The Hunt For Hawke's Daughter. Jean Barrett
morning. She’s with her father.”
Chapter Two
Devlin had been far too busy to think of food. It wasn’t until he came away from Dream Makers that he realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the plane that had brought him from Denver. Locating a fast-food joint, he ordered a burger and fries and carried them out to his rental car.
It was midafternoon by the time he polished off his belated lunch, and the sun was hot. Even though he had removed his suit coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves, it was much too warm to go on sitting here in an unshaded parking lot. But that’s exactly what he did.
He had an unconscious habit of whistling a slow tune whenever he was considering all the angles of a difficult case. Or when he was dealing with an emotional situation he didn’t like. And since that was exactly what he was experiencing now, he began to whistle so softly that the result was almost inaudible. But the action enabled him to concentrate.
He’d made a mistake, a serious one, in going to see Karen. Even though it would have been an insensitive way to give her the brutal truth about the man she’d married, he should have handled it by phone or even left a letter for her with her assistant. But he hadn’t expected after almost four years to find himself aching in the gut at the sight of the woman. Never mind how that sweet mouth and lithe body affected another area of his anatomy, stirring unwanted memories of the fantastic nights they had shared in that Colorado chalet. He could still see the snow drifting through the evergreens on the mountain outside the window while a fire blazed on the bedroom’s stone hearth. Not that they had needed its warmth. They had created their own heat.
What was he doing? This was stupid. Getting all nostalgic about something that had ended badly. Because if he was going to start examining memories, then he’d better focus on the only one that had any reality. She’d abruptly left him and flown back to Minneapolis, making it clear that her goodbye was a permanent one. No real explanation, just as though she’d offered him some blithe: Been fun, babe, but gotta go.
Funny. Devlin would have sworn that, unlike the women who usually appealed to him, Karen Howard’s values were traditional ones. That, because of the intenseness of their relationship, she might have been interested in exploring a more lasting connection. But, as intimate as the two of them had been, he hadn’t really known her, even though they had been together for many weeks.
He’d told himself he was lucky, that a commitment was the last thing he wanted, anyway. The truth was, she had hurt him when she walked away without a backward glance. Hurt him for a long time, though eventually he’d managed to forget all about her. Or so he had believed. But now…
Damn, this was no good. Even if, technically, she wasn’t a married woman, he needed to stay away from her. He’d learned this afternoon that he couldn’t trust himself anywhere near her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be wounded again. For all he knew, she was madly in love with the bastard who had deceived her, would forgive him and go on loving him.
Checking his watch, Devlin decided it was time to head back to Michael Ramey’s office, which was located near the Metrodome. If Ramey still wasn’t there, he was prepared to wait for him. This was the part of his work that he hated, spending long hours in a parked car watching a building and hoping your objective turned up before your backside went totally numb.
He’d hoped surveillance wouldn’t be necessary, that Karen could have told him exactly where to find Ramey. Actually, it had been his major reason for seeing her. Yeah, sure it was.
Starting the car, he left the parking lot and edged out into the traffic. He knew that, if Ramey didn’t show by closing time, he had no other choice. Despite his promise to avoid Karen, he would need to go to their home.
He was still whistling softly as he neared the Metrodome. Still trying to understand why she had turned her back on him four years ago.
KAREN FOUGHT for self-control as she faced Mildred Gustafsson on her front porch. She tried to quiet the panic that gripped her.
“What you’re telling me—I don’t understand it. Why did he take Livie?”
The woman was concerned, but she also looked uncomfortable with a situation that had suddenly become awkward. “There’s nothing to be worried about, is there, Mrs. Ramey? I mean, he is Livie’s father. He had every right to—”
“What did he tell you?”
“That, since you were going to be gone for a few days, he’d decided to spend some quality time with his daughter. I understood that he was going to forget work and that they were going to enjoy a little holiday together until your return. Livie was all excited about it when he told her, though I’m not sure she actually understood—”
“Where? Where were they going?”
“Now that he didn’t say. I suppose he could have meant just a holiday at home with outings around the city, like the zoo and that new kiddie park. But, of course, if you’ve been to your house already—”
“I haven’t—not yet.”
“Well, there you go. When you get home you’ll either find them there or an explanation of where they’ve gone.”
Karen shook her head. “He should have told me what he was planning. I should have known about it beforehand.”
The apprehension must have been all too evident on her face. The woman placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I had the impression it was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing but that he would let you know. There’s probably been a mix-up. He could very well have left a message at your hotel in Atlanta, and they neglected to get it to you.”
Karen knew that Mildred Gustafsson didn’t share her fear. Why should she when Michael Ramey had always been a responsible, devoted father? The woman was convinced it was nothing but a misunderstanding.
The little boy, Joey, had followed Mildred out to the porch and was now pulling at her slacks, demanding attention. Karen had no further reason to keep her, and she didn’t think anything could be gained by telling her about Michael’s bigamy. In any case, she was anxious to get home.
Back in her Camry, making every effort to hurry through the frustrating traffic, she tried to tell herself that her alarm was needless. That her recent discovery about Michael could in no way be connected with this, that he wouldn’t have taken Livie and just disappeared. Nothing to be scared about. Michael would never hurt Livie. Just as Mildred Gustafsson insisted, it was all a mix-up. An innocent mix-up.
But why hadn’t Michael made certain she knew about this holiday of his? Knew about it and approved of it. She had a bad feeling driven by a powerful maternal instinct, and she couldn’t shake it. She wanted Livie with her, and she wanted her now.
Her heart was racing with anticipation, and a prayer for delivery from her growing anguish, as she came in sight of their home on Summit Avenue. The house behind a cast-iron fence was a shingled Victorian with a mansard roof and dormers. It was in no way as large and imposing as its red sandstone neighbors along St. Anthony’s Hill, but it had always given Karen pleasure. Now it was nothing more to her than a property that was too expensive because Michael wanted luxuries and could afford them.
One of those luxuries was the tan BMW that he drove, which she hoped to find parked in the drive. It wasn’t there. When she let herself into the house, there was no familiar squeal of her daughter galloping to meet her at the door on a pair of chubby legs. There was no sound at all. The place wore the silence of desertion.
Karen went from room to room searching for a note that Michael might have left for her, checking the answering machine for a possible message from him. Nothing. She was trembling with terror when she went upstairs to look into his closet. Suppose it was empty, all of his things gone? She kept thinking about that other wife in Denver and how Michael had left her without an explanation and how she had never heard from him again. But this was different. This time he had Livie with him.
Her relief, when she