The Children's Cop

by Sherry Lewis

  “No flower arranging for you?”

  “Or napkin folding. But Mom is completely supportive of my career choice.” She smiled sadly and admitted, “They’re both proud of me, but sometimes that can be a little embarrassing.”

  Jackson shrugged. “There are worse things.”

  “I know. I’m not complaining, really. It’s just that they expect so much from me, and I’m not always sure I can deliver. Sometimes I think it would be easier if they just wanted me to have a normal life. Husband, kids…dog.”

  “You don’t want that?”

  “I do. Some day. I just don’t think it’s ever going to happen.”

  He looked up sharply. “Why not?”

  How had their conversation gotten here? Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she tried not to let him see how uncomfortable she was. “It’s just not in the cards, I guess.”

  “Why not? You’re hardly a troll. Surely there are a few men in Houston with eyes.”

  She laughed in spite of her growing discomfort. “You’re quite the silver-tongued devil, aren’t you? Are you always this charming with the women you meet?”

  His eyes actually twinkled. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little out of practice. The only women I meet in a typical month are mares in heat. Not,” he said, holding up a hand to ward off her protest, “that I’m comparing you to them.”

  Lucy had a sudden, unexpected image of taking him home to meet her parents. They’d like him. She knew that instinctively. “Not a troll. Not a mare in heat, either. I’m flattered.”

  His smile faded, but the light in his eyes remained. “You should be. It’s the nicest thing I’ve said to a woman in a long time.”

  “Oh, please. I find that hard to believe. You’re not exactly a troll, either.”

  “Well, I thank you for that.” He cut into his egg and dipped one corner of toast into the yolk. “So what do you do when you’re not looking for missing children?”

  She thought about her answer for a moment, but there was really no way to respond to that. Three months ago, she could have told him about her monthly luncheons with the six-pack. Now she had nothing, and she hated thinking that the lack of balance in her life might have contributed to the situation she found herself in now.

  “My job keeps me pretty busy,” she said with a shrug. “No real time for hobbies. And you? Apparently you’re not married.”

  “Not yet. Too busy.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and reached for the hot sauce again. “First with school, then trying to hold the family together, and now the ranch. Life hasn’t left me with a lot of time to think about much else.”

  “But you like what you do?”

  He nodded, but his gaze faltered. “I like it fine. It’s good, honest work.”

  “But…?”

  “But…” He took a heavy breath and let it out slowly. “But it’s not what I dreamed of doing as a kid.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “I don’t usually admit that to people, and I’d kill the first person who said a thing about it to Wiley, but staying on the ranch wasn’t in my plans back then. I had dreams of moving to the city, working with the environment and cleaning up some of the messes out there. You know…making the world a better place. I was all set to make it happen, too. Even had a scholarship.”

  “So why didn’t you follow through?”

  “My dad died, Holden got worse, the ranch was in trouble, and Wiley needed me.”

  “And so you stayed on the ranch.”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’ve never regretted it?”

  “Not enough to do anything about it.”

  But that darkness passed behind his eyes again, and Lucy knew that he’d given up his dreams to make an old man happy. The realization made her heart squeeze painfully. She cleared her throat and changed the subject, but she couldn’t pretend that the moment had never happened. And she had the sinking feeling that spending time with Jackson Davis was going to be dangerous…in more ways than one.

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, Jackson pulled into the subdivision where Patrice and Angelina had been living for the past few years. Much as he hated to admit it, taking a few minutes for breakfast had been a good idea. Though neither of them had forgotten about Angelina while they ate, the meal had helped him find his feet again. Physically, he felt strong and clearheaded, and that couldn’t hurt. But emotionally—

  Well, that was a different story.

  Several times during breakfast he’d caught himself wondering what Lucy was like when she wasn’t on duty. She was a very attractive woman. Attractive and interesting enough to make him wish he didn’t have to rush straight back to the ranch once Angel was home safe and sound.

  It had been a long time since he’d thought about dating. Even longer since he’d done much of it, thanks to Holden. But rushing back home was probably the best thing he could do. It was definitely the smart thing. Nothing had changed in the past hour. He still didn’t have time for life beyond the ranch. And his head was all mixed up, anyway. Even he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around what he was feeling half the time.

  Like now.

  On one hand, he was hungry for details about Angel’s life and desperate to find out about her friends and associates. He wanted to find proof that she was safe. But a cold fist of dread had settled in his stomach as he drove back through the neighborhood, and uncertainty over what he might hear sat as heavily on his shoulders as his desperation.

  What if Angel wasn’t the reliable, responsible child Jackson wanted her to be? What if, instead, she’d inherited the wild streak that had ended his father’s life prematurely and landed Holden in jail more times than he could count?

  All these years, he’d carried an image of her in his mind—the perfect child, the beautiful niece who’d once adored him, who’d giggled whenever he walked into the room and reached for him eagerly when she saw him. But what if she wasn’t that child? How would he feel about her if she’d grown hard and cold, if her bright smile had been replaced by the cynical scowl that had so long been part of Holden’s expression?

  Trying not to think about that, he pulled into the driveway of the depressingly small house and shut off the engine. All around him neighbors filtered into their yards, pretending to be occupied with something worthwhile but watching him closely. Children, obviously frightened by the news about Angel, shied away from his truck. The younger they were, the closer they stayed to their parents.

  If this was a scene in a movie, there would have been loud rap music blaring from an unseen stereo. This morning, with one of its own missing, the neighborhood’s silence was almost deafening.

  He slid out from behind the wheel and took in the weed-choked driveway leading to Patrice’s house. Paint chipped and peeled from the siding and curtains sagged unevenly at the front window, but the driveway sat empty, which probably meant that Patrice still wasn’t around.

  He curled his nose at the aromas in the air—a strong mixture of industry and the sea, as different from the clear air on the ranch as anything he’d ever experienced. Overhead, gulls circled lazily, then dipped and dove for treasures on the ground.

  The thought of Angel living here curdled like sour milk in his stomach. It would have taken nothing more than a flick of the wrist, one quick signature on a check, to provide her with more. Even with the financial trouble at the ranch, they had enough to make Angel’s life better, and if it hadn’t been for Patrice, Angel would have had all the things she needed. Instead, she was lost and alone, possibly even in the hands of some deviant. God willing, she was still alive. She’d better be or Patrice would have hell to pay.

  He knocked on the front door and reminded himself for the umpteenth time in an hour to let the past stay in the past. Rocking onto the balls of his feet, he strained to hear through the door. Was someone moving around in there, or was that just his imagination?

  Growing impatient, he knocked a second time and a third, but if Patrice was inside, she was ignoring him. Since they’d gone at each ot
her like a couple of barnyard dogs the last time they spoke, he wouldn’t be surprised to find out she was lurking behind the sagging curtain in the front window, watching and waiting for him to leave.

  He banged the door with his fist and hollered, “Patrice? Are you in there? It’s me, Jackson. Open up, dammit. We need to talk.”

  Another gust of wind carried the strong scent of salt water onto the front porch and brought with it the sound of footsteps from somewhere behind him. He wheeled around, half expecting to find Patrice standing behind him. Instead, he found himself staring at a middle-aged woman with short-cropped hair and a broad, unattractive face. She stared at him through narrowed eyes, but she looked more curious than suspicious. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for the people who live here.”

  “What do you want with them?”

  Jackson stepped down from the porch and put himself on her level. “They’re family.”

  The woman raked an assessing gaze from his head to his boots. “Family, huh?”

  “That’s right. I’m Angelina’s uncle.”

  “The little girl?” At his nod, the woman folded her arms tightly on her chest. “So the family’s showing up. I guess that makes it true, then? The little girl is gone?”

  “It appears that way. We don’t know what’s happened for sure, but I’m trying to find out. Do you have any idea where she is?”

  The woman gave her head another shake. “No, but that’s nothing new. She’s in and out all the time. I’m not sure what makes Hank think this time is any different.”

  Jackson looked at the sad-looking window behind him. “Do you have any idea where she goes when she leaves?”

  “With friends, I guess. Where does any teenager go?”

  Jackson didn’t bother answering. It was a rhetorical question, anyway. “What about Patrice? Do you have any idea where I might find her?”

  “The mother?” The woman gave a brief shake of her head. “I haven’t seen her for a couple of days but, then, I’m not in the habit of keeping tabs on my neighbors. This time of day, she’s probably at work.”

  “Do you have any idea where that is?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and she pulled back slightly to get a better look at him. “I thought you said you were family.”

  He wondered which would get him the most information, the truth or a white lie. “I am,” he admitted carefully. “But I haven’t seen them for a while.” She was still regarding him skeptically, so he offered a bit more. “The truth is, I haven’t seen Angel in quite a while. When Hank got worried about her, he tracked me down and I came to see if I could find her, but I’m starting from scratch.”

  “Why don’t you go to the police?”

  “I have. They think Angelina has run away, or maybe she’s gone somewhere with her mother, but we won’t know that until I can find Patrice. If you know anything about where she works, where she hangs out, her favorite stores or restaurants, or who her friends are, it would be really helpful.”

  The woman studied him for another long moment, then seemed to decide that he was telling the truth. “Geraldine Sawyer. I live across the street, two houses down.”

  Jackson stored her name away in a mental file and jerked his head toward the front door. “So are you and Patrice friends?”

  “Friends? With that one?” Letting out a snort of laughter, Geraldine shook her head. “She keeps to herself a lot. Doesn’t really have time for the rest of us.”

  “So you don’t know when she’ll be back?”

  “Could be later tonight, could be tomorrow or two days from now. It’s hard to say.”

  An all-too-familiar discouragement settled on Jackson’s shoulders like a blanket. “She doesn’t keep a regular schedule?”

  Geraldine narrowed her eyes and looked him over as if he was a sorry dog dragging home from a hunt. “Are you sure you’re family?”

  “You want to see some identification?”

  Her lips curved in a smile, but she held out a hand and waggled her fingers impatiently. “Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea.”

  He pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted a business card and his driver’s license. “I’m not sure what this will tell you. Patrice and my brother were never married, so we don’t share a name, but maybe it will convince you that I’m not hiding anything.”

  She studied his driver’s license for a while, then handed it back. “I guess maybe it does.”

  “So do you know anything that can help me?” he asked as he slipped his wallet back into his pocket.

  “Not really. I know Patrice just to nod to, mainly. Like I said, she’s not exactly the neighborly type. She has this attitude…like she’s better than everyone else. She’s not one to sit on the porch visiting with her neighbors, if you know what I mean. Hardly ever talks to anybody else.”

  “Do you know what kind of car she drives?”

  “An old Escort, I think. White.”

  “But probably not licensed in her name, or one quick search would have found it. You don’t happen to know the license number, do you?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “How about where she works? Hank said something about a truck stop….”

  “Well, that could be. Seems like she did wear a uniform for a while—you know, one of those smock things. Blue and yellow, if I remember right. The kind they wear at the Truck Haven.”

  Jackson’s heart leapt. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, not positive, but that’s what it seems like in my memory.” A gull’s cry shattered the silence and she looked into the sky. “I wish I could tell you for sure, but I just don’t remember.”

  “That helps. Thank you. What about Angel? What do you know about her?”

  Geraldine pursed her lips thoughtfully. “She’s a kid, but she seems all right. Keeps to herself a lot, just like her mother.” Geraldine leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “If you want my honest opinion, I think she’s an unhappy little thing. She’s alone so much, I guess you can’t really blame her for running away.”

  “And you think she ran away?”

  Geraldine shrugged casually. “I wouldn’t be surprised, let’s just say that.”

  “If things are that bad, why didn’t somebody do something?”

  “I’ve got a family of my own. The last thing I need is that one coming after me because I had a hand in taking her kid away.”

  “You think she’d do that?”

  “She’s a mother. Even bad ones can turn on you like a bear if they feel threatened.”

  Jackson looked over the neighborhood and took a moment to pull his thoughts together. “Do you know if Patrice has any friends in the area?” he asked when he trusted himself to speak again.

  “None that I know of.”

  “You’ve never seen anyone at her house? Never noticed a car in the driveway that might help us find her?”

  Geraldine shook her head again. “Like I said, she mostly keeps to herself. But things aren’t always this bad. Sometimes she’s around and sometimes she isn’t.”

  “What about men? Does she date much?”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.”

  At least she wasn’t subjecting Angelina to an endless parade of men. That made him feel a little better. “Is there anything you can think of that might help me locate her?”

  “Not really. Like I said, she’s not exactly neighborly.” The sound of raised voices reached them, and Geraldine glanced over her shoulder. “Look, I’m sorry,” she said with an apologetic smile, “but my daughter’s kids are living with me, and they’re at each other again. I’d better get back there so they don’t kill each other.” She took a couple of steps away and turned back. “But you know where to find me if you have any questions, right? The white house over there with the red van in the driveway.”

  Nodding, he watched her race away to prevent whatever trouble was brewing at her house. He just wished the trouble in his was so easy to fix.


  THE SUN HAD RISEN HIGH in the sky and the humidity had soared to over ninety percent by the time Lucy stepped into the sprawling redbrick school building. Just walking from her car to the school’s front doors had left her sticky with sweat and regretting the jacket she’d chosen to wear this morning.

  She let the door swing shut behind her and immediately that peculiar school smell of sweat, industrial cleaner and mass-produced lunch enveloped her. Memories of her own childhood came with it, and a sudden tight feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she might actually be expected to take another pre-algebra test or turn in a term paper.

  Laughing at herself, she located the office on the far side of the foyer and set off toward it. She paused at the door while a couple of girls scooted past her, heads together, laughing like conspirators. They were close to Angel’s age—young, just growing into their bodies, full of life and standing on the threshold of the future. A future that Tomas Avila would never know. A future Angelina deserved.

  Their enthusiasm for life brought a smile to Lucy’s lips, their innocence tugged at her heart. Looking away, she stepped into the office and approached a long counter that separated a small wait area from the cluster of desks behind it.

  A blond woman of about forty smiled up at her. “Can I help you?”

  Lucy produced her ID and introduced herself. “I’m trying to locate one of your students. Her name is Angelina Beckett. Would you mind checking to see if she’s in class this morning?”

  The friendly smile slid from her face. “Is she in some kind of trouble?”

  “No. Nothing like that. I just need to talk with her if she’s here.”

  “I suppose I could…” She glanced around and smiled uncertainly. “Actually, I’m new here and I’m not sure what the protocol is under these circumstances. Do you mind if I have you talk with someone else?”

  “I’d be happy to do that.”

  “Great. Wait here. I’ll see if Mr. Smith is free.”

  While Lucy cooled her heels, the secretary hurried down a short hallway and stepped into an office at the far end. She reappeared a minute later and motioned Lucy into a postage-stamp office with just enough room for a desk, credenza and two chairs. Inside, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a kind smile stood and extended a hand. “Alan Smith, vice principal. What can I do for you?”