Love In Plain Sight

by Jeanie London

  From here, she could catch most of the action, see the side doors and the back area of the skate park. She couldn’t see the front door of the Venue, but she could see the street. That was the best she could do. Maximum coverage that would allow her to pull out and follow Araceli quickly if necessary.

  Lowering the windows, she idled the engine, prepared to leap into action, but she hadn’t sat there for more than five minutes when the side doors shot open with a crash. A group of noisy kids burst through, some jeering, others yelling, a few even catching the action on their cell phones.

  A fight.

  Courtney’s heart throbbed a single hard beat when she recognized the man who appeared, grabbing on to the swinging door to balance himself as if he’d been shoved from behind.

  “I don’t know where you’re from, old man,” a boy growled from behind Marc. “But you don’t stalk women. You need to take off and not come back.”

  “No one is stalking—” The words weren’t out of Marc’s mouth before the kid went at him.

  The boy might have youth on his side, but Marc had a man’s strength and a lot more skill. He defused the attack by pulling the young hothead into a headlock.

  “If you’ll stop swinging and listen—”

  “Loser,” someone yelled.

  There was more cheering and shouting, kids circling until Courtney couldn’t see Marc anymore.

  “Get him, Kyle!”

  Courtney thought about moving the SUV and using the horn to break up the crowd. Instead, she grabbed her phone and scrambled out.

  A kid shoved Marc from behind, and that was all it took for the boy named Kyle to break free. When he went at Marc this time, he went straight for Marc’s leg.

  Marc went down. Courtney could see the pain on his face, the way he tried to roll to manage the impact. The kids cheered.

  “Break it up!” Several older guys burst through the door. “Break it up!”

  One grabbed Kyle while the others broke into the crowd. Araceli peered out the doorway behind them, the fear on her face, warning Courtney that she was going to bolt, so she did the only thing she could do—went after her.

  * * *

  “YOU INTERESTED IN pressing charges, sir?” Officer Langston asked.

  Marc’s leg throbbed so hard he thought it might explode. He glared at the stupid kid, who fought smart and dirty. He wouldn’t mind beating this kid with his cane right now. If he’d had one. His had gotten lost in the scuffle, so he had been relegated to half hopping from wall to table to chair to desk to get to the director’s office inside the club.

  “No. I’m not.” Pressing charges would only make this situation worse. No cops. No running.

  No damned way to do his job.

  That was Marc’s takeaway from the whole situation. He listened to Araceli explain to the beat cops how she had noticed “the limping man” this morning here in the club and again in the District. When she saw the SUV following her, she had come back here for cover because she knew she would be safe around people.

  Marc had blown his own case. Courtney had thought she had been marked, but he was the one who had been noticed. He had tailed more people than he could even remember, people who had known they were being hunted, and not once had he ever been marked. Until tonight. By a sixteen-year-old girl.

  Nowhere in Araceli’s explanation did she mention her real name. Marc felt bad for her. She looked as if she might collapse on top of her boyfriend when Courtney flashed identification and explained she was a social worker from Louisiana, who was in town tracking down a lead on a missing child.

  “Did you find that missing child, Ms. Gerard?” Officer Langston jotted down a notation on his pad.

  “I think this young lady can help me find out about the child I’m looking for. Officers, would it be possible to speak to her privately? I’m going to have to contact my department soon to let them know what I’ve found out.”

  Officer Langston collected their identification and headed out the door. His partner warned, “We’ll be right outside.”

  As if anyone was going anywhere. Not only were they buried deep inside the Venue, but Marc didn’t have a damned cane.

  Araceli was crying now, tears streaming down her face, her sobs making it hard for her to breathe.

  “Who are you looking for?” Kyle demanded, pulling her closer, shielding her face against his chest and beneath the flow of her long hair.

  Courtney met Marc’s gaze, and he recognized the tears in her eye, the raw edges of her expression.

  This was not how she had wanted this scene to go down. He looked around the office for tissues.

  Courtney squatted in front of the young couple, hooked her hands together. “I work for DCFS, Araceli.”

  Kyle looked up, surprised, and Marc knew the kid was hearing that name for the first time.

  “It’s a really long, crazy story,” Courtney said softly. “But no one knew you were missing until just a few months ago. That’s when we started looking for you. We had to work all the way back to the hurricane evacuations.”

  Kyle frowned. Marc located a box of tissues and brought it to Courtney, who took it with a quiet “Thanks” and made it available to Araceli.

  “I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but it’s really important we figure things out now, because there are other government agencies looking for you. As soon as the police run your name, I won’t have control anymore.”

  “Then don’t tell them,” Araceli sobbed, looking up, her face streaked with tears. “Just let me go.”

  Kyle took the tissues from Courtney and pulled out a few. He pressed them into Araceli’s hand. Damned kid might have knocked Marc on his ass, but he clearly cared for this girl.

  “I’m afraid the choice isn’t mine. The police are involved. What I can do is make sure you get into a home where you want to be. Even Mrs. Calderone’s, if that’s where you want to go.”

  “You know her?” Araceli’s sobs were slowing. She was starting to think past the shock.

  Courtney motioned to Marc. “This is Marc. He specializes in finding missing people. I hired him to help me find you before the FBI did. We spoke to Mrs. Calderone a few weeks ago. She told us all about how you found her in the Superdome shelter. She wanted to take you with her, and has felt terrible all these years that she had to send you back to your foster parents. She was afraid she couldn’t protect you. You remember what things were like back then, Araceli.”

  No response, only sobbing that tore at a young man whose expression was a mix of anger and helplessness.

  “Mrs. Calderone has something for you,” Courtney continued. “Marc and I promised we would bring you by her place, so she can give you the things she took out of your apartment after your mother and brother were sent back to Colombia.”

  “Wh-what?”

  Marc half sat on the edge of the desk. Life signs finally. Good for Courtney.

  “Your father’s sketches. There were four. One of you and your brother reading a book, and one of your mother. She is beautiful. Your father drew one of himself, too. And there’s a caricature of you with a ponytail in front of an easel. Mrs. Calderone believes it was a miracle they survived the storm, so she saved them all these years, hoping she would get a chance to return them to you or your mother. She showed them to us. That’s how we knew you were an artist, too.”

  Marc had to give Courtney a hand. She was slick, using every trick she could, even the truth, to bridge the distance between the past and the present.

  How had he ever thought this woman didn’t care?

  “What if I won’t go back with you?” Araceli asked.

  Courtney sighed. “It’s not up to me. I wish it was. That’s why I wanted to talk with you alone. Before the FBI gets here. You’ve crossed a lot of state lines, so t
hey’re the ones in charge of the investigation. I wanted you to know what to expect and what I can do for you.”

  “What can you do?” Kyle was showing life signs, too.

  “I can come up with a situation that you’ll be content to live in until you’re eighteen. It’ll just take me a little time. We’re going to have to go before a judge, but he’ll be so relieved that you’re okay, he’ll work with us to come up with a living arrangement where you can keep up with school and working and your art. You’re not eight years old anymore. You’ll have a say about where you want to be.”

  Araceli wasn’t buying it. Neither was the boyfriend. Marc could see that all over them. They were probably telepathically planning to pull a Bonnie and Clyde, so they could ride out the next year and a half on the run together.

  The only thing to do was try to salvage what he could of the situation. “I want you to listen to me, Araceli Ruiz-Ortiz,” he said. “This is about to get ugly. Once those beat cops run your name, the FBI is going to be all over us, and you’ll be out of our jurisdiction. You’re a smart girl, so listen up. Now is the time to cut a deal.”

  Courtney shot Marc a look. She had no clue what he was up to, but she got to her feet, trusted him to have his say.

  Marc continued. “We know you want to vanish and ride out the time until you turn eighteen. We know you don’t want to go back into foster care or else you wouldn’t have been running for all these years. But if you’ll trust us, we can do a lot to make the situation as attractive as possible.”

  The girl was pale and shaky. She leaned against Kyle, who tightened his arm around her. “How?”

  “I will personally go to Colombia to track down your mother, and get her to sign the paperwork so the judge will let you live with Mrs. Calderone, Courtney or any other adult you care to live with until the FBI investigation is officially closed and the judge rules on your case. If your mother wants to come back to the States, then we’ll get her a good immigration attorney. If she hasn’t reached the statute of limitations to apply for a visa after deportation, and you want to go live with her then I’ll buy your plane ticket. How does that sound?”

  “You think you can find her?”

  “I found you, didn’t I?”

  That was the best he could offer the girl, because even if he ever got his leg under control, life as he knew it was over. He was a liability at the job he had once excelled at. He would never be back to normal, never be back to one hundred percent. The life he had known was over. Period.

  But he also realized that the only thing that really mattered right now wasn’t a job but the way Courtney was looking at him, as if he was her freaking hero.

  * * *

  “GISELLE, I WANT to help Araceli pack her apartment before I bring her back to New Orleans,” Courtney said after Giselle had called her back.

  “You’ve got the green light, kiddo,” Giselle said.

  “Oh, thank God.” Courtney rested her forehead against Marc’s shoulder, held the phone awkwardly against her ear.

  It was two o’clock in the morning. They were still at the Venue, standing outside the director’s office door while the officers talked with Araceli and Kyle inside.

  Marc braced himself against the wall, probably even more exhausted than she was. But she inhaled deeply of his skin, the scent of him so familiar, so reassuring, like when they lay in the dark in each other’s arms.

  It was almost over. They would soon be heading back to New Orleans and whatever the future held for all of them.

  “I don’t have to worry about Agent Weston showing up to put Araceli in cuffs then?”

  “You do not,” Giselle said smugly. “The judge gave you carte blanche to treat Araceli like an adult who has control over her life. She’s been living on her own, and he agrees that needs to be respected. You don’t think she’ll run, do you? All bets will be off if she does. And we’ll never hear the end of it from Agent Weston.”

  Courtney inhaled deeply again. She had followed her instincts all this time and didn’t plan to stop now. “No.”

  Now Araceli had incentive, thanks to a generous man who understood what it would take to make this young lady happy. The older lady in his arms, too.

  “When the judge says the FBI has to wait to interview Araceli until she gets back to New Orleans, then the FBI has to wait. Best part is that I get to tell Agent Weston.”

  Giselle laughed, sounding exactly the way Courtney felt right now—giddy.

  “Well, you have fun with that, Giselle. I’m going to wrap this up with the Nashville officers. I haven’t eaten a bite in over twenty-four hours and the adrenaline is wearing off. Thanks for getting this taken care of.”

  “Thank you, Courtney, my friend. I knew there was a reason I always give you the tough cases.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Lucky me, too. And Nanette. You’re the best.”

  Courtney ended the call and found Marc smiling. Burrowing her face in his neck, she smiled, too.

  When the officers came back out of the room, Courtney explained what was going to happen. “The judge sent a fax. It should be at the station if you want to check.”

  The officers made a call to ensure everything was in order, then they gave her the address that Araceli had given them. “We’ll be escorting you there, but once we check out the place, you’ll be on your own.”

  Marc thanked them for their help.

  “Just call us if things go balls-up,” Officer Langston said with a laugh. “We’ll be on shift. Things won’t be as exciting the rest of the night.”

  There was something about happy endings that put everyone in a good mood.

  The officers informed Araceli she would be released into Courtney’s custody, and Kyle was free to leave. Of course he wouldn’t leave Araceli’s side, so the four of them made their way to the rental car for a police escort to Araceli’s place.

  Her home was in a lower-rent part of town, but the apartment was safe and clean. There was no phone, television or computer, but lots of homey touches. A love note with little hearts on a napkin hung from a magnet on the refrigerator amid photos of Araceli with a lovely woman with soft brown hair and a gentle smile. Art graced every surface and appeared to be an evolutionary yardstick from papier-mâché figurines and sculpted vases obviously made by small hands to a gorgeous sketch of the woman in the photos.

  Debbie, the woman who had filled this young girl’s life with love. Love was everywhere in this tiny apartment, and Courtney blinked back tears as Araceli showed Kyle around her home, a young girl who was finally going to stop hiding in the shadows and turn her beautiful face up to the sun just like the wildflowers in the picture she had painted as a thanks.

  There were two twin beds in the apartment’s only bedroom, but Courtney didn’t think Araceli or Kyle would be doing much sleeping, so she just left the door open and made her way into the living room to Marc. Looked like they wouldn’t be getting much sleep, either. They sat on the couch with their feet propped on the coffee table and their heads together.

  “Thank you,” she said as they sat there in the dark, the only light the glow from a night-light in the bathroom, listening to the muted whispers that came from the bedroom.

  “Thank you for springing me from my mother’s,” he said quietly.

  “We’re even, is that it?”

  He just nodded, and she snuggled against his warm body.

  “You were very generous to offer to find Araceli’s mother.”

  “Gave her a reason to swallow her pride and come back to New Orleans, and that made you happy. I’m a rock star now.”

  “You are.” She pressed a kiss to his throat, tasted the strong beat of his pulse there, wanted so much more than a few days with him. “Whether or not you’re talented. Which you are apparently, and I didn’t know you even p
layed.”

  “I haven’t played in a long time. Surprised I remembered.”

  “Marc, seriously.” He obviously hadn’t learned to play in band class at school. The man had been trained, and she knew enough about DiLeo family history to wonder when.

  “Music was once my life. I’d forgotten. Or blocked it out.”

  She wanted to know why, wanted to know him, the things he didn’t easily share, the things that made him a caring man.

  Because he was, though he worked so hard to hide how much he cared.

  “Why?” Such a simple question.

  “Other things became more important, I guess.”

  Such a simple answer for something she sensed wasn’t so simple at all.

  “Now I don’t know what comes next,” he admitted.

  Tracing the curls at his nape, she made an admission of her own. “All I know is whenever it’s time to move on, something better always comes along.”

  “Does it?”

  “Always.” Wasn’t that what they were doing right now? “Sitting here with you is so much better than being alone.”

  He was silent for such a long time she didn’t think he would reply. But when he pressed a kiss to her hair, his throaty voice gentled the unfamiliar darkness. “You’re right.”

  And the pleasure that filtered through her chased away the last of her reservations. She sat there nestled in his strong arms and remembered the past weeks as this man had antagonized her, proved himself to her—likely to himself, too—made love to her with breathtaking frequency and ridden in on his white horse to promise a happy ending. And Courtney knew why she didn’t want to let him go right now. Somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THROUGH THE COTTAGE kitchen window, Marc could see when the light on the second floor of Courtney’s house went out, and when it did, he knew Araceli had gone to bed.

  He hadn’t needed to make the flight to Colombia to keep his promise after all. With the help of an investigator from Bogotá, Marc had tracked down Araceli’s mother and brother within a week. There had been a lot of tears when mother and daughter had spoken for the first time in eight years, and Marc felt a sense of accomplishment that he couldn’t remember experiencing before at the part he’d played bringing a family together again.