He’d come to a stop in the middle of the street, staring. Not giving a damn that he was blocking the road, he set the emergency brake and got out, crossed the street and climbed the few concrete steps to yard level.
The witch’s balls weren’t the only thing hanging from branches and eaves. There were long, thin shards of blown glass, too, in myriad colors. Some hung alone, like icicles. Others were suspended in clusters from pieces of driftwood. Wind chimes. So many of them he stared in awe.
Dazed, he stepped into the yard and almost whacked his head on a big mother of a glass ball. Only a quick shuffle saved him.
Hernandez said something had bumped into him. Hell, yeah. Imagine if the wind blew. Even a mild breeze.
Things were moving, and there was this weird music all around me. And yeah, I was drunk, but I’m telling you, it was a creepy place.
Mike’s gaze dropped to the well that protected a basement window. He reached for his cell phone.
* * *
HE SUDDENLY EXCLAIMED, “WHAT the…? There’s somebody in the goddamn yard!” There was a clatter in the living room, and Sicily knew it had to be now.
She reached for the knob, turning it as quietly as she could. As she opened the door a crack then widened it, she heard him say, “It’s a cop! It’s gotta be a cop,” and then a bunch of obscenities. His voice was shaking. She’d be glad if she weren’t so scared.
The hall was empty.
Sicily left her flip-flops behind, slipped out of the bathroom and hurried toward that extra big door that must lead to the outside. She’d left the bathroom door closed, hoping it might give her a minute as he waited for her to come out.
She was fumbling with the dead bolt when she heard, “Kid, what’re you…?” and then a roar.
Her hands were shaking. He was coming. She flung the door open, leaped through and slammed it behind her. She found herself in an unfinished part of the basement where there was a washer and dryer and a bunch of junk. A bike. She grabbed the bike and threw it where he’d trip over it, then tore up the wooden steps to yet another door.
He was bellowing with rage that turned into screamed obscenities when he fell over the bike. Sicily got the other door open and threw herself out, running even before she looked around her.
Gravel crunched under her bare feet and it hurt so much she half fell against a car, but she pushed herself up and kept going. Beyond them was an alley. There was nobody around although she could hear traffic. She wanted to scream but didn’t dare waste the air. His pounding footsteps weren’t far behind. He was yelling at her.
* * *
“MIKE, THAT YOU?” CAROL Trenor said in his ear.
“Yeah. I’ve found it. Haven’t gone around back yet to see if the car’s here….”
He heard the bang of a door, a crash, a bellow of rage. A sob? He started to move, but on this side of the house a six-foot fence blocked him from the backyard. Around to the other side… No. He could drive around to the alley as quickly and block it.
Bounding down the stairs to his SUV, he told Carol the address, slammed the door, tossed the phone aside and accelerated hard enough to burn rubber.
* * *
A SOLID FENCE LINED THE ALLEY on the other side. Downhill? She could go faster, but so could he. Up? She didn’t even know why or how she decided, just ran with everything she had. Sicily was only distantly aware her feet were in agony. She tore behind a panel truck parked at a neighbor’s a little way up the alley. A gate was open; she dodged into the yard. Which way? A brick path led around the house, there was a shed she could try to hide in… But her desperate gaze fastened on some two-by-fours nailed to the side of the shed in a stair-step arrangement. For a cat? They gave enough footholds and handholds for her to clamber up. She was almost on top of the shed when a hand closed around her ankle and yanked.
Sicily kicked out with her other foot and felt it connect with a crunch that had him screaming in fury. But then he grabbed that ankle, too. Sobbing, she scrabbled for a handhold, any kind of handhold, but her fingers were trying to dig into a gritty, flat roof. She slid backward, leaving skin behind. Her hips momentarily lodged against the edge of the roof. Now she was screaming, too. Why, oh, why wasn’t someone coming out of the house? Didn’t anybody hear her?
And then came the roar of a truck coming down the alley. The driver wouldn’t be able to see them. Whoever it was would keep going and miss them, and he would drag her back down into that horrible apartment and he’d kill her.
But the truck skidded to a stop, a door opened, there were running footsteps and the next thing she knew, her ankles were free.
Wounded, terrified, Sicily pulled herself back onto the roof, far enough from the edge so that nobody could grab her, and waited.
Somebody heard. Somebody came.
* * *
MIKE SLAMMED THE SON OF A BITCH onto his face on the ground in seconds, cuffed him, said in a guttural voice, “Police. You piece of scum, you’re under arrest.”
He didn’t bother reading him his rights. The real arrest would be in someone else’s hands. This wasn’t his jurisdiction, and truth was that he’d never wanted to kill somebody more.
The creep lay there sobbing, not resisting. His face was bloodied. Mike was betting his nose was broken, something he hadn’t done. Good for you, Sicily.
Satisfied the bastard wasn’t moving, Mike hitched himself up on one of the boards nailed to the side of the shed. He only got high enough to see over the edge of the roof. Sicily huddled there, shaking, like a wild animal waiting to die. A little girl in red shorts, a white tank top and nothing else. Big, haunting eyes stared at him.
“Sicily?” he said quietly. “I’m a police officer. I’ve been looking for you.” When she kept quaking, he gentled his voice further. “Honey, your aunt Beth can hardly wait for you to come home. Will you let me help you down?”
Only the relief kept a cap on the rage that filled him. Now she’d carry scars to equal Beth’s. Would either of them ever feel safe again?
Yeah. If he had his way, they would. Without hesitation, without a second thought, Mike dedicated his life to protecting and loving this girl and the woman he’d coaxed from another nightmare last night.
She’s not Nate.
Answering was easy. I know.
He heard movement below and turned his head to glare at Marks. “I told you not to move.”
“She broke my nose!”
“Good,” he said heartlessly, and smiled at Sicily. “You are one gutsy girl, Sicily Marks. I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you at last.”
A shuddery sigh rattled her thin body. She sniffed and, with difficulty, sat up. Mike winced at the sight of her knees, thighs and arms rubbed raw. And her feet. It was all he could do not to swear. They were soaked with blood.
“You know my aunt Beth?” she asked in a small voice.
“Yeah.” He managed another smile. “Maybe this is the time to tell you I’ve slept in your bed the past two nights.”
Already big eyes widened. They were an amazing color, green and gold, like the swirled blown glass balls.
“That’s okay,” she said. “Will you take me home?”
He became conscious of approaching sirens. A police car turned down the top of the alley. Lights flashing, an aide car passed up above, on the cross street.
“Eventually,” Mike assured her. “But first you’re going to the hospital. You, kiddo, are going to have really sore feet for a while. You need to get cleaned up and bandaged.”
She sniffed, nodded and inched forward. Mike waited until she’d almost reached him, then stepped to the ground.
The police car had stopped behind his vehicle. An unmarked car raced up the alley from the other direction. Chad Marks lay cuffed, crying, blood bubbling out of his nose. And the brave little gi
rl he’d kidnapped scooted to the edge of the roof, looked down at Mike and said hesitantly, “Maybe I should climb down.”
“No.” He held up his arms. “A little bit farther forward, tip and and let yourself fall. I’ll catch you.”
She eyed him with the tiniest bit of suspicion. “Promise?”
Man. Sicily was definitely Beth’s kid. He was smiling when he waggled his fingers. “Promise.”
“Okay,” she said, and launched herself.
He caught her.
* * *
BETH PACED, THE PHONE CLUTCHED in one hand. Mike had called earlier to tell her what he’d learned—which wasn’t much. What hope was there he could find a house with no more description than that it had a basement apartment, and things that moved in the yard and played creepy music?
Eight o’clock came, went. Eight-thirty. The clock crept toward nine. Dad had been instructed to leave at ten on the nose, to drive a winding route through city streets to prove nobody was trailing him. Soon he would be getting into his Mercedes, backing out of the garage, following the circular drive to the gates.
Oh, God, Sicily.
Mike hadn’t been in her bed when she’d awakened that morning, which had left her momentarily confused. She would have sworn she remembered him holding her during the night. But she heard Sicily’s bathroom door close, and a few minutes later the sound of the shower. When she cocked her head, she realized the dryer was running to shake the wrinkles out of his clothes.
She showered, got dressed and came out to find him in the kitchen buttoning his shirt. He’d given her a lazy grin that only looked a little tired, held out his arms and said, “See, ma? No need for ironing.”
Gripping her phone, Beth held on to the memory of that smile as if it were one of those rice- or bean-filled socks that could be heated in the microwave to relax sore muscles. It felt good. Thinking about Mike was the only thing that did feel good right now.
Eight fifty-six. Only three minutes since she’d last checked the time on her cell phone. Mike hadn’t found the house. Hadn’t found Sicily. Soon Chad Marks would be on his way to collect two million dollars bought with his own daughter’s blood. They would catch him eventually. Surely they would. If he hurt Sicily, she wanted him to get the death penalty.
Her cell phone rang and Beth jumped six inches. Mike’s number. Breathless, she answered.
“I’ve got her, Beth. Sicily is safe. She’s right here, and wants to talk to you.”
Beth stumbled to her sofa and collapsed on it. “Sicily? Oh, God, Sicily, are you all right?”
“Aunt Beth?” She was crying. “I got away, only then that man caught me, but Detective Ryan—Mike—rescued me and he’s taking me to the hospital ’cuz I cut my feet and will you please, please come?”
“Yes. Oh, honey, yes. Let me talk to Mike again.”
The phone was passed. He said, “We’re going to Harborview.”
Tears ran down her face, but she was smiling, too. Maybe laughing. “I wish I could fly.”
“Drive carefully,” he ordered her. “Promise.”
Past a lump in her throat, Beth said, “Cross my heart.”
* * *
DETECTIVE RYAN HAD TOLD HER TO call him Mike, but Sicily wasn’t sure. Mom’s boyfriends always told her to call them by their first names, but it felt funny because she was a kid and they weren’t and they weren’t her friends. But he was awfully nice, so she resolved to remember.
He pulled up in front of the emergency entrance at the hospital, and a couple of people wearing green scrubs came out with a wheelchair. But Sicily didn’t open her door, and when he reached for his handle she said, “Detective Ryan? I mean, Mike?”
He looked at her. “Yes? What is it, Sicily?”
She took a deep breath. “Is he my father?”
Mike took her hand. She saw the answer on his face before he said kindly, “I’m afraid so, Sicily. Biologically. He isn’t your father in any other way.”
She sighed—she’d already known.
Mike glanced past her and shook his head. Nobody opened the door on her side. He didn’t look impatient at all. “You have questions,” he said.
“Will I see you again?” she blurted.
He smiled. “Sweetheart, you will see plenty of me. So much, you may wish I’d go away.”
“No.” Sicily shook her head. “Will you stay until Aunt Beth gets here?”
“You bet.”
“Okay.” She made a face. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“Don’t you already hurt?”
“Um…yeah.”
He let go of her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Washing the grit out of those scrapes is going to hurt. I can’t lie to you.”
“That’s okay,” she decided. Then said very politely, “Thank you for coming when you did.”
“You’re very welcome.” His smile was all for her. It was like no one else was waiting. “You ready, kiddo?”
“I guess so.”
“Then let’s do it.”
They’d opened the door by the time he came around, but he was the one to lift her down and set her carefully onto the wheelchair. And he walked right beside her into the hospital.
* * *
“HE’S MY DAD,” SICILY SAID sadly. She had been nestled deep in Beth’s arms, but pulled back. “Did they tell you?”
“Yes. We were already pretty sure,” Beth said. She, the woman who had never been a hugger, wanted only to drag this skinny girl back into a never-ending hug. Before, they hadn’t done much touching. Maybe it was Mike, she thought, bemused. Being held when she needed it had taught her something. She didn’t look away from Sicily’s worried face. “I’m sorry. I wish he wasn’t your father.”
“Me, too.” Sicily squared thin shoulders, sniffed and said, “I didn’t wait for you to find me. Except…Detective Ryan—Mike—did find me.”
Beth laughed, although it broke in the middle. “Oh, honey! That was the best phone call I’ve gotten in my entire life. You are so brave.”
“He lived in this horrible, messy pit. Did they tell you that?”
Beth found herself laughing again. “No. They didn’t say that. To tell you the truth, I don’t know anything yet.”
The emergency room curtain was open and a cluster of law enforcement people hovered in the hall. The curtain rings rattled and Mike walked in. His smile was huge. “Beth.”
Nothing could have stopped her from stepping into his embrace and burying her wet face against his shoulder. His arms closed around her and he stroked a hand gently up and down her back. After a moment she sniffled, wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and moved back. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re entitled,” he said gently. He smiled at Sicily. “Your aunt has been really scared.”
“Oh.” She studied them both with her usual serious air. “I was afraid she’d think I’d…well, just gotten lost or something.”
“We did think that at first.”
“The sun was so warm, I fell asleep.” Guilt twisted in Beth’s stomach. “I’m so sorry, Sicily. If I’d been awake…”
“I know you were asleep. I didn’t think you’d care if I went up to the bathroom. Mom wouldn’t have.”
“No.” Mike squeezed Beth’s shoulder, a brief, casual gesture. “You’re ten. Why would she?”
It touched her that he was so determined to make up for his original harshness. The astonishing thing was, she thought maybe she could believe him. Doing so was easier, of course, now that Sicily was safe, but even so… Maybe I really didn’t do anything so wrong.
“Can we go home now?” Sicily asked.
“I don’t know.” Beth looked around. Agent Trenor was among the group desperate to interview Sicily. Beth didn’t recognize any of the
rest. “Mike?”
“I don’t see why not,” he said. “They can talk to her later. But let’s make sure she’s been cleared to go by the doctor.”
A passing nurse went to get the doctor, who swept the cops with a scathing look, saying, “Move them out into the waiting area.” He whipped the curtain closed in their faces. Fortunately, Mike was on the inside of it. “You’re the aunt?” the doctor asked. “And who are you?”
“Detective Ryan, Sauk County Sheriff’s Department.” He smiled. “Also Beth and Sicily’s chauffeur.”
Not strictly true, as she had her own car here, but Beth wasn’t about to get him evicted. She wanted him here.
“Ah.” Brisk and graying, the doctor told them that Sicily had withstood her ordeal well. The cuts and bruises on her feet were her worst injuries. She was mildly dehydrated. He told them how to watch for infection, but didn’t believe there was any need to hospitalize her. He saw no indication of a blow to her head and suspected she might have inhaled ether or another gas to knock her out when she was grabbed. “She doesn’t remember anything from leaving the restroom until she woke up in the trunk of the car. We’ve drawn blood, but after so many days…” He shrugged.
Beth put her arm around Sicily’s shoulders. “She wasn’t…”
Thank God, he understood without making her finish the question. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Like what?” Sicily asked.
“I wanted to be sure he didn’t hurt you.”
“He stared at me a lot.” Sicily shuddered. “It was creepy.”
“He was probably curious,” Mike said mildly.
Making Her Way Home Page 23