The Coltons: Fisher, Ryder & Quinn: Soldier's Secret Child. Caridad Pineiro
was at the front desk again, looking as uncomfortable as he had the night before.
“Good morning, Macy,” he said, rose and held up his coffee mug. “Can I get you a cup?”
“Will I be here long enough to need one?” she said with a forced smile.
“I hope not. Let me go get Deputy Rawlings.” He walked away, cup in hand, and to one of the offices, where he knocked.
Someone ripped the door open and Bill jumped back.
Deputy Rawlings stepped out from the office. As he realized she was there, he tempered his attitude. He walked to the front desk and swung open the waist-high door in invitation.
“Why don’t you join me in my office?” he said and held his hand out.
“Can I take T.J. home now?” she asked as she passed by him and walked toward his office.
“Let’s discuss this in private,” the deputy replied, his tone obviously annoyed.
She wondered why they needed privacy much like she was still questioning why it had been necessary to keep T.J. overnight. She guarded her tongue since it would not accomplish anything if she lost her cool.
In his office, she sat before his desk and kept quiet, waiting for him to set the tone of the discussion.
He leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together on his flat stomach. “I spoke to T.J. at length yesterday. He clearly knows more about Sara’s disappearance than he’s saying, Macy.”
“Sara and he are friends, Adam. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. If anything, he’s probably trying to protect her.”
“I don’t doubt that. In fact, our investigations so far seem to indicate that there isn’t any foul play.” He shot forward in the chair, opened a file on his desk and quickly moved some papers around.
“At least a week ago, Sara may have been at a local honky tonk about ten miles from here—the Amarillo Rose. One of the bartenders remembers a young girl being there and getting into a truck with someone.”
She shifted to the edge of her seat and said, “So it’s possible she’s gone off with the same person again?”
The deputy shook his head and chuckled harshly. “Could be, although I’d put my money on T.J. But there’s nothing so far that says she didn’t go willingly or that any harm has come to her. Because of that, I’m going to let T.J. go—”
“Thank you,” she said and popped up out of her chair, eager to go get her son.
Deputy Rawlings picked up his hands and waved for her to sit back down. “Easy now, Macy. Don’t be in a rush because even though I’m letting T.J. go for now, you need to keep an eye on him. Make sure that if he knows anything about Sara, he lets us know before something bad does happen.”
As angry as she was at the deputy’s heavy-handed tactics, she couldn’t argue with what he was asking. “If I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Good to hear. I’ll go get T.J. Why don’t you meet us out front?”
Dismissed, she rose and headed to where Bill sat at the desk, sipping his coffee. As she approached, he said, “So you’re taking T.J.?”
“I am,” she answered, grasping the handles of her purse before her.
The sound of metal grating against metal snagged her attention—the jail cell opening. A second later, her son popped out, looking tired and haggard. As he saw her waiting for him, however, a smile quickly flashed across his face before he controlled it. He walked toward her slowly, hesitant, but when he stood before her, she reached out and hugged him hard. His body relaxed and he returned the embrace.
“We’re going home, T.J.”
She stepped away, but kept one arm around his shoulders, reluctant to lose contact with her son.
He didn’t battle her but kept close to her side as they walked out the door of the sheriff’s station.
She shot her son a sidelong glance. Relief washed over her as he met her gaze and another timid smile blossomed on his face. Everything would be okay, she thought until she nearly walked into the man standing before them on the steps of the sheriff’s station.
Fisher.
In wickedly tight blue jeans, a chambray shirt that hugged his lean chest and abs, and a black Stetson that made his green eyes pop brightly in the morning sun.
“Fisher,” she said out loud, a little more breathlessly than she liked.
“What are you doing here?” T.J. said and came to stand before her, placing himself between her and Fisher in an obviously protective gesture.
She placed her hand on T.J.’s shoulder and urged him back to her side. “Fisher and his dad were nice enough to keep me company last night. We had dinner together at Miss Sue’s while I waited to see if Deputy Rawlings would let you go home.”
T.J.’s mouth quirked with displeasure before he mustered some politeness. “Thank you for taking care of my mom.”
Fisher seemed taken aback by the unexpected gratitude, but quickly recovered. “My pleasure. I’m sure Jericho would have done the same if he were here.”
Disappointment stung her ego followed by confusion at the disappointment. Snagging her keys from her purse, she handed them to T.J. and pointed to where her car was parked across the street.
“Fisher and I need a moment alone. Why don’t you go wait by the car for me?”
T.J. nodded, but before he left, he chanced an assessing look at Fisher. Then he did as she had asked, walking down the steps of the sheriff’s office and to the corner, where he waited for the light to change so he could cross.
Macy shifted her attention to Fisher. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, looked away and dragged off his hat, bouncing it back and forth in his hands. With his head hanging down, he said, “I wish I knew.”
She wished she knew as well and was about to press him for another answer when the squeal of tires rent the air. Loud, harsh and angry.
Both she and Fisher whirled toward the sound in time to see a large black sedan lurch wildly toward T.J. as he was crossing the street. Smoke came off one of the tires as the car burned rubber with the driver’s haste to pick up speed.
“T.J.,” they both shouted in unison and sprinted toward him, intent on getting him out of the path of the oncoming car.
He had noticed the car as well, but for a moment he stood there, stunned as the vehicle accelerated toward him. Then in a blur, he raced for the side of the street, trying to avoid the sedan which made no attempt to avert hitting him. If anything, it picked up speed, veering toward where T.J. had run to escape.
At the last minute, her son sidestepped the car like a matador might a bull as the vehicle traveled past him, but it still struck him a glancing blow. He flew into the air and against one of the parked cars as the sedan hurtled down the road, its engine racing as it continued to pick up speed.
She and Fisher rushed to where T.J. lay sprawled in the street as did a number of other pedestrians who had witnessed the accident.
When they reached his side, T.J. was attempting to rise, but Fisher laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Stay down, son. You could have some broken bones.”
T.J. didn’t argue, clearly dazed. A large gash on his temple bled profusely and he had a number of other cuts and scrapes along his face and arms.
Her hands shook as she passed a hand along T.J.’s forehead. As she glanced up the block, she noticed the flashing lights of an approaching ambulance and it filled her with relief. “Take it easy. Help will be here soon.”
T.J. nodded, but even that