like to be scared and hungry and not trust anyone. I saw kids ripped apart from their siblings." She paused. "I didn't turn those kids in, because they asked me not to, and because I knew that there could be worse places to stay than the street."

"They're children. Just because you might have had a bad experience –"

"Two bad experiences," she said, cutting him off. "But we're not talking about me. I want to be very clear about something. If I thought the kids could help the investigation, I would have mentioned them. My – my boyfriend died that night. I want justice for Will. He didn't deserve what happened to him. I wasn't trying to hide anything, but those kids were not part of what happened. And by the time I remembered they were there, I didn't think there was anything to gain by talking about them. So is that it?"

"Not even close," he said, putting his hands on his hips, an aggressive stance that made it clear he had no intention of leaving until he was ready. "I need to know everything about those kids. One of them might be my daughter."

"I've told you everything."

"You seem to have a habit of remembering things later," he said pointedly.

"You haven't known me long enough to know about my habits."

"Then let's get better acquainted."

"Yes, let's," she said sharply. "You want answers from me? Well, I have a few questions for you. Why would a mother take her child away from the child's father? She must have had a damn good reason."

His face whitened, sharp points of anger lighting up his blue eyes. "She had no reason. She was a drug addict. A spoiled, selfish woman, who thought only of herself." He paused. "That's why the judge gave me full custody of Stephanie. That's right, Adrianna. My ex-wife violated a court order. She kidnapped my daughter. She took her away without even a change of clothes. She even left her favorite stuffed bear behind, the one that Stephanie couldn't sleep without. But that wouldn't have occurred to Jennifer, because she was only thinking about herself."

Silence followed his harsh words. Wyatt ran a hand through his hair. "What else do you want to know?" he demanded.

"I – I don't know," she said, not sure where to go next. "Look, I don't want to get in the middle of this."

"You're already there. You want out, you're going to have to help me."

She felt torn, not sure what to believe. She needed time to think, but from the determined expression on Wyatt's face, it was clear she would not get that time now. "I don't know how to help you," she said. "I really don't know anything about the kids, and your personal situation seems to be very complicated."

"It's not at all complicated. I just explained it to you."

"Your side," she said pointedly.

"There is no other side. You want more answers, ask me more questions."

"I'm in the middle of something," she said, waving a hand toward her kitchen. "Maybe we could do this another time."

"I thought you didn't cook anymore," he said, his gaze shifting toward the stack of dishes in her sink.

"I'm testing some recipes for Vincenzo's."

"So you made it through the door?"

"Yes, I made it into the office. I wasn't quite ready for the kitchen." She paused for a long moment, as they looked into each other's eyes. There was something about his compelling gaze that wouldn't let her glance away. "I don't know what you want from me," she murmured.