17

Clay hadn’t meant to arrive half an hour early, hadn’t done so with the hope that maybe Marcus would be early too. But he’d been here forty-five minutes. By now, he’d read every sign in the place, from the painted chalkboard announcing the beer specials to the bubble-lettered poster board tacked on a wooden pillar. “Summer Concerts: Peace, Love, and Music Every Wednesday!” He was waiting for his second Blue Moon as well as Marcus.

A table away, two gray-haired guys in greasy T-shirts had finished their chips and salsa and waited for their meals. Clay had opted for a table rather than the bar, but until Marcus arrived, privacy wasn’t necessary. Maybe he’d go perch on a stool for a minute.

The door opened, admitting a burst of evening sun around a bulky silhouette. Marcus stood a second too long before crossing the threshold. Clay lifted one hand to shoulder-level as the man’s gaze scoured the room for him, and Marcus beelined to the table.

Small talk would be in order. Clay squashed the questions he wanted to volley and nodded at the chair across from him, but Marcus was already pulling it out and sitting down. His gaze took in the building’s whole interior in a few seconds, probably noting the exits.

Clay spoke over Sheryl Crow from the overhead speakers, clinking silverware from the back kitchen, and the small crowd’s voices bouncing off the vintage brick walls and oak floor. “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure.”

Before Marcus could say another word, the buxom brunette server hustled up to their table. She set down Clay’s drink with more flourish than the establishment warranted.

“Blue Moon, no fruit.” She swiveled her gaze and her hips toward Marcus. “Nice of you to show up.”

“What?”

“This poor, lonely man’s been sitting here for an hour.”

Marcus’s eyes flicked between Clay and the girl as if he suspected a prank.

“Not that long,” Clay said.

“Pretty close.”

Hadn’t anyone trained her on how to talk to patrons? Or maybe she was untrainable where tact was concerned. Khloe would be. Not that Khloe would ever work in a bar.

“Anyway,” she said, “what can I get you?”

“Coke, please.”

Her smile pinched at the corners. “One Coke, coming right up.”

Clay hadn’t even considered that Marcus wouldn’t drink a beer with him, but it sort of fit the guy’s personality. Marcus probably qualified as a control freak.

“You’ve been here an hour?”

“She’s exaggerating. I was a few minutes early. No big deal.” Clay ran his finger around the rim of the weizen glass.

Marcus looked skeptical, but after a moment, he planted his elbows on the oak-edged table. “Well. They’re okay.”

“You mean Khloe.”

Marcus nodded.

Okay. She was okay. The miracle surged into Clay’s throat, threatened to choke him up. He hid behind a long sip of beer and tried to focus more on the citrus-sweet flavor than on the gift Marcus had given him.

Screw small talk. Clay lowered the glass and blinked hard. “It’s been a long day.”

Marcus’s gaze sliced to Clay’s glass, then cut away to travel the room. Another nod.

“So you’ve seen her? Talked to her? Is she scared, is she—?”

“She’s okay. And her friend. Violet.”

Oh, Lord, You did more than I thought You could do. “When they questioned Nat and me, they didn’t ask about Violet. And they had to know she’d been there. Her ID was at the scene. I thought they must have her, didn’t need to ask.”

Marcus met his eyes again with a sudden sharpness, leaned forward an inch or two. “How long have you known her?”

“Violet? Her whole life. Since she and Khloe were seven. Her dad works mall security, her mother’s … Well, I don’t know, Natalia’s never liked her mother. I don’t think she has much of a home life. She pretty much lives with us every summer.”

The server hustled over and delivered Marcus’s Coke with less fanfare than Clay’s beer had received. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

She was already heading back to the kitchen.

Marcus tugged the red plastic cup closer and took a sip, then sat back and … did nothing, said nothing, simply sat there with a wrinkle between his eyes.

“Marcus, just tell me where they are. I’ll go pick them up tonight. Now.”

The unease deepened to a scowl. “No.”

“I’ll smuggle them home somehow, or—”

“No.”

“I’m not an imbecile. I can keep my own child safe.”

He shifted forward again and held Clay’s gaze without blinking. “No.”

So Marcus led a bunch of people in foiling the Constabulary. That didn’t give him comprehension of fatherhood, of the power it lent even the weakest of men, the unreasonable reserves to do what needed doing. How dare he think he could protect Khloe better than Clay could?

“You’re going to tell me where my daughter is.”

“So you can tell them.”

Clay pushed his beer aside. “That’s—”

“They’re already watching you. They could decide to take you in. Officially. We shouldn’t be meeting at all.”

“You’re paranoid.” Or maybe not.

“It’s a good haven. The best one I have. Clothes, plenty of rooms, good people. They’re safe.”

“Who are they? The … hosts, or whatever you call them.” Yeah, not hosts. Sounded sci-fi, parasitical.

“Clay. No.”

Clay braced his fists on the table as if they could anchor him to his calm, give him control of this situation. “I’m going to figure out where you’re keeping her, and—”

“No.” Marcus dug his knuckles into the back of his neck. “Listen to me. Nobody’s being moved right now. Everything’s frozen. You’re watching the news, aren’t you? Since the raid?”

He’d tried once and shut it off after about twenty seconds. “I didn’t want to find out like that. If they had her.”

“They don’t. She’s okay. But you’ve got to let me do this. Something’s going on. They raided the store, and then—that house I told you about. You told Khloe about it?”

Clay nodded. Make your point, man.

“That’s where I found them. A few hours later, she got taken too. The woman who lives there.”

“So they know who you are. They followed you.” Ice formed around Clay. “So you’re the last person who should be protecting my daughter.”

“I wasn’t at the Table meeting. And I’ve been testing things all day. It’s not me.”

Vague, but Marcus’s “testing” methods were irrelevant, anyway. Clay gulped his beer and stood, but Marcus stayed seated, eyed him without a hint of concession. Darn this guy.

“Clay, sometimes people try to … do things. Alone. Don’t. It never goes right.”

“I want the girls back.”

“Not until I know what’s going on.”

Clay closed his eyes. If he forced himself to be objective, to be logical, it didn’t make sense to take Khloe and Violet home. Not when Constabulary agents could pull up the driveway at any time. But he could keep them safe somewhere else, some other way.

Like what?

When Clay’s eyes opened, the big guy still sat there, both hands gripping his neck, glaring into his Coke.

“Marcus.”

He looked up, calm, distanced from desperation. He didn’t understand. Clearly he didn’t feel anything about this at all. Maybe his whole little network was nothing but a power trip.

No, Clay knew him better than that. Marcus was a good guy. A friend.

Still. These were Clay’s children. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to deal with this. Tomorrow, we meet here again, same time.”

“Not here. The mall, that outdoor one.”

“Partridge Woods?”

“There’s a fountain on the north end.”

“Fine.”

“I get detoured a lot. I’ll call tomorrow. If you don’t hear from me, don’t go.”

The greater part of Clay almost railed at Marcus. Nothing on this man’s priority list should top returning Khloe and Violet to their family. Clay crushed the myopic tirade. There were other dangers. Other families.

“Fine.” The word tasted like gravel. “But if you can make it, you’ll tell me where they are, at the very least. The very least.”

“If it’s safe.”

You’d better make it safe. Okay, that was unreasonable. Clay fumbled for his wallet.

“We can’t leave yet. I just got here.”

If a Constabulary agent had his eye on either one of them, a ten-minute conversation would raise alarms. He slouched down into his chair. “What now? Small talk?”

“Sorry.”

Clay leaned back and let the chair hold him up. Twenty-four hours, but not the longest of his life. Those had just passed, when the question of Khloe’s safety had beaten the drum of his chest. Still, this new waiting rubbed raw all the old places.

Marcus met the gaze Clay angled down at him without looking away or saying a word. The voices of everyone else seeped around Clay instead. Their noise and Marcus’s silence offered a sort of rest. Clay let his eyes close again. He could fall asleep right here.

“I’m pretty sure Janelle got arrested.” The words slid out of him, mostly numb, as if he could feel horror for only one human’s plight at a time, and Khloe would always head that list.

“Yeah. And Phil. And Felice.”

“You know that for sure?”

“Now, yeah.”

“Marcus, we’re talking about my girls. If anything happens to my girls …” The conclusion of that thought burned behind his eyes.

For a long moment, the bar droned on.

“I’ll keep them safe,” Marcus said.

“I’ll take care of her, Mr. Hansen.” The words of the physician who, a month later, retracted his promise. “Not rallying like we’d hoped.” Khloe was alive today anyway. And for this blink of time, she was safe.

The girls weren’t Marcus’s responsibility, not really. But for a day, Clay had no other options. “Okay.”