Ann Peterson - A Cop In Her Stocking

She shuffled through the stack of pictures as if they were playing cards. “School pictures, some from his birthday, Halloween. No. What am I thinking? He’s in a costume on Halloween. That’s not going to help.” Except for a few stray tears, she hadn’t cried since he’d broken the news, but now tears swamped her eyes and gushed down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Meg,” he said again. He could never say it enough. He took a chance and grabbed hold of her hand.

Her throat moved as if she was swallowing emotion, preventing it from further breaking free. Finally she looked him in the eye. “I know you didn’t mean to lose him. I’ve had him wander off when I was shopping with him, too.”

The fact that she would think about reassuring him in the midst of all she was facing made him feel worse than he already did. He rubbed his hand up her arm, as if simple friction would warm the chill that he knew was running through her. “We’ll find him. We’ll get him back to you.”

“I should have told him to stay next to you in the store, to hold your hand. I should have known something like this could happen. I meant to remind him to stay close to you before he left, but it slipped my mind. God, I’m so stupid.”

He couldn’t stand this. “No. I’m stupid. I wasn’t paying attention. I lost Connor.”

She shook her head, but the tears didn’t stop flowing. She pushed the photos into his hands. “Here. I’ll see if I can find any better ones.”

He set the pictures on the table and took both her hands in his. He looked down into her wet green eyes, eyes that were so desperate. “I will find Connor. I will make all of this okay. I promise.”

Maybe an impossible vow. But God help him, he had never meant anything more.

MEGAN WAS EXHAUSTED, frustrated and more than a little panicky by the time Ty’s lieutenant arrived at the apartment to fill her in on the search and ask her to repeat everything she’d already discussed with Ty. At Ty’s direction, she’d written a detailed description of her son and everything he’d been wearing down to the Hot Wheels sneakers on his feet. She’d also compiled a list of names, addresses and phone numbers of family, friends, babysitters, anyone she could think of who had come in contact with Connor, both in Lake Hubbard and Chicago.

Ty had made copies of all the photos she’d dug up, ready to send them to every law enforcement agency in the vicinity and nonprofit organization that helped find missing children.

She knew Ty would be helping her find Connor even if he didn’t feel guilty about his role in losing him. He was a police officer, after all. This kind of thing was his job. And more than that, it was the kind of person Ty was, the kind he’d been raised to be.

But although she felt plenty angry that he’d lost her son, she couldn’t see what good anger and blame would do. Not now. There wasn’t time. All she could focus on right now was getting her son back, and she badly needed to trust that Ty and the Lake Hubbard police department could help her do that.

“Ms. Garvey?” Ty’s lieutenant perched on the edge of a chair and leveled her with an officious look. “With your permission, we would like to put a trap and trace on your phone.”

Lieutenant Leo Wheeling had to be the squarest man she’d ever met. His attitude, his blocky chest and short legs, his cropped blond hair and carefully trimmed mustache, everything about the man was right angles. And although she’d learned from experience not to rely on anyone but herself, the sheer regular nature of the guy made her want to trust he’d come through. “You think the kidnapper will call?”

“We hope he will.”

“To ask for ransom?”

“Yes.”

She motioned to the shabby little apartment, the cheap Christmas tree she’d bought in a discount lot, already dropping needles. The decorations made of paper and pipe cleaners and good old-fashioned popcorn on strings she’d used to round out the few good decorations she had left from the house in Chicago. Not to mention the sparse secondhand furniture underneath it all, a veritable museum of particle board and pilled cushions. “I obviously have no money. What could he want that I could give him?”

“We don’t know, Ms. Garvey. We are trying to cover all the bases.”

She nodded. She should be glad of that, not giving the man a hard time.

A knock sounded at the door. Ty opened it. A familiar-looking man dressed in a suit and dark overcoat pushed into the room and focused on her. “Megan. I came when I heard.” He thrust out his hand and grasped hers, but instead of giving it a shake, he simply held it and stared into her eyes.

He looked so familiar. The sharp nose. The high forehead. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Evan Blankenship. We went to high school together.”

Memories shuffled into place in her mind. “Of course. You were a few years older, right?”

“You had to remind me.” He chuckled and glanced at the other newcomers over his shoulder, then back to her.

“And I heard you married Dee Dee Harris.” Megan almost lapsed into the envious nickname Dee Dee had been given by the other girls in high school, Harris the Heiress, but stopped herself just in time.

“Three years now.” Evan held up his ring as if offering proof.

“Lucky man.” It seemed ridiculous to be chatting about normal life as if everything was…normal. But somehow just the ordinariness of the exchange made Megan feel a little more grounded.

“Don’t I know it. I was also elected mayor of Lake Hubbard in a special election this fall. That’s why I stopped by, to offer my support as an elected official and an old friend.”

“Uh, thank you.”

“And my help. Seriously, Megan, if there’s anything Dee Dee and I can do to get your little boy back—connections, money, anything at all—you let me know.”

She fished for a way to respond, finally settling on another “Thank you.”

“I understand the FBI is on its way?”

Again Megan nodded. She hadn’t been sure how to take this outpouring of generosity from a man she hadn’t talked to since high school. Even then, he’d been Doug’s age, not hers. She’d hardly known him. But after that last comment, she had to wonder if he was here to see the FBI. Maybe Mayor Evan Blankenship had watched too many crime shows on TV and simply wanted to see the bureau in action.

She gave him what she could muster for a smile and excused herself. She didn’t like being so cynical, thinking poorly of others’ motives, not trusting anyone at their word, but she couldn’t help it. The last years had bled her dry of trust and optimism, and the past couple of hours didn’t seem likely to change that.

Her throat thickened. Her chest physically hurt with each beat of her heart, and she knew the only thing that would make it stop was clutching Connor close. Standing, she excused herself and walked out of the living room and down the short hall.

She had to get away. Just for a moment. She had to catch her breath. She wanted to be somewhere she could feel closer to her son.

She slipped into Connor’s room and pulled in a deep breath. The place smelled of him, of crayons and Lincoln Logs and the orange-flavored candy he’d accidently gotten stuck in a corner of the carpet. She looked around at his toys, at his unmade bed, at his jammies lying in a wadded-up clump on the floor. For a moment, the walls blurred, the Thomas the Tank Engine clock became merely a smudge of bright reds and blues against the white wall.

She tilted her chin back and did her best to blink away tears. They would find him, wouldn’t they? She had to trust they’d find him. She didn’t know how she’d cope otherwise.

“Meg?”

Her body swayed toward the sound of Ty’s voice and his old nickname for her coming from right behind her. If she turned around, if she reached for him—allowed herself to curl up in his arms, to soak in his comfort, to accept his strength—she knew he’d oblige. He would again promise to find Connor. He’d reassure her that everything would be okay. She wanted those things so badly. She wanted to trust he could provide them.