The Fireman's Son

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  She barely heard the rest, that security was all over the ground, that the police had been called, that no one knew if he’d left the grounds. No security cameras showed him, so they were hoping not. He’d last been seen half an hour before when he’d asked to use the restroom.

  There was more.

  She didn’t catch it.

  * * *

  REESE HAD JUST returned to work after the drills he’d put himself through in the fitness room when he saw Faye’s name on his private line.

  “Faye?”

  He’d asked her to call. Hadn’t been sure she ever would. But certainly hadn’t expected it so soon.

  “Reese? Come quickly. Please. Elliott’s missing. I’m on my way to the Stand right now. Please, Reese? I need you. I can’t do this. If something’s happened to him...”

  Keys in hand, he was already on his way out the door.

  “Where are you?”

  She named the street. Five minutes away from him.

  “Pull over,” he said, describing the parking lot he wanted her to find. “You’re upset. Just stop driving. Now.”

  “Reese, did you hear me?”

  He was in his car. “I heard you. I’m on my way, babe. In my car. I’ve got the lights. I’ll get you there faster...”

  Elliott was missing. He couldn’t think about that now. First things first. “Faye? Please. Pull over. Now.”

  He was still three minutes away. Even with traffic clearing in front of him.

  He wasn’t going to lose another woman in a car accident. He wasn’t going to lose Faye a second time.

  “Faye?”

  “I’m where you told me,” she said. “Please hurry, Reese. We have to find him.”

  He saw her, parked right where she’d said. Waiting for him.

  Because she needed him.

  The force of knowing that—of never having known that before—hit him. Hard.

  Faye needed him.

  And that was all he’d ever needed from her.

  * * *

  FAYE WAS BARELY aware of the flashing lights on Reese’s car as he got out and ran toward her.

  What she knew was that his arms were open. Trembling, she ran into them. He hugged her. Tight. She hugged him back.

  And with tears streaming down her face, pulled away.

  “We have to get to the Stand.”

  He was already opening the passenger door of his car for her before hurrying around to his side. The car was in gear and pointing toward the road before she had her seat belt on. He waited to pull out until she was buckled.

  “Tell me what they said.” Reese was the calm to her frantic. He hadn’t been a father for long, but he cared about Elliott. She didn’t doubt that. Just as she knew that he had a talent for going to work when the tough jobs had to be done.

  He’d always been that way.

  She’d always loved that about him.

  As quickly as she could, she told him everything Sara had said, adding, “I just can’t figure it out. He’s never done anything like this before. Not here and not before, either. He’s not a take-flight type of kid.”

  “Could someone have taken him?”

  “Frank, you mean?” She shook her head. “He didn’t want him when we lived together. He gave up full custody without a blink.”

  “He might have received notice that we’ve applied for a birth certificate name change hearing.”

  Buildings and palm trees whizzed past. Cars pulled over for them as they sped up one road and down another.

  “It’s possible,” she said, knowing she should have paid more attention to that part of the process. She’d never considered that Frank would care. “If he sees your name...he listened to me whine about you for hours the night we met.”

  She couldn’t go there now. Couldn’t afford to be pulled back.

  “But he can’t get into the Stand,” she reminded both of them. “You know how impossible it is to get access if you aren’t on the list...”

  Even employees of approved companies couldn’t get access to The Lemonade Stand without going through a full identity profile, checked against all Stand residents and outpatient clients.

  “So chances are he’s missing of his own accord,” Reese said, maneuvering through pulled-over cars and around curves and corners like the pro he was. They were almost there already.

  “That’s what Sara and Lila think. But they’re no less concerned. Where would he go? And why? There’s really no telling what’s on his mind. He’s got no money. No way to take care of himself. He’s clearly struggling.”

  “Don’t sell him too short, Faye,” Reese said. “He’s a planner. And self-sufficient. Like his mom.”

  She almost laughed, except her heart was too frightened to find even a hint of humor.

  “I’m not self-sufficient,” she told him. “I have to fight, every day, to do what must be done. It’s always been that way. If I were self-sufficient, I would have left Frank Walker the first time he put a strap on my body...”

  There was more. She couldn’t go on.

  They’d arrived at The Lemonade Stand. She counted four police cars in the parking lots. Officers were standing outside the front door, and from their expressions, she guessed things weren’t good.

  “Let’s go find our son.”

  Reese’s words made her start to cry, but she didn’t waver as she climbed out of his car, took the hand he offered and walked with him into the domestic violence shelter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  THE SCENE INSIDE The Lemonade Stand—officials conversing in hushed tones, groups of two and three dispersed throughout the inner lobby, waiting for direction—was familiar enough. Whether it was fire or rescue, Reese had been around this type of scene many, many times.

  Even when his wife had been killed.

  He’d never been here as a father, though.

  And never with Faye.

  But he had no doubt what Faye and their son needed from him.

  Finding Managing Director Lila McDaniels standing with two plainclothes detectives, he headed in their direction. Sara had taken Faye to sit on a couch in a corner, to get information or offer comfort. He assumed both.

  “Who’s in charge?” he asked as he stepped up to the group uninvited.

  “I am.” The leather-bound ID the man flipped at him said he was Sam Larson.

  “You’re married to Dr. Bloom Larson?” Reese surmised, starting to feel like he had some real help. According to Faye, the man’s wife had been a victim. He’d know the ropes, the responsibility Reese was now facing to take care of his own family. And the worry.

  “I am. She’s on her way.” Sam nodded toward Faye.

  “I need to speak with a boy named Kyle,” Reese said to Sam. “He’s a resident here with his mother.”

  He wasn’t asking.

  Safe house or not, a boy was missing and he’d gone missing from the inside.

  Lila hesitated but with one look between Reese and Sam, she said, “I’ll call him up here.”

  “I’d rather go to him,” Reese said without further explanation.

  “I’ll go with him,” Sam assured Lila.

  Good. Everyone understood each other here.

  He was going to find his son.

  * * *

  WITH BLOOM ON one side of her and Sara on the other, Faye sat on a couch in a small lobby just outside Lila’s office—the official search headquarters.

  Sam and Reese were questioning residents, she’d been told. Officers had been dispatched throughout the grounds and on the streets surrounding the Stand—most particularly the street that housed the Stand’s businesses. All of them, the thrift store, the computer shop and others, had a private entrance and exit into th
e Stand. Residents trained and worked at the facilities.

  If Elliott had managed to escape, it would have most likely been through one of those. But preliminary checks of surveillance cameras came up empty.

  “Do they think he’s still inside?” she asked the two women. They’d become as much like friends as professional counselors to her. Probably because she was a first responder, as well.

  If she got through this...when she got through this...she was going to pursue a position on the high-risk team. Then she’d be working with them, not just needing their services. She’d like that. To be a friend instead of a client.

  “I knew something was bothering him,” she said. Sara had seen it, too. They all had. And they’d failed him. Poor Elliott.

  “He knows you’re there for him, Faye. You’re a great mother. Have confidence in that. I can assure you that he does,” Sara said.

  “You’ve been open and honest with him,” Bloom added. “You don’t hide things from him. He knows that, too. Those are the kinds of things that give a child security.”

  “Then why didn’t he come to me with whatever is bothering him?”

  “I guess when we find out what that is, we’ll know the answer,” Bloom said.

  “One thing I can tell you for sure,” Sara said. “You’ve raised a very self-sufficient young man. If Elliott is on a mission of his own, and all preliminary information points to that conclusion, then he has a plan. And when he does what he needs to do, he’ll be back.”

  If he was safe. And able to get back.

  “What if he’s gone to find Frank? To make him pay for what he did to us?” That fear had been with her ever since Reese had mentioned the possibility of Frank taking Elliott. That hadn’t rung true. But the other way around did.

  “They have officers in San Diego locating your ex-husband right now,” Sara said. “It’s a matter of process. Any time someone goes missing, securing the abuser is the first point of business.”

  She hadn’t known that. Or if she had, she’d forgotten.

  “You two really don’t have to sit here with me,” she said. She wasn’t in danger. Didn’t need to take up the time of two very busy professionals.

  “Would you rather be left alone?” Bloom asked.

  Reese had said she never asked for help. Did she want to be left alone?

  She looked at the two women.

  “Why do I get the feeling that that wasn’t a surface question?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you?” Bloom asked.

  Did she want to be left alone?

  Of course not. Not ever. But it happened. You got left alone. Through no fault of your own, and sometimes, through no fault of anyone else’s, either.

  “I’ve been left alone my whole life,” she said, feeling like she was going to cry again. Like she had tears stored so deeply inside her they’d be a part of her forever.

  “Your mother dying when you were so young, you mean?”

  Is that what she’d meant? This wasn’t about her. It was about Elliott.

  “It wasn’t her fault,” she said. “She loved me. She just got sick.”

  “I know.”

  “And Daddy loved me, too. I always knew that. He just had to work to pay the medical bills. And to support us.”

  “I know.”

  She heard the words but wasn’t even sure which counselor was talking to her.

  “And Reese...turns out he wasn’t leaving me for another woman. He might have, but he liked me better.”

  But still, when he’d made the choice to two-time her, he’d left her. In the deepest sense. He’d taken away her ability to trust him.

  “I thought he was the one person who’d never leave,” she said. She felt the words leave her but didn’t recognize the childlike voice.

  “But he did.”

  Because he’d chosen to be unfaithful to her—planning to sleep with the other woman if he’d wanted to.

  “Yes.”

  He’d had struggles of his own, though. She knew that now. And she’d failed him, too, by not asking him what was going on. By not letting him know what she needed.

  “I was so afraid of losing him, I didn’t let myself need him.” Her head hurt. Her heart burned. She heard a buzzing in her ears.

  “And then your father died.” A voice pulled her back.

  Yes. In the midst of the Frank nightmare. Before she could mend the rift between them.

  “I never got to tell him how wrong I was. How sorry I am. I never got to tell him how much I love him.”

  “He was a father. Just like you’re a mother. When Elliott is his angriest, what do you do?”

  She gave him space, letting him work out what he needed to work out. She never stopped loving him. Not ever.

  She couldn’t. No matter what.

  And she knew.

  Her father had loved her. Even during the Frank times.

  Something else occurred to her. She looked from one woman to the other. These were women she relied on, trusted to tell her the truth. Not because they cared about her, but because they were paid to be there for her. As a result, she’d never worried about them leaving her.

  “That’s why I don’t have friends, isn’t it? I lost touch with Carrie as soon as I left school. I’m alone because I don’t let myself need anyone.”

  “Is that what you think?” Bloom asked again.

  “Isn’t that what both of you think?”

  Bloom Larson smiled. A small, sad smile but one filled with compassion, too. “I think it’s a good possibility,” she said.

  “And being unable to allow sexual contact, is that part of this, too? If I let myself need Reese, would I be able to enjoy sex with him?”

  She didn’t realize what she’d said until she saw both women staring at her.

  She wanted to have sex with Reese. And she knew he wanted her, too.

  “I’ve loved him since I was sixteen,” she said, as though she had to justify herself.

  “Your lack of sexual response is a separate issue, Faye,” Bloom said. “I’ve told you, though, there are things we can do when you’re ready, and there are sessions with you and Reese, things the two of you can try...”

  “But I might never be able to respond normally again...”

  “You might not.”

  She should be devastated by that. In some ways she probably was. But those ways didn’t matter nearly as much as loving and being loved.

  To love and be loved...that was all Elliott had ever needed. To feel free to love.

  “My son learned to be self-sufficient by my example,” she said, thinking out loud. Reese had said so in the car. The counselors had said so. “Do you think he left because he thinks I don’t need him?”

  “There’s no reason to jump to that conclusion. He knows you love him. You’ve proven that to him over and over.”

  Reese had known she loved him, too, but he’d also sensed she’d never been in with both feet. She’d never loved completely.

  “Or did I teach him to be so much like me that he won’t let himself need anyone? Is he gone because he’s afraid he’s going to need me, or Reese, too much?”

  In an odd, sickening way, that made more sense.

  “Again, there’s no reason to jump to those conclusions.”

  No good to do so, more likely. The authorities were already working under the assumption that Elliott had left of his own accord. Whether it was because he was afraid to need his parents, because he thought they didn’t need him or because he was going after other demons, it didn’t change the fact that he was gone.

  Tears filled her eyes and she didn’t fight them. Looking between the two women, she said, “I need him. I need him to come back. I need Reese, too. I don’t want to be alone.” />
  She broke. Sobbed. “I don’t want to be alone.” The words were clear.

  They were the last thing she remembered before arms wrapped around her from both sides as the storm hit her in full force.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ON THEIR WAY to meet with Kyle in his mother’s bungalow, Reese had filled Detective Larson in on the older boy’s relationship with Elliott. He’d also mentioned his own dealings with Kyle, including his suspicions about how Kyle was at a gasoline fire crime scene shortly after Elliott had set a fire.

  The boy’s mother had vouched for him. Reese had believed Kyle when he’d questioned him.

  But something wasn’t ringing true now as they sat with the boy in his mother’s living room.

  “I have no idea where Elliott is,” Kyle said for at least the tenth time. It was clear to Reese that Sam Larson believed him. Reese didn’t like the way the boy kept looking at his mother.

  Maybe it was a natural reaction for a kid being questioned, except that Kyle hadn’t done it the first time Reese had questioned him. And his mother had been in the room then, too.

  Kyle told them he’d invited Elliott to play basketball that afternoon. Elliott had refused.

  “It wasn’t a big deal,” the boy said. “He pretty much says no all the time now.”

  “Do you have any idea why?” Sam asked.

  Shaking his head, Kyle said, “No, sir.”

  He leaned forward then to pick at his shoe. And Reese stared. It was the same brand that forensic evidence had said was present at one of his earlier crime scenes.

  “What size is your shoe?” he asked. Reese had asked him this once before. He remembered the answer.

  “Nine,” Kyle said, looking up at him.

  Reese’s gaze traveled from the boy’s face back down to his shoe but stopped midway when he noticed something else. In the boy’s shirt pocket. Something with a small binding.

  “What’s in your pocket, Kyle?”

  The boy pulled out a pack of matches. “Just these,” he said.

  Reese froze. The exact kind as the book he’d taken from his son. “Where’d you get those?”

  “My brother owns that restaurant,” Kyle’s mother spoke up.