Fugitive Mom. Lynn Erickson
he’d been too dull.
And then Charley had come along. A gift. A miracle. She’d taken him on summer break to meet her very skeptical parents, who’d so much wanted a grandchild of their own flesh and blood. And then they’d seen Charley. Watched him crawl, giggling and drooling around the kitchen and backyard; gotten to know all his baby vocabulary, seen the sun twinkle on his curls, and they’d fallen in love. Just as she had.
And now…
“Gramma likes ice cream, don’t you, Gramma?” Charley was saying, pizza smeared on his cheek and chin.
“Actually,” Sally said, catching Grace’s disapproving eye, “I really really like chocolate chip cookies.”
“His teeth are going to rot out of his head,” Grace admonished. She’d never allowed him so many sweets.
But Charley, clever little Charley, piped up. “I promise I’ll brush all my teeth—” he pronounced it teef “—extra special tonight. I promise.”
Sally bit her lip and got teary.
Bob shook his head sadly. “Goddamn courts,” he muttered.
“Bob.” Sally collected herself and stood up. “Come on, Charley,” she said, taking his tiny hand, “we’ll go find those cookies. I can smell them from here. Can you smell them?”
“Oh, yes, Gramma, I sure can.”
When they were gone, Grace looking protectively after her baby, Bob covered her hand with his. “I’ve got a plan,” he said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.
Grace snapped to attention. “Dad, I can’t let you get involved. I just need some advice.”
“I won’t be involved—well, not too involved—and believe me, I’ll be covering my tail all the way.”
“It’s asking too much.”
“Look, I’ve called a friend. He—”
“Who? Who’ve you called?”
“If you’ll just let me finish?”
“I thought you weren’t going to get involved. I—”
“I made a call. That’s hardly a crime.”
“Still…”
“His name is Luke Sarkov. Do you remember him? I helped him out when he got in some trouble. Long time ago.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you were pretty young, and he didn’t come over to the house much. The point is, I got him on the force, and we’ve kept in touch over the years.”
“He’s a policeman? But then how can he…?”
“He’s not on the force anymore. But he’s a top-notch investigator. Best there is. He can help you.”
Not on the force anymore, she thought, and she wondered why this man had left the police. Was he old enough to be retired? “Dad, I don’t know.”
“Trust me on this.” Bob leaned closer. “You need to get something on Kerry Pope, right?”
“Yes. That would go a long way toward showing the court that…”
But Bob was shaking his head. “You don’t want to just show the court Kerry’s past history, which they already damn well know. You want something definitive on her, something horrific.”
“But, Dad, what if…? I mean, that’s all fine, but as you said, the court knows her history. And maybe she can hold herself together for a time now. And if that’s the case…”
“Honey, honey,” Bob said, “you’re out of your element here, okay? I just want you to put your faith in this man. He was a good, tough cop, as smart and streetwise as they come.”
Was a good cop? “Is this Luke, ah, Sarkov retired, too?”
“Listen,” Bob put in, “none of that matters. What counts is that he’s the man for this job.” He held her gaze. “Will you please trust me on this?”
“Of course I trust you, Dad. My God, I can’t even begin to tell you how much this means to me. I…”
“Sh,” Bob said. “We’re your parents, Grace. We’ll do what it takes to protect you, to ensure your happiness. You should know that.”
Like I’m doing for Charley, she thought once more.
Bob reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “This is for you. It can’t be traced, okay?”
“Okay.” She looked it over and nodded. “Okay. Good idea.”
“And we’re going to switch cars this afternoon.”
“But…”
“Will you just listen?”
“Sorry.”
“I’ve arranged for you to meet Luke in Chinatown at six.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Your mother and I will take your car and I’ll stash it in my garage for the time being. And I think it’s best if Charley stays with us, at least till after you’ve talked to Luke. Okay?”
“I…Yes, sure, Charley will love it. He could really use some downtime, too.”
“We’ll take good care of him, honey.”
Grace smiled and squeezed her father’s hand. “Of course you will.”
And then she heard Sally and Charley behind them, and Bob told her the name of the restaurant in Chinatown, reminded her that the meeting was at six and asked if she was okay with this.
“Fine. Great,” she breathed as Charley leaped into her lap, a cookie mushed in his fist.
IT HAD BEEN A LONG TIME since Grace had driven around San Francisco. She’d once taken Charley to Fisherman’s Wharf for lunch, but she hadn’t driven the hilly road to downtown then; she’d just scooted onto the Oakland Bay Bridge and negotiated the streets along the Embarcadero, which ran parallel to San Francisco Bay. No hills there.
But Chinatown was located on the hills right in the heart of town, hills that often terrified drivers new to the city. She had trouble finding a parking space, as this was the summer tourist season, and she was afraid she’d be late for this meeting. But when she finally squeezed her parents’ station wagon into a slot on Grant Avenue and glanced at her watch it was only 5:30.
Great. Now she had to sit here and wait, surrounded by hordes of tourists peeking into alleys and sweat-shops. Her nerves were pricking at the back of her neck.
Luke Sarkov. She tried to recall him. A cop. Was a cop. Maybe he owned a private investigating firm now. Maybe he was…Oh, what did it matter? Her father had said Luke was the man for this job. But what, exactly, did that mean?
She studied the passersby, who in turn stared into a tiny grocery store across from her. Ducks hung in the open sliding window and fish gleamed on the bed of ice below. Locals haggled prices with the butcher in mile-a-minute Mandarin. The aroma of fish oils and roast duck and garlic and ginger wafted around her. Familiar. She used to love Chinatown when she’d grown up near the city, the exotic scents and sounds, the early-morning fog furling around the hills. Now, though, everything seemed alien, strange to her senses.
She glanced at her watch. Still fifteen minutes to go.
Lum Lee’s was right down the block. Was Luke already inside waiting for her? Should she just go in?
Forty-one years old, her father had said when they’d left the mall earlier. Five-eleven, well built, dark-blond hair, blue eyes. The description had sounded like a police report. But her mother had added, “He’s very good-looking, Gracie.”
Good-looking,