by Sherry Lewis
Stung, Lucy tried to laugh. “It’s not that difficult,” she said. But she was glad Crista knew how hard she was trying.
A man at the other end of the corridor moved away from the clock and Lucy realized with a start how long they’d been talking. She really didn’t want to end the conversation, but she couldn’t be late for another appointment with Cecily.
“I really have to go,” she said with a weak smile. “This case I’m working on—” That could have been another lengthy conversation in itself. “I have to—”
Crista waved her off with a flick of her wrist. “Yeah. Go. I understand.”
But she didn’t. She couldn’t know about the longing that melted through Lucy, the need to put an end to the rift that had kept them all apart. “Crista, I—” she began, but the words still wouldn’t come. She finally managed a weak “Thanks.”
“Sure. What are friends for? Just don’t let anyone make you question what you’re supposed to be doing. Not even your parents. Even the best of us fail sometimes. That’s life, you know?”
With one last grateful smile, Lucy turned away. But she had blown it again. And she had no one to blame but herself.
TWO HOURS LATER, LUCY pulled out of traffic into the parking lot of a low cinder block building. Jackson had found a listing for Sid’s Lounge in the phone book, and his directions had brought her right to it. She wondered how long Jackson had been waiting. The sun had already climbed high in the sky and heat undulated in waves from the road in front of her.
Her appointment with Cecily had gone well, and Cecily had seemed pleased with their progress. She’d even indicated that she might give Lucy the all-clear soon. That was enough to have Lucy smiling as she spotted Jackson’s truck in a stall near the front door.
She parked as close as she could to the place he’d chosen. He was out of the truck and moving toward her before she could shut off the engine, and in spite of the morning she’d had—or maybe because of it—a warm rush of relief poured through her.
She’d grown so used to seeing him every day, to hearing his voice, to breathing the scent of his soap, and even to enjoying the rare rumble of his laugh. The more time she spent with him, the more in love with him she fell. She didn’t even want to think about what she’d do or how empty her days would feel when he went home again, but he seemed to be there in her thoughts all the time.
He embraced her quickly and picked up the conversation they’d been having when she called from the station. “The place is pretty full. It’s surprisingly popular, in spite of the way it looks.”
Lucy ran her gaze along the low lines of the building. Even in the daylight, neon beer signs glowed from long, narrow windows near the flat roofline. A battered red metal door led the way inside.
Her spirits sank at the sight. This certainly wasn’t the kind of place where kids met for burgers and fries, and it wasn’t the kind of place where respectable fathers met their daughters. That put a bad taste in her mouth, but she didn’t want to worry Jackson any more than he was, so she tried to keep her voice light. “Have you been inside?”
“Yeah. The old boys in there aren’t what you’d call the friendly type.”
“Well, let’s just hope one of them is.” She stepped through the door while Jackson held it open, and she paused for a moment on the faded red carpet to let her eyes adjust. If anything, Sid’s Lounge was worse inside than out—though it was hard to imagine how that was possible.
Cigarette smoke hung in the air, and its bitter scent mixed with something else Lucy didn’t want to identify. Two men sat at a long bar, a few others clustered at small round tables near the deserted dance floor.
Every eye in the place looked up when they entered, and Lucy could almost feel the walls go up around them. Interviewing them one by one, would take a little while. Impulsively, she decided on a different approach.
She pulled the picture of Angelina from her pocket and held it aloft. “Can I have your attention, gentlemen? I’m Detective Montalvo from HPD, and I’m searching for a missing girl. We have reason to believe she met someone here the night she disappeared, and I need to know if any of you have seen the girl in this picture or know where we can find her.”
A few murmurs went up and a couple of the guys shifted uncomfortably on their chairs. Lucy watched them all carefully, looking for signs of guilt. “We’re also looking for the man she was supposed to meet. His name is Holden Davis. If any of you know where we can find him, we need you to tell us immediately.”
A hushed silence fell over the group and the men exchanged glances—some cautious, some suspicious. Were any of them guilty?
“We’re going to bring this around to each of you,” she continued. “I want you to take a good look at it and tell one of us whether or not you’ve seen this girl around here—either inside this bar or in the vicinity.”
The bartender, a husky man of about forty with deep-set eyes and a disapproving expression, stepped out from behind the bar. “Who is this girl?”
“Her name is Angelina Beckett. She goes by Angel. She’s only fourteen years old, though she may try to pass herself off as older.”
“We don’t allow fourteen-year-old girls in this bar.”
“I’m sure you don’t, but she may not have looked fourteen when she was in here.” She crossed to the bar and slid the picture toward him. “I’m not here to shut anyone down for underage drinking. I just want to find this girl and get her back home where she belongs.”
The man examined the photograph and shook his head firmly. “Never saw her before.”
Jackson stepped forward, his face clouded with worry. “What about a man talking about meeting a young girl? Have you heard anything like that?”
“I hear all kinds of things working in this place. Some asshole planning to meet a girl wouldn’t even make a dent.”
He was probably right about that, but Lucy nudged Angel’s picture closer, anyway. “Then take a good, long look at this picture, and think real hard, okay? Have you ever seen this girl? Or have you heard anyone talking about meeting up with someone? A father, maybe, getting set to meet his long-lost daughter.”
The man’s eyes shot to hers so quickly, Lucy had a feeling she’d hit pay dirt. “Well, now, I do remember something about that. There was a guy in here a few weeks ago. Said he’d found his little girl after…hell, I don’t remember how many years, but it was a long time. Said she’d come looking for him, just like he thought she would when she got old enough.”
“Where is he now?” Jackson demanded.
“I couldn’t tell ya. He was new around here. Hung around for a few days and then disappeared again.”
“Can you tell us what he looked like? What kind of car he drove?”
“What he looked like?” The bartender gave that some thought. “He’s tall. About your height,” he said, with a nod at Jackson. “Wore a cap most of the time, so I never saw his hair. Had a beard…one of them goatees.”
“Anything else?”
The bartender thought for a moment. “Yeah. A scar right here on his chin. But I don’t think he drove a car. I got the feeling he was on foot.” He turned to the end of the bar where a couple of guys sat nursing their drinks. “Hey, Tyce, didn’t you give that guy a ride somewhere once?”
Tyce, a small-framed man with skin the color of hot chocolate, nodded slowly. “Yeah. That day I had to pick up the lumber out in Channelview.”
Lucy’s fingers grew numb and her heart raced so fast she could hardly breathe. “Where in Channelview?”
“He just had me let him out near the McDonald’s. That’s all I know.”
It was enough. Holden had been in Houston—in Channelview around the time of Angel’s disappearance. Any doubts Lucy might have had before had certainly been laid to rest. Now she just hoped he was still around.
Chapter Sixteen
ON HER CELL PHONE, LUCY put in calls to friends at the Department of Motor Vehicles and the Driver License Division in case Holden had ac
tually paid off his DUI fines and recovered his license, while Jackson worked through traffic and road construction toward Channelview. They’d agreed to start with Patrice to see if she’d remembered anything about Holden’s whereabouts or Angel’s desire to find him. If they came up empty there, they’d pay Hank another visit. And if he couldn’t help, they’d spread out again and talk with Angel’s school friends.
The sun was already low on the western horizon and storm clouds had gathered when they pulled up in front of Patrice’s house. Jackson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Patrice’s car in the driveway.
He should know where to look for Holden. Holden was his brother, after all. But it had been far too long since they’d had a conversation that wasn’t made up of shouting and accusations. Too long since they’d parted company with anything less than hatred boiling between them thanks to their father’s legacy of excess and anger.
Would they ever be rid of it?
Patrice must have seen them arrive because she met them at the door, and this time she seemed less cocky, less certain, and even a little frightened. “Have you found her yet?”
“I’m afraid not,” Lucy said crisply. “But we have an idea about where she might be.”
Relief that even Jackson couldn’t deny filled Patrice’s eyes.
“We’d like to ask you a few more questions if that’s all right.”
Nodding with an eagerness that shocked Jackson, Patrice stepped aside to let them enter. The house seemed even more cluttered as they were led into the tiny living room, and Patrice perched on the edge of one couch cushion like a bird ready for flight. She looked young and frightened, and Jackson had a hard time reconciling the woman in front of him with the one he’d carried around in his head all these years.
He leaned against the wall and vowed to let Lucy do the talking. Much as he hated to admit it, she knew what she was doing and her methods usually met with better results than his.
“So what is it?” Patrice asked. “Where do you think she is?”
“We’re almost certain she’s made contact with her father.”
Patrice’s gaze shot to Jackson, and she nearly lost her perch. Raindrops spattered on the window behind her and a gust of wind rattled the glass. “But why? Why would she want to find him?”
“He is her father,” Lucy said.
“In name only. It’s not as if he’s ever done anything for her.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s her father.” Lucy smiled, and sat in a chair close to Patrice. “Maybe she’s curious about who he is and what he’s like.”
“I’ve told her what he’s like.”
“Maybe she wants to see for herself. She’s at that age where girls struggle with their identity. You remember how it was, I’m sure. You want so much to be an adult, and you’re trying to distance yourself from your parents—your mother, especially.”
Patrice let out a tight laugh, but a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder made her sober again quickly. “Yeah, I do remember. That’s when I moved in with my aunt. I just never thought I’d be on the other side.”
“We’re trying to locate Holden now,” Lucy said, “but it may take a while to track him down. We still don’t know if Angel has actually made contact with him, but we’re fairly certain that’s the direction she’s heading.”
Still obviously shaken, Patrice ground out her cigarette and leaned back into the couch. For the first time in years, she looked at Jackson without hatred. “Will he hurt her?”
Hearing her voice aloud his greatest fear and seeing the obvious worry on her face made it hard to stay detached. “I don’t know,” he admitted, but he hated having to admit that about his own flesh and blood. “You probably know him as well as I do. What do you think?”
She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “He found me accidentally about two years ago. He came into the restaurant where I was working. He’s the same as he ever was,” she said quietly. “Especially if he’s drunk or high and he doesn’t get his way.”
The weight of the knowledge staggered him, but he straightened slowly. “Are you saying that Holden used to hit you?”
“Are you saying you didn’t know?”
Jackson’s stomach turned over. “Of course not.” He should have known. He should have at least suspected, but he’d naively assumed that Holden had hated the beatings their father had administered with as much passion as he had. “You never said anything.”
Patrice laughed without humor. “I didn’t know you well enough to say anything. And according to Holden, you were worse than he was.”
That knocked the wind out of him. “And you believed him?”
“Why shouldn’t I? Every time the two of you got together, all you did was fight. All I ever saw was you acting just like him. And Wiley…”
Jackson gaped at her. “Wiley never laid a finger on either one of us. He was the one place we could turn when Dad was in one of his rages.”
“Then why does Holden hate him so much?”
“Not because Wiley hit him.” Jackson sank into a chair and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. It was a surreal moment, but for the first time in years the world around him made some kind of sense. “Holden’s a lot like my father. Volatile. Temperamental. Selfish. Everything is all about him, all the time. You must know that. It’s about what Holden wants, what Holden needs, what Holden didn’t get.”
Memories came at him from every side, but he didn’t look away. How could he after asking Lucy to face her own issues? “Holden hated the way Dad was, but he hated the way Wiley made him stand up and take responsibility even more. He wanted excuses to make his life easier, and Wiley’s never been big on excuses. Holden figures a rough childhood entitles him to skate through the rest of his life, and Wiley sees things a little differently.”
Everything Lucy had tried to tell him suddenly rang true. He really wasn’t responsible for Holden’s decisions, or for the hurt he’d caused. Holden had made those choices himself.
Patrice rested her chin on her knees and took a shuddering breath. “I still don’t understand why she’s looking for him. It’s not like her. She’s never seemed all that interested in him before.”
“She’s never asked questions?” Lucy asked.
“A few, but she hasn’t acted as if she wanted to find him. She seemed satisfied by what I told her until just a little while ago.”
“Maybe she didn’t want you to know what she was planning.”
Patrice shook her head with force. “No. That’s not Angelina. She’s too open for that. She’d be far more likely to get in my face and tell me everything than to sneak around.”
“Sometimes parents aren’t the people who know their children best,” Lucy suggested.
Patrice rubbed her arms as if she was cold. “Angel must have planned this. Holden certainly doesn’t plan things. He does what feels right at the moment. There’s never any thought about tomorrow.”
“She’s probably safe for the time being,” Jackson said. “At least until Holden gets drunk or high and she talks back to him or doesn’t do something he wants.”
Lucy nodded. “Then we have to find her before that happens.”
“How do we do that?” Patrice asked.
“We check the hotels in the area,” Lucy said. “We take Angel’s picture into every restaurant and every store we can. Holden’s picture, too. If they’re around here, someone will have seen them.”
“I have pictures of Angelina,” Patrice said, obviously relieved to have something concrete to do. “But I burned all of my pictures of Holden.”
“We have pictures at the ranch,” Jackson told her. “If need be, I can get Rush to fax some to me, but I’m pretty sure Mom will have some here in Houston. I’ll just need to dig around until I can find them.”
It felt strangely good to be working at Patrice’s side. He just hoped they could continue once Angel was home again.
RAIN WAS POURING DOW
N in sheets by the time Lucy pulled into Jackson’s driveway. Even though they still didn’t know where Angelina was, the relief inside the car had been almost palpable during the drive home. For the first time since she’d known him, Jackson seemed to be almost free of the tension that had kept him tied in knots since Angelina’s disappearance. Angel might still be in danger, but at least they knew who and what they were looking for.
It should have been a great moment—and it was in every way but one. Once they found Angel, Jackson would go back to the ranch, and this brief idyllic time together would be over. Never, never, never would Lucy want to drag the case out or leave Angel twisting in the wind, but she couldn’t shut down the whisper of disappointment that came with the thought of Jackson returning to his life and leaving her here with hers.
Over the past few weeks she’d been able to delude herself into thinking she had more than her career to hold on to, but without Jackson, her early-morning workouts would just be exercise. She’d lost her friends and she was barely speaking to her parents. It was getting harder all the time to convince herself that her life was chugging along smoothly.
She sensed Jackson watching her and turned to look into his concerned eyes. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She forced a smile and allowed herself to be drawn into the warmth of his embrace. She watched the rain making patterns on the windshield for a minute. “Maybe it’s because we’re so close to finding Angelina, but I’ve been thinking about all the unfinished things in my life and wondering how long I’m going to let this go on before I do something about it.”
Jackson kissed her lightly. “What do you think you should do?”
With a shrug, she nestled against him. “I don’t know. I guess it’s time to go see Risa. I don’t want to wait so long that I miss my chance.” She paused, then added, “I’m not going to lie and tell you I’m not nervous. What if she won’t forgive me?”
“You’ll never know the answer if you don’t try.”