trailed behind in his wake. Someone shoved up against him on the right, sending a shock wave of pain through his body, reminding him that the wound on his arm had still not been treated.
He grabbed the first person he saw wearing a Toys
“I’ll try, sir,” Cherri said, but her tone suggested that she was unlikely to put a lot of effort into the attempt. “What are you looking for?”
“We need a Mighty-Mighty-” He looked down. “What is it again, son?”
“Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter,” Tommy mumbled.
“That’s it. We need a Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter. The best one you’ve got.”
Cherri’s lips turned up at both ends and she began to laugh. “I’ll bet you would,” she said, laughing all the more. “You and everyone else in this store.”
“You mean you don’t have one? What kind of toy store is this?”
“Sir, the Dino-Fighter is the hit toy of the season. Everyone wants one, and we haven’t had any since early November. We don’t expect to have any until late January.”
“But that doesn’t do me any good. I need one now. For Christmas.”
“Sorry, sir. No can do.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else.”
“You could go to every toy store in the country, sir, but the story will be the same. They just aren’t available.”
Carl felt trapped. Here it was, starting all over again. No matter what he did, no one would help, no one would give him a break. No matter what he tried, he always came out a failure.
“You don’t understand,” he said slowly. “I
“I guess you don’t understand,” Cherri said, staring right back at him. Apparently the day’s work had hardened her. “We don’t have any!”
“Please,” Carl said, his voice rising in volume, “I need a Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter!”
All at once there was a break in the general pandemonium. A hush fell; the movement ceased.
One lone voice emerged from the back of the crowd. “You’ve got Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighters?”
Cherri held up her hands. “No, no,” she said quickly. “You misunder-”
But it was too late.
“They’ve got Dino-Fighters!” a woman cried. “Fred! Over here!
If the store had been in chaos before, it was in Armageddon now. All at once, every warm body in the store bolted toward Cherri and Carl. They were screaming and pushing and fighting to get to the front. Cherri barricaded herself behind the customer service counter, but the horde continued surging forward. Their hands stretched over the counter, grasping at air.
“Do you have the Power Packs?” one voice demanded. “I want three!” shouted another. “I have to have
“I’m telling you, we’re sold out!” Cherri said, but no one was listening. They were an unreasoning mob acting with a single purpose.
“Let’s get out of here,” Carl said, recognizing the futility of continuing this particular fight. He reached out his hand, but of course, Tommy didn’t take it. The two of them forced their way to the exits.
They returned to Carl’s pickup. Carl jumped behind the wheel, while Tommy resumed his previous sullen posture in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
“I’m … um… sorry about that, son,” Carl said finally.
“It’s okay,” Tommy said. This time he didn’t even bother to shrug. “It’s no big deal. I knew you couldn’t get a Mighty Movin’ Dino-Fighter.”
Of course not, Carl thought. His brain boiled with rage. Of course not. Not your stupid, useless, impotent father. He can’t do anything right. He fails at everything. That’s what she’s told you, isn’t it? That’s what she’s made you believe.
He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, driving much too fast. He’d had it with that woman, that ugly woman and all the venom she spewed, even to his own son. She’d poisoned his mind for good. There was nothing he could do, he realized now. No way he could bring Tommy back. No way he could make his son his again.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Carl said, pulling back onto I-35.
“Everything good’ll be closed,” Tommy mumbled.
“I know a place,” Carl replied. And he did, too. He knew a perfect place. Especially for today.
There were no more options open to him, he realized. No way to make things like they were before. There was only one opportunity before him now. Only one choice.
They would go for lunch, Carl resolved. They would go out together one last time.
And then he would remove the boy from his mother’s evil grasp for good.
6
“How could you let him take away my Tommy?” Bonnie shrieked.
The caregiver tried to remain calm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know-”
“You should’ve known!”
“No one told me anything, ma’am. I can assure you that if they had-”
“I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses!”
Megan laid her hand on Bonnie’s shoulder, trying to calm her and subtly signal her to cool off. The situation was dire enough already. They needed to keep their heads together and figure out what to do next.
Megan’s heart also went out to the poor caregiver, the dark-haired woman who had drawn the thankless duty of administering the short staff on Christmas Eve. She could never have anticipated that she would be thrust in the middle of a horrible domestic crisis.
Bonnie looked a wreck; her face was streaked with tears and ruined makeup. Megan knew fear was eating away at her, fears she hadn’t even expressed but were haunting her just the same.
“How could you let that man take my son? I left specific instructions that he not be allowed anywhere near my Tommy. There is a copy of the divorce decree in the files!”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know any of that.”
“So you just let anyone stroll in and walk away with the children?”
“Of course not, ma’am. He wasn’t just anyone. He was Tommy’s father. Tommy confirmed that. And he had identification. Plus he showed us a lot of very official-looking papers.”
“He used to be a cop!” Bonnie shouted. “He has a glove box full of official-looking papers.”
Megan took a step forward, hoping that Bonnie would catch her breath and let someone else take the lead for a bit. The caregiver was behaving admirably; even under fire she was staying cool. But Megan knew that wouldn’t last forever.
“There’s no point in beating this dead horse,” Megan said in a quiet but firm voice. “He has Tommy. We need to figure out where they’ve gone. Did you by any chance notice what kind of car he was driving?”
Concentration lines etched the caregiver’s face. “I think it was blue. No, wait. Red.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think so. Yes. Red.”
“What kind of car?”
She frowned. “Gee, I’m really not good with cars.”
“Two-door or four?”
“Four. No, two. Actually-come to think of it, he may have been driving a pickup.”
“I don’t suppose you noticed the license plate?”
The caregiver shook her head.
“He drove a red pickup when we were married,” Bonnie said softly. “It was a heap, but he seemed to like it.
