He dragged his body out of bed and into the shower, trying to scrub his negative thoughts away and wash them down the drain. After he towel-dried, he dressed in his uniform, stepped into his navy-colored pants, and tightened the belt around his waist to the next notch. Anxiety as a diet had a way of loosening a man’s pants. Guess I should have eaten the last piece of pizza last night. He buttoned his shirt, strapped on his belt holster, removed the gun from the locked drawer, and slid the firearm in place.
His phone rang, playing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Quinn’s ring, the one he’d programmed to play whenever she called because she was his twinkling star.
He lunged for his cell on his bed and held it to his ear. “Quinn?”
“Daddy?” Her voice quivered. “I’m scared. Mommy won’t wake up.”
His heart raced as he willed his voice to stay calm. “Are you home?”
“Yes.”
“Go lock the front door.” He slid into his socks, crossing the room in one sweep, fear squeezing his heart. At the closet, he slipped into his shoes, fumbling with the phone as he bent to tie the laces. Could he get to her in time or should he call 911?
“Okay.”
He could hear her breathing like she was moving to the door. In three steps, he dashed across the room to the kitchen and clutched his jacket hanging over the chair. He juggled the phone again as he shoved his arms into the sleeves, first one, then the other. “Sit next to Mommy, and I’ll be there soon. I’m going to my car now. I’m coming. Everything is going to be okay.”
But it wouldn’t. This had happened before, and it would happen again.
Once upon a time he would have called Child Protective Services, but not now. He couldn’t wait. They were overworked. It could take them up to seventy-two hours to investigate, and he didn’t trust anyone but himself. No one cared about Quinn the way he did.
He grabbed his keys off the counter and headed out his front door, still holding the phone to his ear. “Is Max with you?”
“He’s sniffing the garbage. I think he’s hungry.”
Blast it, Ali. She’d probably forgotten to feed him.
Brett climbed in his cruiser and reached for his sunglasses tucked in the visor. He talked to Quinn as he started the car. “You did good, calling me. I’m sure Mommy will get up soon, but I’ll come and fix you breakfast. Do you have eggs and milk in the fridge?”
He envisioned her feet pattering on the tile and thought he heard the refrigerator squeaking open. “Uh-huh.”
That’s a shock. But that was Ali—seemingly together in one way, but not in another.
Brett clicked on his flashers, ignoring the speed limit signs as he sped down Wooster Road. Ali’s house was on the other side of the highway, but close. Moments like that made him thankful Hursey Lake was a small town.
“I’ll be there soon. Don’t open the door for anyone except me, okay?” He turned the steering wheel with one hand and held the phone to his ear with the other.
“Okay, Daddy.”
Drivers pulled into the right lane and slowed when they saw him coming. After a few turns and red lights, he shut off his flashers and swung the car into the driveway next to Ali’s red beater and slammed the car into Park.
On his way to the front door, he scowled as he stomped over cigarette butts littering the concrete, the filters crunching beneath his feet. The lawn needed mowing, and the shrubs had grown spindly and wild. When he’d lived there he’d never let the house get that run-down. The screen door stood ajar, the bottom bent at an angle, not allowing it to close properly. It squeaked in a faint breeze. The landlord had never been good about fixing things.
As he fumbled for the right key, he sucked in a deep breath. Keep your temper. He wasn’t supposed to be here, but keeping Quinn safe was worth violating the protective order. Besides, Ali had lied. He’d never hit her. Her brother was the one who’d pushed her to lie. And the judge had believed her—not Brett.
Max barked on the other side of the door. “Quinn, it’s Daddy.” He turned the key and pushed open the door. At least Ali hadn’t changed the locks.
Quinn stood before him in bare feet, wearing a pink T-shirt and purple shorts, holding her stuffed lamb she called Lambie under her arm. Her dark curls hung over her dirty face, tear streaks leaving a line of clean skin. Snot dripped from her nose.
He knelt in front of her, scooped her into his arms, and held her to his chest, breathing in her sweet smell, not wanting to let her go. He kissed her cheeks. “Shhh, I’m here now.”
Quinn hiccupped like she’d been crying hard. Her arms closed around his neck, almost choking him.
Brett’s throat grew tight, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the rage bubbling inside him. How could Ali ignore her child?
Max’s tail thumped against the wall. Brett rested Quinn on one leg and nestled the dog’s face in his arms, rubbing his ears. Max whined in rhythm to his wagging tail.
“Where’s Mommy?”
“She’s on the couch.” Quinn pointed to their right. Garbage-filled bags sat on the floor along the wall outside the kitchen, smelling like Max had crapped nearby.
Brett dodged the trash and stomped into the living room. Ali lay on the sofa on top of a pile of clothes, her dyed blond hair covering her face. He crossed the room to her, gritting his teeth. “Ali, wake up.”
She didn’t flinch. His heartbeat raced, suddenly panicked. Was she unconscious? No, this had happened before. But still, was this the one time she wouldn’t wake?
Her chest rose and fell. He exhaled, relieved. At least she was breathing. He shook her shoulders and spoke louder. “Ali, wake up.”
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, seeming unable to focus. “What are you doing here?” she slurred.
The smell of liquor oozed from her pores. This was an apt mother? He wanted to punch the wall at the injustice of the court system. Easy. “Quinn called and said she couldn’t wake you.”
Ali pushed herself to a sitting position, her head bobbing. “I’m awake.” But her eyes closed again.
“Maybe I should take Quinn to day care on my way to work.”
Ali snorted. “Oh, now you’re trying to do me favors?”
No, I’m trying to keep Quinn safe.
Ali folded her arms across her chest, but a few seconds later they fell limp to her sides, her eyes still closed. “She can’t go there anymore.”
Brett’s heart sank. “Why not?”
She waved her hand. “Some stupid rule about being late to pick her up.”
Ali loved to blame others. Nothing was ever her fault. But he didn’t say that now, not in front of Quinn. He turned to his daughter. “Go wash your hands and face before I make you breakfast.”
Quinn nodded, turning toward the bathroom.
Brett lowered his voice and spoke to Ali. “What are you going to do with Quinn when you go to work?”
She shrugged.
“You lost your job again, didn’t you?” His fury spiked.
He waited for her to answer, hoping he could stay calm. When she leaned her head against the sofa, he knew. She wasn’t going to answer him. She’d lost her job.
He used to pity her, but not anymore. Now, all he wanted was to get custody of Quinn. Maybe now the courts would rule in his favor, and he could prove Ali inept. She had no job and was under the influence of who knew what.
Quinn moved to his side, smelling like mint from the toothpaste. “Daddy, can I go with you today?” She placed her hand on his arm.
“I have to go to work, sweetie.” He reached for a tissue on the end table, wiped her nose and her bottom lip where she’d missed a dab of toothpaste. Then he lifted her in his arms, spun her around, and sat in the recliner across from the sofa. She giggled as she tumbled into his lap.
“I have to get the bad guys, remember? But I’ll come back for lunch.” He wrapped his arms around her. “You hungry?”
She nodded.
“I’ll make you breakfast.”
He lifted her, then placed her on the floor in front of the TV and turned the channel to iCarly. “I’ll be right back.” Before he left the room, she hugged Lambie and watched TV, seeming consoled.
He glanced over his shoulder at Ali on the sofa. She wasn’t moving. Of course. She’d slid down, flat on her back, her mouth gaping open, snoring. How was he going to sober her up?
Entering the kitchen, he stared at the dirty dishes, cigarette butts, and beer cans covering the counter and the sink top. What a mess! The only time the kitchen had been clean when they’d been together was when he’d cleaned it. Dirt was invisible to Ali.
He clenched his jaw, took a few eggs out of the fridge, and whisked them, beating them until they frothed over the sides of the bowl like the blood foaming in his veins. Oh, how he hated leaving Quinn in Ali’s care.
He checked his watch as he added the pancake batter. Fifteen minutes—that’s all he had.
He made one large pancake and two smaller ones. Opening cupboards, he searched for condiments and found a bag of mini chocolate chips balled in a corner. After pulling a few morsels out of the bag, he arranged them as eyes, a nose, and a mouth on the cakes.
The only cup he could find was a dirty one in the sink. He rinsed it, poured Quinn’s juice into it, and carried her breakfast into the living room. “Here you go, baby.”
“I’m not a baby.”
“You’re right. I forgot you’re five now, so grown-up.” He kissed her cheek.
She glanced at the plate of pancakes and threw her arms around his neck, practically knocking over her juice. “You made Mickey.” She smiled, plucked the mouse’s chocolate eyes off the cake, and dropped them in her mouth.
Her brow furrowed and she pouted. “Don’t go, Daddy.” She clutched his hand.
“I have to. I wish I didn’t.” Guilt slammed him in the gut, but what could he do? He’d told the judge about Ali’s behavior. It hadn’t mattered. She’d passed the drug tests.
Quinn glanced at Ali. “I’m scared.”
“Max is here, and Mommy is staying home with you today. I’m going to make her coffee so she wakes up.”
When the golden retriever heard his name, his ears perked and his head cocked to one side. The dog ambled over to Quinn and shoved his nose into her hand.
Thank goodness Quinn had Max. It wasn’t enough, but for now it would have to do. It was going to take time, but Brett was confident Ali would mess up and give him the evidence he needed to win custody.
Quinn giggled at Max and petted his ear. The dog licked her face and sniffed her pancakes.
She moved her plate away from him. “Okay, I’ll give you some, but you have to wait a minute.”
Brett stood, sweeping the dog hair off his pants. “Come on, Max. I’ll feed you, boy.”
Max padded after Brett into the kitchen. Brett found the bag of dog food, nearly gone, stashed on the floor of the pantry. He fed Max, filled his water bowl, and made a pot of coffee. When he returned to Ali, she was still sleeping. He clapped his hands together and the sound jolted Ali’s eyes open. “Wake up. I have to go to work. You’ve gotta get yourself together.”
She stared at him and took a deep breath. “Just go.”
“I’m coming back for lunch. I made a pot of coffee. Drink it.”
Her eyes crossed and she nodded.
Quinn rushed to his side, holding a pancake. “How many minutes will it take before you come back?” She broke off a piece of the cake and handed it to Max, who chomped the morsel in one bite.
“Lots of minutes, but only four hours. You can watch your shows, and before you know it I’ll be back.”
Should he ask Mr. Ray, the next-door neighbor, to check on her? No, that could backfire, especially if Mr. Ray reported Brett had been there, violating the protective order. It would be better to call every hour and come back for lunch.
Quinn pouted, and tears welled in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled. “Will you check under my bed first?” She put her thumb in her mouth.
“Let’s go. I’ll scare the monsters away.” He growled like a bear, remembering when his father had done the same thing for him. Except, instead of chasing monsters, his dad had chased away dinosaurs.
Quinn giggled and put her sticky fingers in his hand, leading him to her bedroom.
When he saw how she’d made her bed—something he’d taught her to do—a lump formed in his throat. “Nice job.” A part of her comforter draped onto the floor, but he pretended not to notice.
He fell to his knees and said, “Hop on.”
Quinn giggled and climbed on his back.
“Hold tight. Here we go.” He galloped toward the bed, pretending he was a horse, and peered beneath the comforter. “Nothing there.” He moved to the closet on the other side of the room, neighing and bucking. Quinn giggled louder. He stopped in front of the closet and deepened his voice. “All monsters, begone!”
Quinn slid off Brett’s back and pushed the clothes to one side, tipping her head left and right. “They’re all gone. You did it.” She hopped on his back, and he galloped out to the living room.
Ali had opened her eyes.
Brett trotted next to her. “You up for the day?” If he didn’t go now he’d be docked pay, and he couldn’t lose his job if he had any hope of getting custody. He’d already missed more than he should have during the divorce.
Ali nodded. “I’m good. Go.”
Brett lingered. “You’re not going to start drinking again, are you?”
“Don’t worry about what I do or don’t do.”
“I have to worry. Quinn’s here. Don’t fall back to sleep.” He stood.
Ali reached for a cigarette and lit it.
He wanted to squash the package in his fist. How many times had he asked her not to smoke in front of Quinn?
Quinn latched onto Brett’s leg as he walked stiff-legged toward the door. He peeled her off and lifted her into his arms. Smoothing back her mop of curls that had fallen on her face, and staring into her deep blue eyes, he smiled. “I’ll be back. You be a good girl for Mommy, okay?”
She nodded, pouting. “I love you, Daddy.”
He took a deep breath. “I love you more.”
Swallowing the guilt, he told himself he’d done everything he could. Quinn was safe. For now.
After he shut the door and heard Quinn turn the dead bolt, he headed to his cruiser and felt his cell phone vibrate. He unclipped it from its buckle. The screen displayed his parents’ number. “Hi, Mom.” He opened the car door.
Silence.
Brett paused, then spoke again. “Mom?” He scooted into his car.
“Son?” It was his father.
Brett froze. His fingers trembled at his mixture of emotions. His blood pressure rose, but so did his hopes. “Yeah?” He shut the door.
“How are you?”
“You don’t call me for six years and then ask me how I’m doing? What do you really want, Dad?” He shouldn’t sound so harsh, but he didn’t trust his father’s intentions.
The old man didn’t answer right away. “I was wondering, uh, since your divorce is final now, uh, if you’d given any thought to going back, of going back … to school.”
“You don’t quit, do you? The real reason you’re calling is to rub my divorce in my face, isn’t it? You win—you were right. I was wrong. I never should have married Ali. Is that what you want me to say?”
“No, that’s—”
“No, I don’t want to go back to school, and I don’t want to talk to you.” He hit the End key on his phone and flung it onto the passenger seat, instantly regretting his words. Tears threatened to sting his eyes. He shouldn’t have dissed his old man. Damn! But he didn’t trust his heart. His father had loved him unconditionally once, a long time ago. If he let him back in his life now, would his father abandon him again?
Where were you four months ago when I needed you, when the judge gave my child to her druggy mother?
Brett cranked the ignition key, threw the
car into Reverse, and backed out of the driveway, his tires squealing. Getting to work on time was more important than his father’s conditional love.
He tried not to care, but he did. Rivulets of perspiration dripped down his back. He pounded his fist on the dashboard, ashamed of his outburst.
Chapter Three
Grady climbed the steep trail that bisected the woods of Hursey Lake, holding his iPhone and occasionally glancing at the GPS coordinates outlining their path. Luke, another boy scout from his troop, lagged behind, panting from the exertion. The early summer air was filled with sounds of birds chirping, bees buzzing, and squirrels chattering. A nearby stream gurgled, the short waves splashing over little rocks. Low tree branches brushed against Grady, scraping his legs.
This was Grady’s seventy-sixth geocaching hunt, but Luke’s first.
Luke said, “What are we looking for?”
“A container of some sort. A box, or a tin—something the size of a gallon or two, big enough to hold stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Random junk, like a whistle.” Grady led the way, glancing again at the iPhone, a little perturbed that he’d agreed to let Luke tag along. Grady had felt sorry for the guy. The kid was large and clumsy, and none of the other scouts had wanted to show him the ins and outs of geocaching so he could earn his medal. Being a sucker for the underdog, Grady told Luke he could go with him.
“What’s the big freakin’ deal about a whistle?”
“It’s not about what’s inside the box. It’s about finding it.” Some geocachers collected what they found and replaced items with others, but not Grady. He was only about the thrill of the find.
“If you say so.”
Grady glanced at the navigation map on the phone again. “It says we’ve arrived at our destination.” His heart pounded a little faster. They were close. He could feel it.
Luke’s eyes darted around. “I don’t see nothing.”
“It ain’t gonna jump out and bite ’cha. We have to look for it—like under a bush or a rock. It’ll be hidden.” He pointed to the left. “How ’bout if I go this way, and you go that way?” He pointed in the other direction.
Cache a Predator Page 2