Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(34)

She nodded, but he doubted she’d even heard him. “He hasn’t gotten home yet, or he’d see my note and call. Do you think he’s on his way home?”

Holt tried to think himself into the kid’s shoes. “Probably. He’s had his hopes stomped on. He might even think you haven’t realized he left.”

“Right. Right.” She slowly sat back, her fingers resting on her phone. Hoping. There was so much love in that patient waiting.

His mother had loved him like that. But he’d lost her well before he’d turned eleven. Did Carson realize how lucky he was?

Now, they just had to find him.

At a long stoplight, he punched the address into his phone’s navigational app. As the directions started—in Yoda’s voice—Josie gave a snorty laugh of disbelief.

Following the Jedi Master’s instructions, Holt reached an upscale neighborhood with stately palms along the wide sidewalks. Two and three story houses were set well back from the street. A few had wrought iron-and-stone privacy fences. “I got the impression Everett didn’t mention Carson to his wife.”

“Apparently not. But why should he? He got rid of me easily enough when it happened.”

Holt eyed her. She was perhaps a bit younger than he was. “How old were you when Carson was born?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

Didn’t like to share, did she? Some people would dump their life stories on perfect strangers. Most people answered questions when asked. Then there were the ones who raised a wall around their world. He had a feeling he knew when a young Josie’s wall had gone up.

As a kid, he’d loved jumping over fences. These days, the walls he tackled tended to be emotional rather than physical. He reached over and took her hand. “Don’t make me play guessing games, pet. How old?”

“Seventeen.”

A teenager. His jaw tensed. That note was on office paper, so Everett had been employed, not in high school. “And how old was his father at that time?”

She looked out the window. “I’d guess mid-thirties.”

Nine months pregnancy meant she’d probably been sixteen when the asshole got her with child. Holt kept his voice level with an effort. “I’m surprised your parents didn’t go after him with statutory rape charges and a paternity suit.”

When she didn’t answer, he glanced over.

She was still looking out the window. The hand in her lap was fisted.

On the phone, the navigational app kicked in, and Yoda stated, “Reached your destination, you have.” Holt slowed the car. The bastard’s house was a pretentious colonial mansion style. Yeah, why was he not surprised? Inside, the lights were off. He saw no child lurking in the yard or under the dimly lit portico.

Josie had the window down and leaned out, searching the street for her boy.

They cruised past the asshole’s home, reached the end of the street, and spotted a police patrol car moving slowly down the block.

Holt pulled to the curb, got out, and flagged the car down.

The patrol officer lowered his window. “Can we help you?”

“If you’re looking for the eleven-year-old, I have the boy’s mother in the car. Have you spotted him?” Holt noticed Josie had gotten out and stood close enough to hear.

The young officer shook his head, as did his female partner in the other seat. “All quiet.”

Dammit. “We’ll keep cruising around, so if you get calls about a white Honda Civic scoping out the neighborhood, you’ll know it’s us.”

“Good point. I’m glad you stopped us.” The officer handed over a card. “This is our station. If you find him, have them relay us the message that he’s safe.”

“Will do.” Holt pulled out his own card. “My cell phone is on here. Same deal.”

With nods, they separated.

As Josie jumped back into the car, she said, “Now what?”

“Now we circle this neighborhood and start back…slowly. We know he got here. Let’s make sure he didn’t run into trouble on his way home.”

*

Carson pushed his bike down the sidewalk, scowling at the flat front tire…and trying not to cry. When he and Isaac had figured out how to get to Lake Magdalene on his bike, it’d looked easy. The ride there hadn’t been bad.

Walking back? It was going to take him forever.

He had a feeling it was awful late. Trying to get up the courage to ring the doorbell at his dad’s—at Everett’s—house, he’d walked around the block a bunch of times first.

Then he’d rung the doorbell.

Tears spilled down his cheeks, and Carson roughly swiped his arm over his face. The door had opened, and a smiling man had answered and asked if he was a Boy Scout or selling stuff for school.

Carson hadn’t been able to talk.

His dad hadn’t recognized him. Shouldn’t a father recognize his son…somehow? So Carson had blurted out, “My mom is Josie Collier. I guess you’re my dad, and I wanted to meet you.” When the man just stood there, Carson figured he had the wrong person, only then a lady somewhere in the house had called, “Everett, who is it?”

Yeah, Everett was the right person. Besides, the man kinda looked like Carson. Same straight brown hair. Same hook on what Mom called a Roman nose. Same brown eyes.