Читать книгу A Son's Tale - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 16

CHAPTER EIGHT

GEORGEWASONthe phone throughout breakfast. The man’s tone was a bit too curt for Cal, but there was no doubting that Morgan’s father cared deeply about finding her son. He was not taking no for an answer. From anyone. To the point of being in denial of any outcome but the one he ordained.

“Here, Cal, have more bacon.” Grace handed him an inexpensive but colorful serving plate filled with what looked to be a pound of meat left on it. The bowl of lightly fluffed scrambled eggs and plate of home-fried potatoes were equally laden. George was the only one of the five of them sitting there who’d eaten his share.

Cal took bacon he didn’t want.

“Detective Warner?”

The uniformed man who’d been ordered by his captain to go home and shave and get some rest took some more bacon as well, in spite of the untouched piece still on his plate.

“Are you going to be in trouble for staying?” Grace asked the man.

“Captain’s a good guy. He’ll get over it,” he said, adding, “and I’ll go home and shower. I just wanted to wait a bit longer with the press conference and all.”

Grace put a piece of bacon on Morgan’s plate. She didn’t seem to notice. Her gaze traveled from speaker to speaker, as though she was following the conversation, but Cal didn’t believe she could have repeated a word that had been spoken since her mother had called them in from the living room to eat.

She’d dried her eyes before her father saw her tears. She’d stiffened her spine—and her features—and she’d taken her place at the table like a dutiful daughter. Cal admired her strength. Her determination. And he worried about her, too. She was on the verge of collapse and neither of her parents seemed to recognize that fact.

“This is good, Mrs. Lowen, thanks,” Cal said, thinking about a happier Morgan choosing the dishes with primary-colored flowers all over them. Trying to picture her in the store, making her choices. Had Sammie been with her?

When he started to picture himself there, watching her deliberate, he caught himself. He was more tired than he’d thought.

George’s voice droned on. Cal leaned over to the fragile woman sitting up so regally beside him. “You need to eat some of that, not just play table hockey with it,” he said softly. “Without sleep that food is your only source of energy… .”

He couldn’t promise her that Sammie would be walking in the door needing things from her that she had to be able to give. He didn’t want to tell her she had to be strong—he had an idea she’d been hearing that one all of her life. He just told her like it was.

She glanced at him for a long moment. Cal studied those weary brown eyes and would have given much to be able to give her every bit of energy he’d ever had.

She ate a forkful of egg. And then another. And…

“We’ve got him.” The words were staccato—more so than usual. George’s intense look was focused, not on his daughter, or his wife, but on the detective seated opposite Cal and Morgan at the table for six in her small dining room.

Warner stood. Without asking he grabbed the phone from George Lowen. George didn’t hesitate to turn it over.

“This is Detective Rick Warner from the Tyler Police Department,” he said. “I’m here with the Lowens. What have you got?”

As the man listened, an intent look on his face, Cal reached for Morgan’s hand under the table. She grabbed hold, clutching him so tightly her fingernails dug into his palm. He barely felt the pain. He was that glad to be there for her.

He prayed that the news would be good. Over and over he prayed. Forgetting that praying was something he hadn’t done since he was seven years old.

He’d stopped because praying didn’t work.

* * *

MORGANCOULDHARDLY stand the waiting. “I should have gone with them,” she said for the tenth or so time. Cal came up behind her as she stood at the living room window, staring out into the early-afternoon sunshine. He rubbed her shoulders, his hands warm and alive and keeping her blood flowing.

“They weren’t going to take you, Morgan, even if you’d insisted on going.”

He’d patiently repeated his response every single one of the times she’d voiced the thought that continued to race through her mind.

Detective Warner had explained it all to her. They didn’t know for sure if the guy her father’s men had found was the one making the phone calls. They were reasonably sure, by some means that probably wasn’t legal, but they weren’t positive. Even if it was the guy, they had no proof that he really had Sammie. He’d never let her talk to the boy or given an indication that he had Sammie with him. He’d never asked for anything in exchange for the boy.

And if he had Sammie, and Sammie saw her and reacted, she could be putting his life in danger.

“Still, I should be there. He’s going to need me.”

“He needs to be brought safely out of the situation and then he’ll be brought straight to you.”

She nodded. He was right. They’d been over this two hours earlier when her father’s phone call had ended the most excruciating breakfast of her life. Her mom and dad had gone home to rest while the detectives went in for the man George’s team suspected had Sammie. Detective Martin was going to contact her father the minute they got the guy.

Cal had opted to stay with Morgan. Maybe it was weird, having her college professor be such a good friend all of a sudden. But with his past, his understanding, it felt right. Besides, right now she couldn’t take being around anyone else who was emotionally attached to Sammie. She needed an outsider—someone who could hold it together and be strong for all of them. Just in case…

No. No just in case.

“He’s going to want macaroni and cheese for dinner,” she said. “I’m not sure I have any.”

“You do.” Cal continued to rub. “You checked an hour ago.”

He was right. She had.

Detective Martin was in the dining room, having set up shop on the table her father had vacated. Giving Morgan some space while she waited. And manning the phone.

The suspect didn’t know they were on to him. He’d called twice more since breakfast. Both times exactly the same as before. Short. Cruel. And then gone.