Beneath the Scars

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Yes.” Josie pushed her uneaten food away. “He’s not the type of man to let a cent out of his grasp. He’d have fought me.”

  “But you would have won.” The lack of doubt in her great aunt’s voice was heartwarming.

  “Yes, a blood test would’ve proven my claim.” And there would have been child support. Her anger rose as she remembered how hard she’d worked to support herself and Carson, especially at first. Even a small amount of money would have helped. Carson wasn’t the only one who’d been betrayed. “But a public legal battle would have devastated his wife and child. And Pa, too.”

  “I do understand you not wanting to destroy a marriage.” Oma slapped her napkin down beside her plate. “But your father… Although one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, your father was an insufferable prig, not worthy of kissing my niece’s shoes. Or yours.”

  “He was pretty rigid,” Josie admitted. Every year until his death, she’d sent him holiday cards. He’d never responded. Never forgiven her. Never met his only grandchild. She looked away, blinking hard. Harsh and often cruel, still, he’d been her father—and she’d loved him. “It’s hard for Carson to have no family except the two of us.”

  “He has two people who love him, and that’s two more than some children get in this life.” Oma started stacking the dirty dishes. “Our boy has a good heart. He’ll get past this.”

  Carson did have a good heart. A tender one. Unlike his grandfather, he knew how to forgive.

  Mood lifting, Josie carried the plates into the kitchen to load the dishwasher. “What day should we do some heavy-duty cleaning? Are you hosting the book club meeting this week or next week?”

  “You don’t have to be my housekeeper, child.”

  When Josie gave her a stubborn look, Oma simply chuckled and moved to the calendar.

  * * * * *

  A few hours later, Josie realized she’d fallen asleep on her living room couch. It wasn’t surprising, considering how late she’d worked at the Shadowlands the past two nights. Well, she’d better get used to it. Master Z had caught her last night before she’d left, said he was pleased with her, and hoped she’d continue.

  Coming from someone so intimidating, the compliment had felt amazing. And she’d agreed to be the Shadowlands bartender. She sure wouldn’t get bored with her job anytime in the near future.

  Yawning, she sat up. The house was quiet, the only noise the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

  After Carson had come out of his room…once…to bid her goodnight, she’d put on a chick-flick DVD to try to lighten her unhappy mood. The movie was long over.

  She glanced at the clock. Midnight. It was definitely time for bed. As she headed for her room, she paused outside Carson’s door. Dammit, my sweet son. How could she explain that his father had played her? That all he’d wanted was sex with a young innocent girl. Somehow…she’d have to talk to her boy, embarrassing as it might be.

  She stroked her hand over the wood on his door. Where had the years gone? When he’d been a baby, sleeping next to her bed, every time she’d rolled over, she’d check on him, smile down at him, touch his tiny fingers. However did such an immensity of love fit into a human-sized heart?

  Now he was older…and she only peeked in when she knew he was unhappy—like during the miserable days when he’d started middle school last September.

  She tiptoed into the dark room. The nightlight and glow from his digital clock and electronics let her avoid the scattering of shoes, soccer balls and shin guards, and dirty clothes. There was enough light to see that his bed was empty.

  She stared. Turned in a circle. Turned on the light. No boy.

  He wasn’t in his bathroom.

  In the kitchen, she flipped on the light. Empty.

  The living room? Empty.

  As she lit up each silent space, her anxiety increased.

  The front and back doors were still locked with security chains in place.

  She returned to his room, hoping against hope that he was hiding. But Carson had never hidden from her, not even when just a little guy and in a rage. He had never run away. Her boy tackled every problem head-on, even when he felt his mother was the problem.

  A paper lay in the middle of his bed. She picked it up—Everett’s note. As fear ate the strength in her muscles, she leaned against the wall…and a breeze ruffled her hair.

  The window was wide open—and the screen was off.

  Eyes closed, Holt sat on the back patio, feet up on another chair. The night air was pleasantly cool and smelled of the briny Gulf and the tropical flowers in Stella Avery’s half of the backyard.

  How long had he lived in this duplex now? He considered. Since late October when Uzuri’d tried living with the Drago cousins? Yeah, about a month and a half, although he’d only officially owned the lease for a couple of weeks. Damned if he didn’t like living in a residential neighborhood where the loudest night noises were a barking dog or someone coming home late.

  A job as a firefighter and a paramedic could leave ugly shit in a man’s head. How a human body looked after a head-on collision or a house fire was…bad. Losing the fight to save someone’s life hurt. And those memories could turn into a knotted tangle of pain. Here, in this quiet backyard, he’d learned that simply sitting and watching the grass grow could drain away the tension.

  A noise broke the silence, and Holt glanced at the other half of the duplex. No lights. Stella tended to retire early.

  At the sound of footsteps, he checked the left and saw Josie walk into her backyard. His momentary annoyance at the disturbance disappeared when he realized every light in her house was on.

  He set his beer down and walked over to the chest-high picket fence. “Josie.”

  She spun, hope in her gaze. “Is Carson with you?”

  “No. I saw him going into your house earlier, around sunset, when I was over talking to Duke.”

  Worry tensed her face.

  He glanced at her house. “I take it he’s not home?”

  “He climbed out his bedroom window sometime in the last couple hours.” Her Texas accent had grown thicker with her upset. She stared around the empty backyard. “Oma would have called if he’d gone over there. He’s not in the house, not out here. Where could he be?”

  “Maybe at a friend’s?”

  “Oh, God, he might have gone to Isaac’s.” She pulled out her phone and quick-dialed a number. Holt heard the ringing, then a woman’s sleepy voice.

  “Courtney, I’m sorry to bother you this late, but Carson isn’t in his room. I was hoping he’d snuck away to see Isaac.” A pause. “That would be great. Thank you.”

  Josie could feel the hard edges of the phone digging into her clenched fingers as she waited.

  “He’s not here, Josie. Let me wake Isaac and see what he knows. I’ll call you back,” Courtney said in Josie’s ear.

  “Okay. Thank you so much.” Carson wasn’t at his best friend’s. Stuffing her phone in her jeans pocket, Josie looked around again—and realized Holt had disappeared. He’d probably gone inside. Gone to bed. The unexpected pang of disappointment annoyed her. What had she expected? She didn’t know him and this wasn’t his problem.

  Hearing footsteps she spun. “Carson?”

  “No, sorry.” Holt walked out of the darkness beside her house, coming into the backyard. He wore only a pair of jeans, his broad chest bare. “What did your friend say?”

  “She’s checking with her son.” Josie shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder, a firm hand, steadying her. “Breathe, sweetheart. We’ll get this worked out.” His voice was low and soothing. “Come. No need to stand out here.”

  With an arm around her, he guided her inside and pointed to her couch. “Sit.”

  As she did, he disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a Diet Coke. Opening it, he put it into her hand. “Drink that, and let’s think a minute.”

  Think? Under his
level gaze, she dutifully took a sip. It burned going down, but the act of swallowing forced her to set her fear aside for a whole second.

  When she put the can down, he took her hand, engulfing her cold fingers in warmth. “Now, it’s tough to think like a youngster that age, but let’s give it a try. He’s eleven, right?”

  “Yes. Just started middle school this fall.”

  “Mmm. Probably no girlfriend, then.”

  “No.”

  “Did you two have a fight about anything in the last couple of days?”

  “We did…” But was his anger toward her about his father enough reason to run away?

  “That looks promising. What are you thinking?”

  Josie looked up into Holt’s blue-gray eyes and drew strength from the steady gaze. “We fought over his father.”

  “Ah. You think he’s gone there?”

  She shook her head. “Carson’s never met him.” She closed her mouth over the rest. Holt was her neighbor, not a friend. She shouldn’t—

  “Because…” he prompted.

  The feelings flooded back, and her eyes started to burn. She realized she still held Everett’s note, the one that had made her son hate her. Her hand started to shake as she stared at it.

  “Why don’t you show me what you’re holding, pet?” Holt held out his hand.

  When she hesitated, his voice lowered. “Josie.”

  She set the paper in his hand. “It’s not…”

  Ignoring her, he read the contents in a glance, and his mouth tightened. “Pretty fucking cruel. Carson saw this?”

  She nodded. “He found it while he was unpacking boxes, and now he blames me that his father didn’t want him. Like I should have forced Everett to see him and…” Tears spilled over. “My baby h-hates me.”

  His arms closed around her, pulling her up against a solid, warm body. “Sweetheart, being of the male gender, I can tell you adolescent boys are dumber than rocks and constantly say shit they don’t mean. He’ll figure it out.”

  She leaned against him, her cheek pressed to his chest, and his voice was a soft deep rumble. As he ran his hand up and down her back in slow soothing strokes, for a long self-indulgent minute, she took comfort in being held.

  When she finally pushed upright, he let her go immediately…and she felt awfully alone without his arms around her. Josie, you idiot, you don’t even know him. Turning her head, she wiped her eyes.

  His voice was gentle as he asked, “Do you think Carson ran away or did he go to his father?”

  “Carson’s never run away, ever. He sulks for a while, then comes out and battles for what he wants.”

  Holt half-smiled. “You’re a good mom.”

  “What?”

  “To be willing to do battle, a kid needs to feel he has a chance of winning. I’d say that shows he’s not afraid of you and thinks you’re reasonable.”

  Oh.

  “If he didn’t run, do you think he’s at his father’s?” Holt asked.

  “No, he doesn’t know where Everett is.”

  Frowning, Holt held the letter to the light again. “This is on office paper. Has a bank address. Is it Everett’s business?”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Aaaaand, that sounds like a yes.” Holt ran a finger down her cheek, making her want to press her face into his hand.

  “Holt, I don’t know if Everett even works there now. That was over a decade ago. And this is Sunday night.”

  “Good point. I daresay Carson’s smart enough to know a bank would be closed.”

  At a loss, Josie stared at him. What should she do now?

  “Easy, pet. If Carson’s trying to—”

  Her phone rang right then. Oh please, let it be Carson. But the display showed COURTNEY. Josie swiped the ANSWER with a trembling finger. “Hey, Courtney. What did Isaac say?”

  “Oh, wait till you hear what our two young monsters did.” Courtney sounded thoroughly exasperated. “Isaac says Carson wanted to meet his father. So our computer nerds dug up the guy’s home address and phone number. It’s really true—nothing is secret on the internet.”

  “Everett’s home address?” She blinked. “I don’t even know that.”

  “You do now.” Courtney recited the address and phone number, and Josie repeated it back. It seemed Everett was now living north of Tampa.

  “Would you text me when you find him?” Courtney asked. “I won’t sleep until I know he’s all right. Or if there’s anything I can help with, call me.”

  “I will. You’re wonderful. Thank you.” Josie’s hand trembled as she put her phone away. Was Carson really trying to see his father?

  “Here, I wrote the info down.” Seated on the couch, Holt pushed a paper toward her. He tapped the address. “Looks like he lives near the Avila Golf Course, north of Lake Magdalene. Maybe nine or ten miles from here. It’s pretty far to walk.”

  Carson’s bike. Josie ran through the kitchen and outside to the carport. She turned to see Holt behind her. “His bike is gone.”

  “Then we have a destination and a method of travel. I don’t like that you didn’t hear from either Carson or his dad. Have you tried calling Carson?”

  “He doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Ah.” Holt handed her the piece of paper. “Then call his father and see if contact was made.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  She looked up into firm gray eyes. “I’m sorry, pet. But it needs to be done.” His low voice was even but unyielding.

  Call Everett. Everything inside her cringed. Yet Holt was right. All that mattered was Carson’s safety. She entered the number and waited as her phone rang and rang. When it stopped, she hit redial. Again. And again.

  “Who the fuck is this?” a man snarled, and she recognized Everett’s voice.

  “This is Josie Collier. My—our son—Carson found your address, and we think he might have—”

  “Jesus fuck. Wait.”

  Josie heard a woman murmur, and Everett saying, “Got to take this. It’s a client.”

  A few seconds later, he came back on. “I cannot fucking believe you sent your bastard to harass me at my door. What do you want? Money?”

  Rage filled her. “I didn’t know he was going to your house, and I certainly didn’t send him there. But for some foolish reason, he thought you’d like meeting your son.”

  “He’s not my son.”

  “I agree. You only provided the sperm. You’re certainly not any kind of a father. What did you say to my son?”

  “What do you think? I told him to get lost. Jesus, it was a good thing I answered the door and not—”

  Her anger tipped over. She punched END CALL and threw the phone as hard as she could.

  With a quick snatch, Holt caught it. “Uh-uh. Your boy might want to call you, baby.”

  Her throat clenched at the disaster he’d averted.

  Absently, he handed her the phone, even as he spoke into his own cell phone. “Yeah, sorry about the late hour, Dan. I need a favor. My neighbor’s son attempted to see his absentee father over in Lake Magdalene and got the door shut in his face. Kid’s only eleven. Could you ask a local unit to swing by the area and see if they can spot him? We’ll be on our way there too.”

  Josie heard Dan’s growling reply in the affirmative and something about Zane.

  Holt grinned briefly. “Okay, I’ll owe you a night of babysitting. As soon as I’m allowed to lift more than eight pounds, yeah? Here’s the address.” He read it off.

  A murmur came back.

  “That’s it. Thanks, Dan.” Holt tucked his phone away and told Josie, “Dan’s a cop. He should be able to get a patrol car to that neighborhood. The officers might spot him—and if nothing else, their presence in the area will make it safer for Carson.”

  “Thank you, and thank your friend for me.” She rose. “I’ll be on my way and—”

  “No, you won’t.” His smooth voice sharpened to edged steel.

  “But—”

  �
�We’ll take your car, because Carson will recognize it, but I’m driving. Grab your purse and leave a note here for your boy in case he gets home before us. Have him call us if he does.”

  “You—”

  “You can’t drive and look for a boy in the shadows at the same time.” His eyes darkened, and he gripped her shoulder. “Car crashes aren’t pretty, sweetie. Your son needs his mother in one piece.”

  Under that unwavering determination, all she could do was nod and hurry to get her purse.

  * * * * *

  Holt turned off Bearss Avenue into the smaller residential streets and glanced at the woman in the passenger seat.

  Her short dark red hair was tousled, and the ends flipped out in all directions, making her look like an upset sprite. The ear-length cut emphasized her big green eyes and the sweet curve of her wide mouth. Her face was rounded with a pointed, stubborn chin, and he’d say his pretty neighbor resembled the stereotypical wholesome girl-next-door.

  “Almost there, sweetheart,” he said.

  She stopped searching the street and turned to look at him. “I wish I’d bought him a phone like he wanted. Why didn’t I buy him a phone?” The tremor in her voice broke Holt’s heart.

  “Because cell phones aren’t especially good for children, especially young ones?”

  She nodded, but he doubted she’d even heard him. “He hasn’t gotten home yet, or he’d see my note and call. Do you think he’s on his way home?”

  Holt tried to think himself into the kid’s shoes. “Probably. He’s had his hopes stomped on. He might even think you haven’t realized he left.”

  “Right. Right.” She slowly sat back, her fingers resting on her phone. Hoping. There was so much love in that patient waiting.

  His mother had loved him like that. But he’d lost her well before he’d turned eleven. Did Carson realize how lucky he was?

  Now, they just had to find him.

  At a long stoplight, he punched the address into his phone’s navigational app. As the directions started—in Yoda’s voice—Josie gave a snorty laugh of disbelief.

  Following the Jedi Master’s instructions, Holt reached an upscale neighborhood with stately palms along the wide sidewalks. Two and three story houses were set well back from the street. A few had wrought iron-and-stone privacy fences. “I got the impression Everett didn’t mention Carson to his wife.”