have to snip off just a lit-tle teeny bit of hair. Is that going to be okay? You won’t even see it, I promise.”
Lord, how vain did she think he was? “Do it,” he muttered. “Get it over with.” He closed his eyes and held his breath; it wasn’t pain he was trying his best to shut out, but her scent, her nearness. His stomach growled; he was helpless to stop it.
“Hmm,” she said softly, her voice just a breath away from his ear, “that’s right, I guess you never did get to eat your waffles, did you? They’re still there, you know, in the kitchen. When we’re done here, I can warm them up for you, if you like. They’ll crisp up nicely in the toaster.”
There it was again-that mystifying little irritation. She sounded like somebody’s mother. Which definitely wasn’t what he wanted from her, not then. Not ever. “Gee, Doc,” he said sarcastically, “do you normally offer your patients blueberry waffles after surgery?”
“No…I usually give them doggy treats…okay-that’s it. Done.” She stood back, her eyes innocent. “Beatle probably wouldn’t mind sharing some of hers, if you’d prefer.”
He didn’t know whether to laugh or growl; what he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He might have done it that time, and the hell with the consequences, if at that moment David had not come bursting through the doorway at that pace all children seem to prefer, somewhere just below a dead run. Right behind him was the beetle-dog, her toenails clickety-clicking on the tile.
“Mom-” naturally he was out of breath “-I looked and looked, and I can’t find her
Chapter 9
“Take a deep breath,” Summer ordered. “Calm down. Now-she can’t just vanish, can she? So she has to be here somewhere. Unless-” She looked at Riley.
He shook his head. “She couldn’t get past the perimeter of the grounds, not without setting off the alarm.”
“Okay, then. She has to be here. Tell me where you looked.”
David lifted his hands and hitched up his shoulders as far as they would go. “I
Summer straightened and threw Riley a look of apology. “She does this sometimes. When she’s angry, or afraid she’s in big trouble, she…hides. Right now-” an ironic smile tugged at her mouth “-she’s afraid she’s in big trouble because she thinks she may have killed you.” She drew a deep breath and gave her son’s shoulders a squeeze. “All right, I think we should start in the house, don’t you? Come on-we’ll take it one room-” And she was already turning to hustle the boy ahead of her out of the bathroom. She stopped, though, as Riley struggled to his feet, and shooed him back with a wave of her hand. “No, no-that’s okay, stay there. No need for you to bother yourself. Here-” Distracted, she paused at the sink where she’d dumped the tray of ice cubes, pulled up the stopper and turned on the tap, then dropped in a washcloth. “Put this on your foot I’m sure David and I can find her.”
Riley reached over and turned off the water. “If she’s hiding because she’s afraid she’s hurt me,” he said reasonably, “then seeing me alive and well ought to reassure her. Maybe she’ll come out of her own accord. And if she doesn’t-” he bit on his lip as he tested his foot, decided the pain was entirely manageable and then nodded “- then I probably know some hiding places you don’t. This house has a few odd nooks and crannies.”
For a moment she hesitated, and he could see the struggle in her eyes-a brief one, an automatic rejection of the idea of anyone helping her more than a real objection, he thought. Then she nodded in acceptance and abruptly pivoted, following her son from the room. Riley raised his eyes skyward in a silent appeal for patience and hobbled after her.
As they were passing through his bedroom, he observed what looked like a fat furry pillow squarely in the middle of his bed. Summer saw it, too, and halted dead in her tracks.
“Oh, Lord, I’m sorry. Here-just let me take her-” She threw him a look of pure misery and bent over to pick up the cat, trying her best, it seemed to him, to do so without letting any part of her touch any part of the bed. No small feat, given the size of his bed.
Riley’s mind suddenly became crowded with images and associations, all having to do with Summer and her proximity to his bed, thoughts he had no business entertaining, even for a moment. His belly grumbled ominously. “Leave her-let her sleep,” he growled, waving Summer out of his bedroom with an impatience bordering on urgency.
They commenced the search at one end of the upstairs hall, taking it one bedroom at a time, opening doors and drawers and cupboards, peering into closets, behind draperies and under beds-any space a five-year-old body could possibly squeeze into as well as a few it couldn’t. They’d finished the two empty rooms on the north side of the house and were about to move on to the one Summer was occupying when Riley noticed that the dog Beatle appeared to have taken an interest in one of the doors across the hall. He paused to watch her as she sniffed and snuffled at the bottom of the closed door, then raised her head and gave a soft “Wuf.”
Summer looked down at the Chihuahua, then up at Riley. He raised his eyebrows; she shrugged a
Then David, with a faith born of innocence, said, “Hey, Beatle, did you find her? Huh? Find Helen, Beatle- where’s -Helen? Come on-let’s go find Helen.” And he turned the knob and opened the door. Beatle scampered into the room. Riley and Summer exchanged a look, then followed.
It was very warm in the room. Riley knew it could get downright hot in those south-facing rooms in the summertime, in spite of air-conditioning and the huge magnolia trees that had been planted on that side of the house long ago to provide shade for the tall casement windows. It was precisely why Riley had given his guests quarters on the north side, though the south rooms were larger and certainly brighter.
While Riley stood frowning in the doorway, thinking about that, Summer walked on into the room, calling, “Helen? Honey, are you in here?” She opened a wardrobe door. David dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the canopy bed.
Meanwhile, the dog Beatle hesitated only long enough to give the rug a sniff, then scampered over to the window, put her paws up on the sill and uttered that same small but decisive “Wuf.”
It was then that Riley realized the window was open. “The balcony,” he said, and started forward.
Summer, too, was moving toward the window, moving like a sleepwalker. “Helen? Honey…?” She put her hand on the window casing and leaned out.
Riley’s house had been built in the sumptuous twenties, in a Southern Gothic style more typical of Savannah than Charleston. All the upstairs windows had narrow balconies trimmed with wrought iron, meant more for decoration than actual use. Still, he thought, a child might easily hide on one, crouched below the level of the windowsill…
Summer was looking down, up, all around. But it was obvious the balcony was not occupied. She stepped onto it and peered over the railing. She looked down…and Riley could feel his heart trying to bang its way out of his chest. But there was no scream of horror and grief, and moving up behind her, he could feel her body relax slightly.
And then…go absolutely rigid. In a spasmlike reflex her hands clutched the railing, so hard the knuckles went white, and she cried out,
Never, in all his life, had Riley heard such terror in a human voice. It had to be the worst sound he had ever heard. He went icy inside as his mind struggled to form the terrible question. But by then Summer had turned blindly into him and was hiding her face against his chest. And without thought he folded his arms around her and held her tightly while his eyes searched for what she’d already seen that had frightened her so.
He saw it now-splashes of hot pink and lemon-yellow, colors Mother Nature never put in a magnolia tree. He
