She sat down catty-corner from him, the dog between them, and slid the mug close. She’d made it too full—it had been a while since she’d had a little one—but he knew to lean forward and slurp rather than picking the mug up. He’d stopped crying, though his face was still wet with tears.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked.
He pointed to the sky.
Oh, no. “In heaven?”
“Mommy is,” he said, and slurped again.
“Where’s Daddy?”
His lower lip trembled. “Daddy was scary.”
Her hands tightened into fists. “Did Daddy hurt you?”
He shook his head vigorously.
Amber blew out a breath and tried to think. Even if the child’s father hadn’t hurt him, a father being scary was cause for concern. And the boy was obviously lost. Calling 911 made the most sense, unless a junior officer who liked to use lights and sirens responded, waking the neighborhood and scaring the child all over again. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, scrolled and tapped her brother-in-law’s name.
He answered immediately, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Amber? You okay?”
“I’m fine, but I have a...situation.” She explained what had happened, keeping her voice calm and quiet, aware that the little boy was listening.
“I’ll be over,” he said, and ended the call.
Suddenly, footsteps pounded up her front steps. “Davey! Davey, are you in there?” came a man’s frantic yell.
“Daddy!” Davey ran to the door and Amber hastened after him. Scary Daddy wasn’t coming in here without an explanation.
Davey tried to open the door, but she put a hand on his shoulder. “Step over there a minute,” she ordered firmly, and opened the door a crack.
There was a wiry man, barefoot, flannel jacket open over a thermal, dark hair disheveled.
He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to find my son.” He looked past her, scanning the room.
“What makes you think he’s here?” She tried to keep her voice steady.
“Yours is the only light on in the neighborhood. If he went outside, he’d go toward somewhere that was lit up.”
The bloodhound brushed against her leg on its way to the door, tail wagging.
“Daddy!” Davey pushed past her, too, and reached for the storm door handle.
She stilled his hand. “Davey said you were being scary.”
The man let out a big breath, his tense face and shoulders relaxing, and she realized she knew him. She tilted her head to one side. “Are you...” She frowned, trying to remember his name.
“Paul Thompson. You interviewed my wife a while back.”
“That’s it.” The husband of her interview subject had seemed like a nice guy. And she remembered...yeah. She knew way too much about his personal life, but right now, that wasn’t relevant. “Come on in.” She held open the door.
He walked in and swept his son up into his arms. “Davey, Davey, Davey. You know you’re not allowed to go outside after dark.” He rested his cheek on the top of the boy’s head. “You scared your old dad.”
“Sorry, Daddy.” The boy looked totally relaxed in Paul’s arms.
“Come on into the kitchen,” she said, leading the way. Somehow, she didn’t want little Davey to go off into the darkness with the man who’d been scary, even if Paul seemed like a perfectly decent guy. She gestured them both to the table. “Davey was having some hot chocolate. Want some?”
“Uh, sure.” His eyes skimmed over her and then he quickly looked away, leaning down to scratch the bloodhound behind his big, droopy ears.
At that point, Amber realized she was wearing a skimpy crop top and leggings. Nothing to hide her bony, boyish form. She started another cup of hot chocolate and then ran out to the coat closet, grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on. As she walked back into the kitchen, she heard father and son murmuring together.
“You were yelling loud,” Davey said. “You said, ‘Get down, get down, get help!’”
“I did?” Paul pressed his lips together.
“I’m sorry I watched a shooting show. But you were ’sleep on the couch and it came on and I—I just wanted to see the soldiers.” Davey started to cry again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Paul said, grabbing a napkin and using it to wipe Davey’s tears, cuddling him close. “I wasn’t mad. I was having a bad dream.”
“Some dream,” Amber commented as she pulled boiling water out of the microwave and stirred hot chocolate mix into it. No marshmallows for Dad; she’d put them all into Davey’s cup.
She was pretty sure Paul was telling the truth. There was no guile in the rugged face, and his body language was open. He was obviously able to be affectionate with his son, who seemed to adore him. There was no way to fake that.
Davey picked up his half-empty mug and guzzled hot chocolate.
Amber met Paul’s eyes over the boy’s head.
“Thank you for taking him in,” he said. “I panicked when I woke up and he wasn’t there. We just moved in today, and he doesn’t know his way around at all.”
“He had a good escape buddy in Sarge,” she said lightly, smiling at the dog who’d flopped down onto his side. It looked like he’d decided the humans could take over for now.
A car pulled into the driveway beside the house, spewing gravel, and then she heard heavy footsteps, this time coming up the back steps.
Paul leaped to his feet and pushed Davey behind him. In his hand was a gun she hadn’t known he was carrying, and her heart gave a great thump.
“Put the gun down,” she forced out through a dry throat.
Davey knelt on the floor behind Paul, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t like this,” he fretted, rocking back and forth.
Sarge stood, the hair on his back bristling as he watched the door.
“Amber? You okay?” Trey’s voice outside the door sounded loud, concerned. He must have seen her and Paul through the window.
Heart pounding, Amber stepped in front of the door. She was facing
