by Pat Warren
“We talked about this on the phone, that all of us have to follow some rules.”
Michael drew her down to the bench. “Sure, but try telling that to one of these kids. He walks around neighborhoods where kids live in nice houses with parents who care, who buy them bikes and cars and good food, provide them with TVs and VCRs and fun vacations. He doesn’t have any of that, and most of the time, it’s due to nothing he personally did. It’s the luck of the draw that his parents died, or were drunks or got divorced or just cut out. He’s frustrated at the injustice of it. So maybe he steals a car so he can feel like the other kids.”
“He steals a car? But that only compounds his many problems.”
“Right on. But for that brief time, he’s king of the hill behind the wheel of that powerful car. He’s just like the kids he envies, for a change. Oh, sure, the fantasy ends, but the feelings don’t go away. Then when he gets picked up, his freedom’s really gone. Now he’s living with even more regrets. And he’s filled with impotent rage because he didn’t get a fair break in life. When he’s released, the cycle repeats.”
Fallon leaned her head back against the stucco wall. “What about the kids who have parents at home who gave them material things and love and attention? Or at least tried to.”
Michael met her eyes and knew that it was Laurie she was picturing. “One thing you’re going to have to come to grips with is that Laurie didn’t run away because she didn’t like the dinner menu or the color of her bedroom curtains. We don’t know what prompted her yet, but I guarantee you, she has a reason. And when we find her, it isn’t going to be any easier to remedy her situation than it is Daryl’s. Offering a kid love isn’t enough.”
Before Fallon could refute his analysis, the door alongside the bench opened and a uniformed policeman came out, his hand on the arm of a young boy. Daryl looked younger than fourteen, Fallon thought, with his slim frame and baby face. But his eyes as he gazed up at Michael looked old and world-weary. She’d been expecting defiance, given his history, but was surprised that he looked as if he was having a hard time fighting tears.
“I’m sorry, Michael,” Daryl said, his voice cracking with a mixture of puberty and emotion.
Michael put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, his touch light but unmistakably reassuring, then he turned to the officer. “You’ve got some papers for me?”
“Right here.”
He signed for Daryl, then led the way out to the blue van. Fallon insisted on climbing into the back seat so that Daryl could sit alongside Michael up front. He introduced them as he turned on the engine, but she could barely hear the boy’s mumbled “Hi.” She couldn’t blame him for not feeling chatty.
If even some of what Michael had told her was true, the kid was frustrated and embarrassed. Fourteen. Good God, at that age, he should be starting high school, worrying about homework, trying out for football. He should be joking and laughing instead of hanging his head low. He should be tanned and healthy instead of thin and pale. He looked in desperate need of love and affection.
She turned to gaze out the window at the dark streets, feeling emotions clogging her throat. What kind of world were they living in where boys like this one had to steal to eat and have a decent pair of shoes, or where girls like Laurie preferred living on the streets to the sort of home Fallon had thought was not perfect but far from terrible?
For the first time since she’d gotten her mother’s frantic phone call, Fallon began to wonder if perhaps something awful had happened to Laurie to make her leave.
They rode in silence the short distance back to Michael’s House. The van wasn’t new and Fallon wondered if, given the surrounding neighborhood, Michael deliberately used an older vehicle that was less apt to be stolen or stripped. Or perhaps there wasn’t enough in the way of donations to pay for a new van.
Michael stopped in front of the quiet house, shut off the motor and turned to Daryl. “I signed for you. That means I’m responsible for you. I want your promise that you won’t make me regret that decision.”
After a moment, Daryl raised his head. “What do I have to do?”
“You have to go in with me, get cleaned up, eat something and take a room assignment. You have to enroll in school tomorrow and no cutting classes. You have to follow our rules.”
Daryl thought that over for a long moment. “You going to send me to another foster home?”
“Before I answer, I want to know why you left the last one.”
Daryl took even longer answering this one. “The woman was okay most of the time, but the man yelled all the time, even at his own kids. He had a lawn service he’d started and he made all of us work cutting grass, after school and all day Saturday, until dark. I told him I had these allergies where my eyes almost swelled shut and my nose ran all the time. He told me to stop being a baby and do my share or he’d call and report me. I cut out of there before he could.”
“If he’d reported you, you could have told your story. Well, never mind now. These foster parents, they didn’t hurt you physically, did they?”
“No. They just weren’t for me.”
What would be for him? Michael wondered. Like himself, Daryl had lived in half a dozen foster homes without feeling at home. That thought made his decision for him. “I’m going to let you stay with us, but you’ve got to promise me—no running and no more stealing. You study hard and keep your nose clean.” Then, because he saw the quick relief on Daryl’s face, he again touched his shoulder. “Will you do it? Will you hold up your end and not let me down?”
Daryl blinked rapidly, his eyes downcast. “Yeah, okay.”
Michael swung around and saw that Fallon had been watching them with avid interest. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“I should go.” She pointed to the Mustang parked ahead of the van. “That’s my rental. I need to check into a hotel or a motel. It’s getting late and—”
“We have to talk,” Michael insisted. “And you need to eat.”
Fallon brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m too tired to eat, honestly.”
Michael opened his door. “You’re going to eat if I have to spoon-feed you.” He saw temper move into her eyes and softened his tone. “You’re running on empty, Fallon. You need to refuel. The body, even one as well made as yours, wasn’t intended to operate on sheer determination. Besides, I missed dinner, too.”
He turned toward her and held out his band. “Give me your keys. I don’t want to leave your car there on the street with your bag and all in it.”
“But I...”
Impatience whipped through him. “It’s only a little after seven. Will you please relax? I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” He stepped out of the van.
Daryl opened his door, then glanced back at Fallon, a small smile hovering around his mouth. “He’s real bossy, but he’s a helluva guy.” He jumped out and followed Michael up the steps.
Fallon stared after them, trying to decide whether she was terribly annoyed at Michael’s take-charge manner or terribly impressed at the way he’d handled the boy. She sat watching the two figures, noticing them pause before opening the door, talking quietly on the shadowy porch. Then she saw something that had her peering more closely out the window. Michael opened his arms and Daryl closed the gap between them. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, the tall man hugged the young boy.
They went inside then, and Fallon moved up to the seat Daryl had vacated. She felt as if she’d intruded on a private moment, but she was glad she had, for she suddenly realized something important: Michael cared.
Despite his bossy ways, he honestly cared for these kids, some who very likely had no one else to care about them. She hadn’t been prepared for that, thinking that he was probably a stern taskmaster in order to win the respect of these streetwise kids. And he was, but he was much more. She also hadn’t been prepared for the way what she’d just witnessed had shifted her opinion of Michael Redfield.
As Daryl had to
ld her, he was a hell of a guy.
Fallon heard her stomach growl in anticipation as the waitress wearing the name tag “Dolly” placed a large plate containing a fat cheeseburger and a huge serving of fries in front of her. Dolly put the exact same meal in front of Michael, seated on the red faux-leather booth across from her, before setting down two glasses of ice-cold milk.
“Anything else I can get you?” Dolly asked, her smile aimed at Michael.
“Thanks, Dolly. I think this is just what the doctor ordered.” He gave her a friendly wink.
Fallon shook her head. “No doctor on earth would order this meal. I can hear my arteries screaming already.” But she picked up the enormous burger with both hands, all but salivating at the delicious aroma of onions.
“You can eat tofu and carrot sticks tomorrow,” Michael said. He’d ordered for them, thinking she needed something substantial and forbidden. “Besides, milk is healthy, isn’t it?”
“Skim milk is. This glass is loaded with butterfat”
Michael chewed appreciatively, then swallowed. “Maybe this stuff will kill you, but I don’t want to die eating wheat germ.”
They ate in silence for several minutes in the last booth of the small neighborhood sandwich shop. Michael knew both waitresses and the owner, Roberto, who donated day-old bread and buns to his place regularly. He usually took his meals at the house since he spent so much time there, but he’d wanted to get Fallon away from there tonight, wanted to hear if she’d learned anything on her trip to the police station. Privacy was often hard to come by at Michael’s House.
He decided to let her bring up the subject, fairly certain that she would. He didn’t have to wait long.
Fallon couldn’t believe that she would eat three-quarters of the huge burger practically before taking a deep breath. She took a sip of her milk, studying Michael as he ate with gusto.
Unruly was the word for his hair, which gave him that untamed look. Adding to that impression was the set of his mouth and the determination in his dazzling blue eyes. She had the feeling that Michael Redfield was a man who called the shots in everything he did.
“You were pretty terrific with Daryl,” she began, picking at her fries now that the main thrust of her hunger was appeased.
Michael shrugged off her compliment. “It’s not readily apparent, but that kid’s got potential. The last time he was with us, he expressed some interest in art, so I took him up to one of the vacant rooms on the third floor where I keep some paints and a couple of canvases.”
She remembered the seascape in his office. “Did you do the one on the wall behind your desk?”
“Yeah, I doodle around with it. Frees my mind, you know. So I let him go to town. You should see the painting he did. A mountain lion standing on a rocky crevice, very detailed, very beautiful. He didn’t copy it from a picture, either. Daryl told me that once, a while back, he’d been taken camping by the foster family of the moment and they’d spotted a mountain lion. He liked the ‘reined-in power’ of the animal. His words, not mine.”
Fallon set aside her plate and leaned back, sure she couldn’t swallow another mouthful. “So you bailed him out tonight because you feel he has potential as an artist?”
Michael finished munching on his fries and concentrated on wiping his fingers as he answered her. “Not exactly, although that’s possible. I think he’s got potential as a person. He’s not really a thief but someone who’s had a rough go. Not to excuse the theft, but to understand the boy’s motive. Who among us would starve rather than steal half a dozen apples—his last run-in with the law. I think Daryl’s basically a good kid.” He smiled at her. “And, as I said earlier, I like kids.”
Thoughtfully, Fallon planted her arms on the table and leaned forward, her eyes on his. “I think there’s more. I think you relate to that abandoned boy with such empathy because of something else.” She’d been thinking about this since they’d pulled away from the house, wondering what made Michael so sensitive to a young boy’s feelings—enough to know he needed a hug more than a hot shower. She couldn’t reconcile his compassion with the fact that he’d grown up privileged.
Of course, she knew that many wealthy people were philanthropists and helped those less fortunate in a variety of ways. But Michael didn’t just contribute money, from what she’d seen. He worked with these kids, went fund-raising for them, ate with them and shared a room in the house with them. He made deals with the police on their behalf and offered medical assistance.
She believed that he cared, but she also suspected there was more to him than she’d so far been able to figure out.
She hesitated, knowing the question she wanted to ask was quite personal, yet she decided to plunge in anyhow, realizing that he would have done the same. “Were you adopted, Michael?”
She saw a flicker in his eyes—something that came and went so quickly, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it. “No. My mother and father both loved me very much. Don’t make a drama out of my defense of Daryl. It happens to be my job.” Turning, he signaled the waitress for the check.
That was the second time Fallon felt she’d hit a nerve with him. She couldn’t have been mistaken twice. “Let me pay my share,” she said, reaching for her purse as Michael gave the waitress several bills.
“Nope. Tonight, I pay. Tomorrow, you can buy my dinner.” He slid out of the booth.
“I’m not going to be around tomorrow. I’ve got to get busy and find Laurie.” She followed him outside to the van.
He held open her door. “Get in. We have an errand to run.”
Fallon sighed wearily. “Look, I’ve gone to the station with you and I’ve eaten like you ordered me to. Enough’s enough. I’m exhausted and I...”
He climbed behind the wheel, started up and swung out into traffic. “This won’t take long and I promise you it will be worth your time.”
She had to call an end to this soon, Fallon decided as she fastened her seat belt. The man ordered her around like one of his runaways and overrode her every objection. She needed his help in finding Laurie, but she’d had it with his commanding manner. They’d only just met a few hours ago and she felt as if he would take over her life if she let him.
Perhaps if she hadn’t lived with a domineering stepfather or been engaged to a man like Jeff Raynor who wanted to make every decision for her, she might not have felt quite so reluctant to go along with Michael’s many whims. She realized that he had numerous connections she could use in her search and that he knew the city inside and out. Still, just a few hours with him, and she was beginning to get that smothered feeling. Maybe if—
The van jerked to a stop at the edge of a large park. Becoming aware of her surroundings, Fallon sat up straighter and noticed a picnic area with overhead lights, a lot of shrubbery, a running path, walkways, and a play area with swings, slides and teeter-totters. She also noticed more than a dozen young people walking or sitting on the grass, or playing catch. “Where are we?” she asked.
Michael unstrapped himself and moved to the back of the van where several boxes were stacked. “Balboa Park. I come here several evenings a week. It’s a gathering place for teenagers. Not all of them are runaways or street people, but a majority are.” He shoved open the sliding van door. “I pass out donated food, blankets, sometimes jackets and socks, bandages, something to drink—whatever usable donations people give us. Everything gets picked up.” He stepped out, then grabbed two of the boxes. “It won’t take me long. You can wait here or walk around, if you like. Maybe you’ll spot your sister.”
That prompted her like nothing else would have. Trailing slowly along, she watched Michael leave a box on a picnic table, removing the lid. Several kids wandered over right away, others hung back, eyeing both of them suspiciously. Carefully, she scanned the faces, looking for a familiar oval face and long chestnut hair.
Michael tossed a pile of blankets on a stone ledge, then went back for a case of drinks. Fallon noticed two teenagers in an intimate emb
race on the grass, oblivious to everyone around them. Three others sat smoking on the grass, their eyes in the light of the streetlamps looking jaded and more suspicious than Daryl’s had been. One girl had a gash on her forehead covered with dried blood. Fallon wanted to go to her, but the tall, skinny boy with his arm around her waist wore an open leather vest and a challenging expression that had her turning away.
She strolled on, searching, but Laurie wasn’t among the lost and lonely faces that stared back at her, some in defiance, others with empty eyes. She counted more than twenty kids before she turned and started back. Of everything she’d seen and done today, this was the worst. Looking around, she spotted Michael by a burbling water fountain talking with a very young, very pregnant girl. Feeling thoroughly helpless, Fallon climbed back in the van.
A few minutes passed before Michael got behind the wheel and glanced over at her. “There weren’t too many out tonight. Some evenings, there are twice as many.” He saw the astonishment on her face before anger leaped into her green eyes.
“It isn’t fair, all those kids out there, alone and unsupervised. A couple of them didn’t look to be more than twelve or thirteen. Where are the adults—someone to supervise them, someone waiting for them to come home?”
Michael had hoped this visit would help her understand and question. He struggled with a sense of weariness as he tried to explain. “I suppose some of those kids left decent homes for whatever reason, like Laurie, but the others, more often than not, have no one. They have only each other.”