Baby, I'll Find You

by Jennifer Skully

  One corner of his mouth quirked up. She wondered if he knew she was arguing just for the sake of arguing. A tiny muscle ticked once in his jaw. Yeah, he knew. It made her feel better. She’d rather they gave each other a rash of crap than return to the mire they’d created up in the hotel room.

  She’d offered her help. He’d refused her hand. All she could do now was protect her heart.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The day was sunny but cool. Sailboats dotted the bay, and kids played Frisbee on the marina lawn. T. L. Petrov’s studio was a couple of blocks over. A four-story building with ornate stonework and metal bars over the windows, it had probably been constructed about the same time as the Palace of Fine Arts just down the street. The Palace was one of the last remaining structures from the 1915 Panama-Pacific Exposition.

  Peering at the buzzers lining the front door, Jami pushed the button for number sixteen. Cole waited in the sun just short of the front stoop. Two more buzzes netted nothing. Dammit.

  She’d stepped down to join him when the front door burst open. It would have whacked her in the forehead if she’d still been standing there. A teenage boy bounded out, threw his skateboard to the ground, and hit it running.

  “How do they do that without breaking a bone?” she asked in amazement.

  Cole didn’t answer. She found him on the stoop again, this time holding the door open. “Tailgating.”

  “But no one answered in the studio.”

  He shrugged. “The great artist might have been ignoring you.”

  She assumed Cole had ignored a few buzzes on his door. Except the night she’d turned up.

  The aroma of freshly polished wood mixed with acrid odor of burnt toast. The banister was painted white, and a carpet runner of steel blue protected the hardwood stairs. On the right, the elevator was an old-fashioned style with a gate for a closure.

  “Let’s walk.” She wasn’t sure which floor number sixteen would be on, though it had to be close to the top as she saw only four apartment doors on the first level.

  Five minutes later, Jami thanked God for her speedwalks at lunch every day for the last ten years, or she’d have been prostrate climbing that many flights of stairs. Cole wasn’t even out of breath. Apartment sixteen was indeed on the top floor, at the back facing the bay. She rapped on the door. Again, no answer.

  Cole took over, pounding the wood with his fist.

  “That’s just going to piss him off, if he’s actually here.”

  He bared his teeth. “Which means he’ll come to the door so he can give me a piece of his mind.”

  “Voice of experience,” she muttered.

  And he was right. Sure enough, the door flung wide. “What is your major malfunction?”

  T. L. Petrov wasn’t a he at all. She was petite, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, splashes of paint all over her thigh-length T-shirt, and a couple of splotches of fluorescent orange on her cheek that, for some odd reason, didn’t clash with the pink and purple stripes in her hair. The dye in her sable brown locks actually looked attractive, pink and purple curls escaping the ponytail to frame her face. Her baggy T-shirt did nothing to detract from her curves. Men liked curves. And a large bosom. Despite herself, Jami glanced at Cole to gauge his reaction.

  She’d forgotten the sunglasses. His expression was deadpan. No red-blooded male could be deadpan around...that. Around Jami’s age, the woman was pretty, disgustingly gorgeous, in fact, with a petite yet curvy body.

  Jeez, she needed to shut down her emotions. Cole wasn’t ready for a relationship. He would never be ready for a relationship. She needed to stop the madness.

  “Hi. My name’s Jami Baylor. We’re looking for a friend, and she might have come here. Could you look at a picture?”

  T. L. Petrov’s face softened. “Andrea?”

  Jami’s stomach dropped all the way to her toes, and her heart started pounding. “Oh God, she’s here.” Oh thank you, thank you, God.

  “Actually I sent her down for a chai and a whole wheat bagel, but she’ll be back.” She rose up on her tiptoes to look over Jami’s shoulder at the head of the stairs. “Will she recognize your car downstairs?”

  “It’s out on the street by the Palace,” Cole answered. That’s the only place they’d found parking.

  Cole followed as the woman grabbed Jami’s arm and pulled her in, kicking the door shut with her foot. “I am so glad you came. I thought about calling the police, but...”

  The view out the window stole Jami’s breath. Alcatraz rose out of the water, and the sun sparkled between the white caps. The Sausalito end of the Golden Gate Bridge was shrouded in fog, its red spires rising above the misty tendrils. The room itself was amazing, unfinished paintings on easels, stands of paint boxes, drop cloths protecting the floors. And the paintings, bright colors, bursting suns, blood red moons and creatures that lived only in the imagination.

  Her concern for Andrea, though, overruled her fascination. “Has Andrea done something wrong, Ms. Petrov?”

  “Call me Tommy.” Hah! Another woman with a guy’s name. “The T stands for Tomasina, and I added the L so people would think I was man. Men get more respect in the art world. And no, Andrea didn’t do anything. I just figured someone somewhere had probably reported her missing even though she said she was an orphan.”

  “So why didn’t you call the police right away?” Cole asked, his face set in stone.

  “I wasn’t sure she’d tell them her name, and I didn’t want them sticking her in some juvenile facility.”

  Jami shuddered. She’d seen enough TV movies to be scared witless by the thought of Andrea in one of those places.

  “I let her flop here a couple of nights, and I’ve been deciding what to do.”

  “It takes two nights to decide?” Cole was starting to sound a little hostile.

  Tommy raised her chin. “Yeah. Some things you have to finesse.”

  Jami put her hand on Cole’s arm and squeezed. “We’re glad she wasn’t on the street. She’s been gone since Wednesday.”

  “She wouldn’t tell me her name, and she hinted that she was being abused at some foster place she’d been staying at. I tried to see if I could get a look in her stuff, like maybe she’d have some ID or something, but she was very secretive.” Pacing to the window, she leaned close, and looked up the street. “I don’t see her yet.” She put a hand to her face and smeared the orange. “She said she’d seen my artwork in a book and wanted to meet me.” Finally, she turned. “Who are you two, anyway?”

  Cole crossed his arms, making sure Tommy Petrov saw the flexing muscles. “Andrea works for me. My name’s Cole Amory.”

  “We’re from a little town right by Yosemite. And I’m Cole’s bookkeeper. Andrea’s not an orphan, and she’s never been in foster-care.” But the girl sure knew how to make up a story to get sympathy.

  “But how do I know you’re not the skanky foster care couple?”

  Jami fished her cell phone out of her purse. “You can call Andrea’s mom. Her name’s Mrs. Bagotti.”

  Tommy waved away the phone. “No.” She puffed at a few strands of hair that fell across her cheek. “Andrea did sort of lay it on thick, but I still didn’t want to send her away. I was actually hoping she’d feel comfortable enough to tell me her name, and then I could convince her to call her folks.” She crossed her arms in unconscious imitation of Cole. “This has been kind of nerve-wracking, you know. I don’t even have a kid sister to help me figure out how to deal with it.”

  Jami smiled, her relief making her lightheaded. “Thanks for letting her stay.”

  Cole hooked a finger at Jami. “She’s been waking me up with her nightmares about Andrea getting kidnapped off the streets and all sorts of bad things happening to her.” He removed his shades and tucked them in his pocket.

  Jami stared at him. Where did that come from? He simply raised one eyebrow. There wasn’t some hidden meaning behind it; he was letting Tommy know they were a team, not just two adult freaks o
ut to harass a kid.

  Tommy tipped her head. “Here she is,” she whispered, as if she were in tune with the sounds of the big building, detecting even the most subtle changes.

  The door burst open. “They didn’t have any whole wheat left...” Andrea tromped in three steps before stopping.

  Her backpack on her back, she clutched a holder with two cups, a white bag dangling from her fingers. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail high on the back of her head like Tommy’s.

  Jami held out her cell phone. “I think you should call your mom. She’s really worried.”

  Andrea dropped her chin and stared at the floor. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize to us. Apologize to your parents.”

  Andrea shuffled forward. Tommy took the chai and the bagel bag, and Andrea took the cell phone. Turning her back, she headed into a corner behind several easels.

  “So, she’s really not an orphan.”

  Jami shook her head. “No.”

  “Why’d she run away?”

  “I think she felt no one was listening to her.” Jami cocked her head to regard Tommy. “You listened to her, didn’t you?”

  “She seems like a good kid.” She smiled. “And she’s going to be one helluvan artist. She showed me her sketchbook. I told her all about the school I went to. It was a high school, but they stressed the arts as well, a lot more than public school ever did.”

  “I’m sure she’ll tell her parents all about it.” Cole eyed Jami, and they shared the same thought. Andrea would tell her parents, and they’d say they couldn’t afford it.

  Then again, sometimes people changed their minds. Especially after their daughter ran away.

  * * * * *

  Cole stood behind Andrea, gazing at the stylized painting of Mrs. Spreckels’ daughter.

  “I haven’t grasped the concept of having enough money to ask Salvador Dali to paint your portrait,” he mused.

  Andrea simply basked in the reflective glory.

  For a Friday morning, the Legion museum was pretty crowded. A couple of elementary school students were scattered about the Impressionist gallery making drawings. The bus had unloaded, and several teachers directed their charges to different rooms. He’d seen a few by the Rodin statues, and two students had plunked themselves down on the concrete outside to sketch The Thinker in the courtyard.

  Jami was on the other side of the U-shaped building, checking out the tapestries.

  Which left Cole alone with Andrea. She hadn’t made it to the Legion of Honor yesterday. He wanted her to go before they left so she could scratch that off her list.

  “You know running away was pretty stupid,” he said, keeping his voice low and devoid of emotion.

  “I know.” The top of her head came to the bottom of his chin. She neither turned nor looked over her shoulder at him.

  She’d called her mom, then spoken to her dad. Jami had spoken to them both, too, and promised to have Andrea home by dinnertime. Tommy Petrov gathered the girl’s stuff, gave her a quick hug, and told her to e-mail any time.

  It had all worked out. Just the way he’d told Jami it would, despite the fact that he hadn’t really believed himself.

  The very fact that nothing had happened to her, though, made him worry about her trying it again. Maybe he should have left the discussion to Jami. Wasn’t the woman the one who handled this kind of stuff better?

  “I had a little girl,” he said. Twice in one day, he was baring his soul about Stephie. His eyes hurt, but he would not get emotional. Still, he was glad Andrea didn’t turn around. “She died a long time ago.”

  “That’s too bad,” she whispered. Her arms tensed, and he was sure she’d hugged her sketchbook a little harder to her chest. But, unlike an adult, she didn’t ask a single question, not how or when or why.

  “Do you want to know how I would have felt if she’d run away like you did?”

  “You would have been hurt.”

  “I would have died inside. I would have been so scared, and I might very well have lost my mind worrying for two days without a single word from her.”

  She absorbed that for a long time, just as she’d absorbed Dali’s details. The Spreckels woman hadn’t been a real looker. “I guess it was pretty mean of me to do,” she said.

  “Yeah. If your parents hated you, it’d be a whole different thing.”

  “They don’t hate me.” She sniffed lightly.

  “Or if they loved your brother Darryl more and treated you like scum.”

  “They don’t.”

  “Or if they beat you.”

  She brushed a hand across her cheek. “They don’t even know I’m alive sometimes.”

  He ached for her. “People can be like that without thinking. They get all wrapped up in their own crap, and they forget because they know you’re doing fine and you’re smart and pretty. While Darryl needs them.”

  “You think I’m smart and pretty?”

  God. She was a woman all right, and her need for approval made him ache. “Yeah. I also think your parents love you a lot.”

  “And they want what’s best for me.” She sighed. “I know, I know.”

  “Maybe sometimes you just have to force them to listen to you.” He tapped her shoulder. “But not by running away and scaring the crap out of everybody. Frank’s a mess, you know. He’s aged ten years.”

  She laughed, sniffed, and swiped her cheek again. “Frank’s a geek,” she whispered, then hiccupped.

  “Yeah, we’re all geeks. So promise you’re not going to do anything like this again.” She turned then, and he put his hand over his chest. “My heart can’t take it.”

  Her eyes were red, her cheeks moist. “Why do you care?”

  “I care like your parents care.”

  “You hardly say anything to me.”

  “But I’m always watching out for you so nothing bad happens.” It was a stretch. He’d avoided her.

  “Just like my parents?” She was no dummy.

  “Yeah.”

  She absorbed that for a moment before she spoke. “I don’t want to be an accountant. I want to be an artist.”

  “Then I guess you’ll have to figure out how to get a scholarship for school, and how you’re going to support yourself while you’re grooming your talent.”

  He thought about the hellholes he’d lived in when he was first starting out, the rotten jobs, the times he was hungry. “A long time ago, I used to be a musician.”

  Her wide eyes said it all. “Really?”

  “Really,” he answered.

  “Sweet.”

  “It was long before Easy Cheesy. I wish I’d done it a lot smarter, planned more on how I’d support myself. ‘Cause it takes a while to get things going. Believe me, I know exactly why we’re called starving artists.”

  He waited for her to ask what happened, why he’d chosen the grill at Easy Cheesy over his music. She didn’t. Some people weren’t curious. Or maybe they didn’t like to ask questions. Whatever, Andrea simply waited for him to make his point.

  “You have a chance to do it smart. Maybe your parents aren’t so dumb, and you should ask them how they can help you.”

  She shook her head, dropping her gaze to the floor. “I don’t think they’ll listen. My dad was really angry the night before I left.”

  His finger under her chin, he forced her to meet his eyes. “Maybe they’ll listen now.”

  She blinked.

  “Will you at least promise you’ll try?”

  Finally, after a long silent moment, she nodded.

  “Good. Because I don’t want to make Frank whup you upside the head if you ever try anything like that again.” He tucked her beneath his arm and steered them back through the galleries. “Let’s find Jami and get something to eat before we head back home.”

  “Thanks, Cole.”

  For some reason, that one simple word and the fragile feel of her under his arm made him his eyeballs ache and his heart threaten to pound right out
of his chest.

  * * * * *

  Jami wiped her eyes. She couldn’t hear what they said, but the words didn’t matter. It was the way he talked to her, like she was a person instead of a kid. The look on his face, as if the girl were the most important thing in the world right at that moment. They wouldn’t have noticed an earthquake. Jami ducked back through the entryway as Cole put his arm around Andrea and made her smile.

  He wouldn’t want her seeing that. He claimed he was dead inside, that he couldn’t have a relationship, that he wanted to be left alone. Yet there was so much inside him waiting to break free if he’d just let go. Her heart hurt. After this morning, she was well aware he would never let it all out beyond a few brief moments like the one he’d just experienced with Andrea. Jami knew how hard that must have been for him, yet he’d practically put his boot on her ass and kicked her in the other direction when they first arrived at the Legion so that he could handle the talk with Andrea.

  She’d had to trust him to say the right thing. It was obvious he had. It was also obvious Jami was going to have a really hard time leaving Masterson and Easy Cheesy. She’d think about that when the time came, though that was probably sooner rather than later. The longer she stayed, the worse the heartbreak when she finally moved on.

  Who was she kidding? Her heart already was breaking.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Do you think her Dad’s going to listen?”

  Cole shrugged. “Walter doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who likes to listen, but I believe he’ll make the attempt.”

  They’d dropped Andrea off just after dark. Her mom had hugged her hard, then Jami, Darryl, even Cole, and finally burst into tears as she hugged Andrea again. Walter gruffly told her to stop blubbering, but Jami noticed the tear in his eye as well. She was sure he’d make the effort to understand.

  “Thanks for driving.”

  Parked outside his house, Cole shut off the engine and plopped the key in her hand. “Welcome.” Then he reached behind her seat to the floorboard for his paper bag of clothing.