By Wednesday afternoon, Teddy had been missing almost three days. Dylan had mapped out every possible route Wanda could have taken. He’d organized search teams, and for an entire day, he’d felt in control again. Then night fell, and Teddy was still gone.
Three television stations were waiting to capture the grieving father when he pulled up in front of his house. Same act as before, don’t show emotion. They’ll just suck it up and replay it as a sound bite. He gave them the only words that meant anything: “If anyone has seen my son, please contact the police. Look at his picture and think: have you seen him?”
Camilla opened the door as soon as he reached it. Her shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair was disheveled. “It’s been like this all day, Mr. McKain.”
“I’m sorry you have to go through this. Do you need help?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And call me Dylan, please.”
She lifted her chin. “I can handle them.”
He took in her strong shoulders and the determined gleam in her brown eyes. “I don’t doubt that,” he said, wishing he felt that strong just then. “Do I pay you enough?”
“Eh.”
“I’m doubling your salary until we get Teddy back. We’ll talk about your permanent raise later.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anything I should know about?”
She picked a legal pad off the counter. “We’ve had plenty of calls, people wanting to help, one guy actually wanting money — money! — to help. I told him where he could stuff his generous offer. I hope I wasn’t out of line. Oh, and your father called.”
He stiffened, a natural reaction whenever Will was mentioned.
Recently Will McKain had been trying to contact the son he’d never had time for. Dylan remembered too many years of waiting for even a smile or a minute of his time. “What did he want now? You didn’t tell him …”
“There goes my raise. I figured, him being your father and all, you’d want him to know. I did bad, didn’t I?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“He asked if there was anything he could do. Did we need money, did we want him to come down, that kind of thing. I said you would contact him if you needed him.”
Fat chance of that.
He set the cell phone on the dining room table. “Go home and get some rest. I’m in for the evening.”
She straightened, military-style. “I can put in the hours, sir. Dylan, I mean. If you need me, I’m here.”
“No, you go. I appreciate your help.”
“There’s something else. That detective came by today.”
“Again?”
“He asked more questions about you. I don’t like him or his implications.”
The hairs on Dylan’s neck stood. “What implications?” This wasn’t about him; it was about Teddy.
“He asked what kind of father you are. What kind of life you live.”
“Let him ask what he wants.” After a moment, he asked, “What kind of father did you tell him I was?”
“Hard-working, good provider.”
Dylan found himself rearranging the napkin holder and crystal salt-and-pepper shakers. Camilla couldn’t say he was a good father because she’d never seen him in action. He loved his son, from that first moment the doctor had put the little guy in his hands. He couldn’t believe how perfect life was.
“Oh, and one more thing, Dylan, sir. You’re going to have a visitor tonight,” Camilla said, gathering her purse. “That woman Mrs. McKain hit. She called earlier, said she had to talk to you.”
He covered his face with his hands and heard a groan, then realized it had come from him.
“I did bad again, didn’t I? Since your wife hit her, and you went to see her at the hospital, I figured it was all right to tell her to come over. She said she might be able to help find Teddy. You don’t think she’s planning to sue, do you?”
“I wish she was.” That would be a sane reason for her coming over He had to stop her. “Did she leave a number?”
“I always get a number. But it doesn’t matter, because she left twenty minutes ago.”
He heard a car door slam shut and voices rise. “Oh, great. Just what I need.”
I must be crazy to come here. She was sure, positively sure, the only reason was to help find Teddy.
She ignored the reporters’ questions as she walked toward the front doors. He was waiting in the doorway, watching her gather her courage along with her canvas bag. She took the flight of steps leading to the front door like a woman going to the dentist. Dylan’s tall frame filled the opening, and she wondered if he would make her speak her piece there in the grand front entry. He looked tired, and the shadow of his beard lent a rather dangerous-looking countenance. He was ready for a fight.
Be strong, Chloe. Don’t let him bully you; this is too important.
He moved aside reluctantly, as though he’d just then decided to let her in. She had to brush by him as she walked inside, meeting his eyes as she did so. She walked into a living room straight out of an interior design magazine, with white leather furniture, beige carpet, and everything in its place. He led her around a corner to a kitchen the size of her living room. She could live in this kitchen. The ceilings were vaulted, tall enough to accommodate a pot-covered rack over the center island. Everything was white except for the black granite countertops. He poured a glass of Scotch, then lifted the bottle toward her.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
He took a long sip, keeping his gaze on hers. She didn’t like the way it made her feel, those dark eyes surveying her, heating her from tippy-toe to head. Her cowardice won out, and she shifted her gaze to the family room. The last dying rays of the sun filtered through the wall of French doors that overlooked a terraced deck and pool area, and beyond that, Naples Bay. Even the ceilings were spectacular, a crisscross pattern inlaid with wood and lights. He had designed this house, she was sure of it. The lighted niches, arched doorways, and rounded corners, everything was perfect. Including the man standing in front of her, arranging a pair of glass salt-and-pepper shakers on the counter. And rearranging them.
“What are you doing exactly?”
He caught himself shifting the shakers as though he weren’t aware he was doing it. “It’s an old habit when I’m tense.”
She couldn’t help her smile. “A quirk.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. I saw you doing it in your office. Admit it, it’s a nutty little quirk.”
“Is not.” He pushed the shakers out of range.
He wore a white linen shirt and black dress pants. With one finger, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Recessed lights above them reflected off the copper pots and filled the kitchen with a warm glow.
“A glass of water would be nice. Please.” Her throat suddenly felt tight and dry.
He pushed away from the counter and walked toward the bank of cabinets. He opened one, then another before finding the glasses. He wasn’t home enough to know where the glasses were kept.
She didn’t know what to do — sit, lean, stand. She felt dumb just watching him pouring water from a cobalt blue bottle. She supposed she could focus on his long fingers and neat hands. Maybe that wasn’t a good idea either.
As soon as she’d drained half her glass, he asked, “What do you want?”
“I want to help you find Teddy.”
“For?”
“My own peace of mind. Because deep inside I have to.”
“I mean, what do you want for your help?”
“Don’t be a jerk. You think I want money?”
“I’m not sure what you want. I can’t figure you out.”
She walked right up to him before she could think better of it. “You already offered me money, coffee, anything. All I want is a hu —” She stopped herself. She didn’t want a hug, she didn’t. “All I want is to find Teddy. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course that’s what I want. What I don’t need is a pretty little waif with out-of-this-world ideas to distract me.”
“Waif?” Jeez, was she going to have to adopt a butch look for anyone to take her seriously? And pretty? She wasn’t even going to think about that. “All right, I admit that my story is a bit … out there. Like I asked for this? Believe me, I don’t want to be here. I don’t need you as a distraction either — I mean, this whole thing, finding Teddy. I wish I could put it behind me.” She knew the driving force behind her desire was finding Teddy, but Dylan was part of it, too.
Something about the man drew her, and she wished she knew what it was. That he was gorgeous couldn’t be the reason; looks had never factored into any decision she’d ever made concerning a man. But it sure didn’t help matters either. “I can’t go on, not until we find Teddy.”
“We?”
She crossed her arms in front of her. “Well, I’m looking for him, you’re looking for him … that sort of makes us a team.”
He finished off his Scotch and set his glass on the counter with a thud. “We are not a team.”
She had to convince him, somehow, someway. “You need me. You don’t know it yet, but you need me.”
“I don’t need anyone. Especially you.”
Beneath his icy façade, she sensed something vulnerable. It seemed preposterous that this hard man would be vulnerable in any way. But he let it slip once in a while, a brief flash in his eyes before the shutters fell back into place. He did need someone, but he wasn’t ever going to admit it, not even to himself.
“I know where Teddy is.”
“What?”
She walked over to a large framed picture of Teddy over the massive stone fireplace. On the mantel were other pictures, of Teddy, Dylan and Wanda. The perfect family, to fit into the perfect house. Everything looked good on the surface, but something was missing. Everyone in the family portrait was in their separate world. The pictures were staged.
She picked up a smaller picture of Teddy and ran her finger along the edge of the silver frame. “Teddy is near the water.”
“I guess you can tell that by touching his picture?”
She had seen that mocking glint before. Somehow, coming from him, it stabbed her in the stomach.
“No, I’ve been dreaming about him. Ever since the accident, it’s like I’m connected to him somehow. The dreams are vague, but I can see this kid and he’s near water. I thought maybe it would help, that clue. I hoped you might know somewhere Wanda may have hidden him that was near the water. He might be on a boat. With a man.”
For a moment, as he looked at his son’s picture, she saw a flash of pain and fear. Just as quickly, it vanished. Dylan was adept at masking his feelings.
“Do you realize that in Florida there is water everywhere? Pools, canals, the Gulf of Mexico, ditches. So no, that clue doesn’t help.”
“I, well, I didn’t think of that. But it’s not pool water or a ditch. It’s bigger than that, like the Gulf of Mexico or maybe the bay.”
“And,” he continued, “she didn’t take our boat because it’s still out there by the dock. In case you haven’t been paying attention to the news reports, Teddy’s with a woman, not a man. Anything else, Miss Crystal Ball?”
She twisted her mouth. “I don’t have a crystal ball. Nobody in Lilithdale does, Mister Smarty Pants.”
“Do you, by chance, communicate with animals?”
“No, that’s my Aunt Stella. Why, is there a dog we can ask?” He rolled his eyes, and she guessed not. “Look, I’m not even psychic, okay? I’m disabled.”
His gaze surveyed her body. “Pardon?”
“In Lilithdale, everyone has gifts or abilities; I don’t, so I’m disabled. I don’t even have good instincts.” How true that was, she realized. She wanted to touch him, to reach him. As usual, her instincts were leading her down the wrong road. “But I know this: Teddy is out there on or near the water. You’ve got to trust me.”
“I will never trust a woman again. Between the police and the press, the last thing I need is to be associated with you.”
She blinked. Don’t let him see. His words don’t matter anyway. They don’t.
She found herself gripping his forearm. “Forget what the press thinks. Forget what anyone thinks. Think only about Teddy.”
Dylan looked at her in the same intense way he had at his office. Look away, Chloe. Don’t let him see right into your soul. Her heart was hammering in her chest. His other hand came up to catch her chin. She tried to shake her head, but she couldn’t move. Her instincts should have been screaming for her to get away from him, this man who was nothing like a poet and who thought she was a nutcase. Those instincts locked her in place and stole away her words.
“You like men, Chloe?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
She tried to pull free of his grip, but he wouldn’t let go. She tried to remember what she’d told that frog-faced attorney. But Dylan wasn’t froggy. “Of course I like men. Just not overbearing, unemotional, close-minded men.” That made him loosen his grip, and she pulled her chin free. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want you to leave. Because I don’t need you distracting me from finding my son. Because I hate that you are distracting me, and it’s not your crazy story or even that my wife put those bruises on your face.” He ran the tips of his fingers across her scraped cheek, and she shivered. “Maybe I was hoping you preferred women so you wouldn’t be so damned distracting. I’m all those things you mentioned; so why when I look at you do I want to …”
Chloe couldn’t breathe; she was sure her heart had stopped beating in anticipation of his next words. Finally she said, “What?” giving away her anxious state in that desperately whispered word.
His expression shuttered again. “I need to be looking for my son, not thinking about you.”
“You’ve been thinking about me?”
He turned toward the French doors. “What kind of man thinks about a woman while his son is lost?”
Obviously a tortured one. She didn’t know what to say other than to ask him what he was thinking. But that hardly seemed appropriate, and it probably wasn’t a good kind of thinking anyway.
“Especially,” he continued, “a woman who’s probably as crazy as his wife was.” He pressed his palms to the glass.
She blinked, knocked out of the spell by those words. Logic. She needed logic. She ran some numbers through her mind. Numbers always made sense; feelings never did. She opened her mouth and out came, “Twenty-two hundred fifty-eight.”
“Pardon?”
She waved her hand. “It’s a thing I do. When I get discombobulated, I run numbers, calculations. Sometimes they slip out. Okay, let’s approach this logically.”
“Logically?”
She might as well have said, “Let’s take a bath in mint chocolate chip ice cream.”
“We both want to find Teddy,” she said.
He leaned against the mantel. “I’m with you so far.”
“Okay, next: we have no business being … distracted by one another. I can’t be anywhere near the type of woman you like, and you’re not a romantic poet with tender sensibilities so —”
He tilted his head. “You want a romantic poet with —”
“Forget that.” He had a knowing smile on his face as though he’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “All right, so what? I want a romantic poet type. A guy. Back to the logical part: we shouldn’t be distracting each other one iota. This is strictly business.”
“What’s strictly business?”
“Us finding Teddy.”
He shook his head. “There is no us!”
She let out a sound of exasperation. She definitely had no business being distracted by this man. “You may not need anyone to help you find your son, but I need to help. Can you understand that?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “How can you, I can hardly explain it to myself. All I know is that deep inside, I need to be involved in the search.” She’d grabbed hold of his arms. “I’ll try not to distract you, I promise. How do I distract you, anyway? Maybe if you tell me, I can fix the problem. Will it help if I go butch? I mean, in looks only.”
“No, don’t do that.” He looked down where her fingers were wrapped around his linen shirtsleeves. “I don’t want to think about how you distract me. I just know I don’t like it.”
She looked up at those narrowed brown eyes of his. “It’s not a good kind of distraction, is it?”
His gaze swept over her face, her mouth, then back to her eyes. She couldn’t swallow for a moment; his eyes looked as liquid as melted chocolate. He touched the cut on her lower lip with his thumb, so gently it almost tickled.
“No, it’s not a good kind of distraction,” he said in a voice that sounded lower. He regarded her with a hard expression, though she suspected the hardness was aimed at himself and not her. “Chloe, you need to go away. Now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
“You need me.”
He ran his fingers over his shadowed jaw. “And what gave you that idea?”
“I’m the only link you have to your son. Maybe it’s a mother’s instinct I picked up from Wanda. I can’t explain it, but I can feel your son when I dream.”
A shrill noise interrupted. Dylan pulled away and answered his cell phone. She took a deep breath, wondering what the heck he’d meant. A not-good kind of distraction could be her being so ugly he couldn’t stand the sight of her.
She focused in on the call, praying it was the police with good news. Dylan’s slumping shoulders didn’t make that a hopeful prospect. He leaned on the counter, rubbing his forehead.
“Like what? All right, I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He set the phone back on the counter. Without realizing it, she’d come closer to him, but fought an instinct urging her to put her arms around him.
“Is everything all right?”
“Don’t know. That was Teddy’s doctor. He’s got some information that’s going to change the entire search.”