Still, her detail-loving heart broke a bit as she forced herself to ask, “What did Lisa say after you pointed out that Hiroko didn’t have a pool?”
Peter smiled. “She said, Are you seriously tan all over? And I think I said, Yes? And then she kind of shook her head and made a Harold and Maude reference, which I also didn’t get at the time. That’s that cult classic movie—”
“About the suicidal kid who gets into an intimate relationship with an eighty-year-old woman,” Shay finished for him. She knew. “Lisa seriously thought…?”
“That I was banging her aunt H,” Pete, in turn, finished for her.
And there was another creative use of that verb to bang, also used with authenticity.
Was he? Harry wondered.
Shhh, Shay murmured silently.
“At the time, I was clueless,” Peter was continuing with a rueful shrug. “Lisa told me later, you know, that that was what she’d thought. She and her family lived just a few blocks over and a neighbor told her about some kid with really long hair visiting Hiroko at odd hours. So Lisa came swooping in to protect and defend.”
“That’s really sweet,” Shayla said.
“Yeah, I’m not sure about that,” he said. “Yes, it’s what she said, but in truth, it was more complicated. Hiroko and Lisa didn’t always get along. It’s possible Lisa was looking for leverage or even blackmail material—more about power and self-defense. But that’s not for Maddie to hear. Anyway, I’m standing there, with literally nothing to hide as Lisa grills me as to how I met Hiroko, and where I’m from, and what I’m doing there. I told her, and I guess she believed me.
“She finally stood up and handed me my towel, probably because she’d also figured out that she was way more embarrassed than I was about the full frontal nudity. But then she said, Hurry up and get dressed, Goldie. We’re already late for school. I’ll wait for you in your car.” Pete smiled at the memory. “So I drove her to school, and I’m thinking, Okay, that was interesting, but now it was over. You know, it felt kind of like an alien encounter—I was pretty sure it wasn’t gonna happen again. Except the next day, after my shower, I head for my car, and she’s sitting in the front seat. She hated riding the bus, so it became a regular thing. She called me her carpool buddy—when she wasn’t calling me Goldie or Goldilocks. She was funny and smart and blindingly attractive, and she gave me her full attention for twenty minutes every day. I’d get in the car and she’d announce a topic of discussion. Kirk or Picard? The Beatles: Yes or No? Who’d Win a Wrestling Match: George Bernard Shaw or Shakespeare? Was Filming Flipper Animal Abuse?
“A few days in, I remember thinking, Huh, I kinda don’t hate it here anymore. A week later, I’m all Yup, I love San Diego. And a few days after that, I knew I was doomed, because I recognized that what I really loved—who I really loved—was Lisa Nakamura.”
Shayla was typing as fast as her fingers could move, but she just had to glance up, because his tone—his voice—had changed. He sounded softer—dreamy—and yeah, his face and body language had softened perceptibly, too. His eyes were distant and warm—he’d time traveled. And she knew she was looking at the ghost of teenaged Peter Greene, and she wished Maddie could see just how powerful and pure his love for her mother had once been.
He wasn’t done. “I was smart enough to recognize that when a girl—especially a senior who was already dating the school’s star athlete—used words like buddy and nicknames like Goldilocks,” he continued, “Well, the chances that she’d fall in love with me were a snowball’s in hell.”
Shayla nodded as she transcribed his words. This was good. With just a few minor tweaks, it would be ready to send.
Still, she wondered if Maddie would recognize what she did—that the melting-in-hell snowball really represented Lisa’s chances of not falling for Peter. There was no way on earth that that boy could have successfully hidden his feelings from anyone, let alone the object of his affection. And that much adoration would’ve been hard for anyone to resist.
Also? Harry pointed out, Lisa had seen him naked, in his all-over golden-tan glory.
Yup. Game. Over.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Thursday
Tevin was in the kitchen, doing his preworkout morning zombie shuffle, when Shayla was ready to leave.
It wasn’t quite six A.M., but she’d glanced out the window to see Peter already waiting for her, standing in his driveway beside his truck, checking his phone.
He was wearing…“Oh, dear God.”
“Everything all right?” Tevin asked. He looked out the window, too, and saw the SEAL, who was wearing his Naval Officer uniform—the short-sleeved sleek white version, rows upon rows of colorful ribbons on his broad chest. “That’s the neighbor you’re helping? Go, Moms.”
“It’s not like that,” Shay said. “Not even remotely.”
“Well, why not?” Tevin looked so much like his father, it was sometimes startling. That quicksilver smile, those adorable dimples and laughing brown eyes, that same warm umber tone to his perfect skin…But when he walked and talked, Tevin was absolutely his own sweet self. Dynamic, creative, original, sensitive, caring…Her baby boy, in a nearly grown man’s body.
“Well, he’s younger than I am, for one thing,” Shay said.
T looked out the window again. “Not by that much,” he countered. “Tiffany’s, like, fifteen years younger than Dad. Nobody’s got problems with that.”
He had a point. Even Shayla liked Carter’s latest live-in girlfriend. Tiffany might have been young, but she was smart, funny, open, and she genuinely cared about the boys.
Tevin grinned. “What’s that old movie you like to watch whenever you get the flu?”
Shayla knew exactly the movie to which her cinema-loving son was referring, but she pretended not to. “The Bodyguard? Whitney Houston? I-eee-I! Will always love—”
“Yeah, nah-no, come on, you know what I mean—the other one, with what’s-his-name from Pretty Woman.”
“Richard Gere,” she said. “Oh, you mean An Officer and a Gentleman.”
“That’s the one. Where Richard Gere literally carries Debra Winger away from her humdrum factory-worker life and she wears his hat at a jaunty and triumphant angle.” Only Tevin would know Debra Winger by name. He aimed his broad grin at Shayla and wiggled his eyebrows for emphasis. “Maybe, if you play it right, he’ll let you try on his hat.”
“It’s called a cover,” Shay told him as she dug her car keys out of her purse and put them on the kitchen counter. “And really, we’re just friends.”
“Well, you have my permission to—”
She interrupted him. “Wake your brother up soon. Don’t be late for school.”
“And your subtext, there, is ignoring you,” Tevin sang the last words.
“I gotta go,” Shayla said. “And really, Tev. I’m just trying to help the nice man find his daughter. So ask around at school. See what you can find out about this Fiona girl, too, okay? And don’t forget to wake up Frank. He’s been sleeping through his alarm lately—”
“I’m awake, I’m awake.” Frank emerged from his bedroom, still sleepy-eyed, his hair bed-headed into an impressive faux-hawk. Her second baby, still in a skinny child’s body—but probably not for long. “Whoa, you’re dressed! I mean, in real clothes.”
He hugged her and his head still fit beneath her chin, so Shay took a moment to enjoy that. “As opposed to those fake clothes I wear the rest of the time?” she asked in mock indignation as he slipped back out of her arms.
But Frank was right. She, too, had dressed for this meeting in something other than her usual sweats or jeans. She’d even put on a little makeup. Still, she’d be invisible walking in with the gleaming lieutenant. And that was fine. Her job here was to help him get the info he needed to find Maddie—not to be noticed.
“Mom’s going over to the school this morning with the neighborhood Navy SEAL,” Tevin told his little brother, whose eyes widened, too, as he caught sight of
Peter in his uniform. “The one whose daughter ran away.”
“Maggie?” Frank asked as he stood on his toes to get a box of cornflakes out of the cabinet in the kitchen.
“Maddie. Brah, you said she’s in your English class. How do you not know her name?”
“She never says anything,” Frank protested. “And that’s when she bothers to show up. Why should I learn her name when she doesn’t—”
“You learn her name, because she’s a human being who lives across the street, and is in your English class,” Tevin lectured his brother for Shayla.
“She hangs out with that nasty girl,” Frank argued as he poured himself a large bowl. “I keep my head down and don’t go near that.”
“The nasty girl—Fiona—is a person, too,” Shay pointed out. “Not a that.”
Frank was quick on his already-size-thirteen feet. “The that I was referring to was the cosmic disturbance, not the crazy person creating it.”
“Still, it sounds disrespectful, so spell it all the way out,” Shayla said. “I keep my head down and don’t go near that cosmic disturbance.”
“Yes, Mother,” Frank droned. He glanced at his brother. “Morning’s complete when Moms gives me a line-reading of my own dialogue.”
“Good communication is the key to everything,” Shayla pointed out.
“And scene,” Tevin teased before turning back to Frank. “You wouldn’t happen to know Fiona McNasty’s last name? Something Italian American…? I keep thinking Fiona Fiona, but that couldn’t be it.”
“Nope,” Frank said. “Sorry.”
Last night, Tevin had told Shayla that Maddie definitely hung out at school with a girl named Fiona. He didn’t know her last name, but he called her “a psycho freak-show,” which was alarming since Tev tended to get along with everyone. Frank’s nasty was expected from a child who’d been badly bullied in middle school. He was far more discerning when it came to choosing friends.
Shay’s phone vibrated and chirped its text alert. She pulled it out of her pocket, expecting it to be a nudge from Peter. But it wasn’t. It was…
Maddie!
still safe
Before Shayla had left last night, she’d emailed Maddie a copy of what she called “The Peter/Lisa Meet-Cute.” Then she’d texted the girl, letting her know about the sent email while backpedaling furiously with a Please don’t block me, I’m a friend of your father’s, I won’t text you unless it’s important, please just let me know that you’re currently safe so he can try to sleep tonight message. And sure enough, Maddie had texted back a terse still safe then, too.
Somehow the girl managed to sound surly in her text—maybe it was her lack of capital letters or punctuation. Still, this morning’s message had come unprompted, which was huge.
TY, Shayla texted back—a short and simple thank you. And as tempted as she might be to remind Maddie that she was here if the girl needed help of any kind, she knew not to push, so she ended it there.
“Ask your friends about Maddie,” she reminded the boys as she headed for the door. “And about Fiona, too.” And then she said what she always said, whenever they went their separate ways. “Be safe out there in that crazy world. Don’t be a hashtag. I love you.”
“Love you, love you, love you, too!” They sang their response to her in perfect harmony—one of the many little melodies their father had taught them back when they were hardly more than babies—which left her smiling as she went out into the cool morning air.
“Maddie just texted me!” Shayla called to Pete as she came out of her house and down the path to the street. “Only two words: still safe. But still, that’s great.”
As she crossed the street, Pete realized this was the first time he’d seen her in the daylight—which was strange, because it felt as if he’d known her for far longer than a mere half a day.
Shayla looked…really good in the morning light.
And okay, just as he’d done, she’d clearly dressed up a bit for this meeting with the high school’s office staff—neatly crisp khaki pants with a blue-and-green-patterned sleeveless blouse that followed and flattered her curves as it buttoned down the front. The bright colors were a striking contrast to the warm, rich tones of her skin.
She was wearing makeup, too—not a lot, but more than the close-to-none that she’d had on last night. It sharpened her features, accenting the fullness of her smiling lips, and drawing his attention both to the elegance of her cheekbones and the beauty of her midnight-brown eyes.
Eyes that sparkled as she told him, “I’m certain this means Maddie read your story. I mean, she reached out. This was not in response to any kind of nudging. I think it’s safe to say that it’s working—a connection is being made.”
Shayla held up her hand for a high five, so Pete gave her one. She was right—this was great. Still, he was feeling…weirdly disappointed that she hadn’t seemed to notice he was wearing his uniform, with its many rows of ribbons.
Female eyes tended to widen at the sight—just a little bit. But she was completely blasé.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“Not much,” he admitted. “I tried, but…” Pete shrugged as he opened the passenger-side door for her. “I actually drove past Hiroko’s—looks like she still lives there—you know, near the beach.”
“Alone?” Shayla asked as she climbed in. “She must be close to eighty now.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen her since, well, I guess the last time was right after Maddie was born. She didn’t approve of our failure to get married before having a child. Anyway, it occurred to me that she might be awake, but she wasn’t—not at oh-three-hundred, anyway. The place was dark, so I didn’t stop.”
Instead he’d come back home, and downloaded one of Shayla’s books. She’d written well over a dozen. Novels. It had blown his mind. He couldn’t imagine writing one book, but she’d written what looked like an ongoing series. Most seemed to center on an FBI team led by an agent named Harry Parker, so he’d randomly picked a book called Harry’s War, based solely on the title.
It opened with an action-packed scene of a bank robbery escalating into a hostage situation, and he found himself drawn in. The characters sprang instantly to life, and he could see Shayla’s ability to think outside of the box not just in the gritty realism of the scenario, but also in Harry’s attempt to control the situation. But she also clearly understood Murphy’s Law—whatever can go wrong, will go wrong—and she used it to go, believably, from bad to worse.
Pete liked it—enough to go back online to figure out which was the very first book in the series, so that he could start reading at the beginning. He found a list easily enough on Shayla’s website, but then got caught up surfing through a series of blog interviews in which she talked about her writing process. From the way she described it, writing a book was not unlike going through BUD/S. Yeah, the challenges were vastly different, but the single-minded drive and willpower needed to succeed—to finish a seemingly endlessly and insurmountable long-term task—was something he well understood.
It had been nearly dawn by the time he’d IDed and downloaded the first book—Outside of the Lines—but he’d already been hooked and many chapters in when his alarm had gone off.
As Pete held the car door, Shayla smiled her thanks at him and she set her handbag—leather and briefcase-sized—at her feet. Nice toes. She’d traded her sneakers for a pair of leather sandals.
“Ooh, here’s my other news,” she told him. “My boys both recognized her—Maddie’s friend Fiona. That’s definitely her first name, although they didn’t know her last. But they’ve both seen her at school with Maddie, so yay? The bad news is, Fiona’s apparently not the nicest person on the planet. Still, with a little help from Mrs. Sullivan, we’ll be talking to her parents—and to Fiona herself—within the next few hours. It’s a good bet that she knows exactly where Maddie is.”
“God, I really hope it’s that easy.”
&nbs
p; “If it’s not, we’ll get Dingo’s address from his license plate number, or from tracking down his friend Daryl. It’s really just a matter of time, Lieutenant,” she said as he closed the door behind her.
Jesus, was he really back to being Lieutenant? He’d been hoping…Well, obviously, first he was hoping that with Shayla’s help he’d find Maddie quickly and easily. It was nice to hear her conviction that it was going to happen soon.
Pete crossed around the front of his truck, and as he glanced in through the windshield, he saw that she was smiling and maybe even laughing…? Yeah, she was definitely chuckling as he climbed behind the wheel. “What’s funny?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said as he pulled out of the driveway and headed for the high school. “It’s nothing, really. Well, I’m…See, your uniform is so…well, very shiny—even more so up close, and…you look very nice.”
“Thanks.” It was what he’d been looking for, except weirdly now it wasn’t. “You do, too.”
As the words left his lips, he sensed Shayla taking a step back—which was strange since she was sitting down and she didn’t move an inch. But she withdrew even further into—yeah, it was her mommy-mode—as she gave him a smile that could only be described as patient and kind, and said, “Thanks.”
Okay, that had been stupid of him—an auto-response from years of bar hookups. You look nice—You do, too. You’re looking hot—You are, too. Wanna have sex—Why the hell not? I guess you’ll do….
“Those colors look great on you,” he tried. “And…I mean, you have…really…nice arms.” What? Had he really just said that? Out loud? Nice arms…? Fuuuhhhck.
Of course now she was looking at him as if he were one of those serial killers she often wrote about. But, “Thanks?” she said again as she reached in her handbag, pulled out a file folder, and opened it.
“I printed several copies of those photos,” she continued, briskly getting down to business, “of Fiona. And of Dingo and Daryl Middleton—I figured they might’ve been high school students in the not-too-distant past. This way we can leave the photos behind—not just flash them on our phones. If we’re lucky, Mrs. Sullivan will show them around in the teachers’ lounge.”
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