Page 86 of Playing With Fire

The sigh from the other end was heartfelt. Ricky had a sudden glimpse into how tough life could be for any professional working in this heartbreaking area.

“No charge, Mr. Sharp. The first consultation is always free, while we talk about whether a client has a case.” Her voice was soft. “But don’t lose hope. The people who deal with adoptions are smart, caring people for the most part, and I should know, believe me. They check carefully before they place a child, and they don’t just walk away. And when your daughter turns eighteen, and she comes looking for her father, there’s a very good chance that she will find you through her birth mother’s family.”

Ricky cleared his throat. He thanked Ms. Worth as best he could and hung up. He leaned forward until his forehead was resting against the rough bark. Breathed, in and out. Absorbed the reality of the hard, ragged edges against his skin.

Now, for the first time since he had seen that simple sketch in Chrissie’s notebook and had known himself to be a father, Ricky understood that he was powerless. The barricades he had erected around his heart crumbled. He let the thoughts and images roll, letting in the pain.

He would not be there to make sure Lioba rode her bicycle safely on the sidewalk, that she laid down her head each night in a place of safety and brushed her teeth and had her vaccinations. There would be no watching with bated breath as she pushed herself away from the wall on her first pair of ice skates, and no paternal glare at young men turning up at the front door with flowers.

He could not stand between his child and evil or mischance.

His prayer was without words.

***

Jodi flew up the front steps of the rectory before she spotted Ricky. He was immobile, forehead pressed against one of the large trees near the church. Tension flowed from the stiff curve of his neck and down his spine.

She turned, ready to rush down. But the sight of his solitary anguish froze any words in her mouth. Hugging herself against the damp breeze, Jodi forced herself to turn away.

The massive, weathered front door was closed. A curious silence settled over the house and the trees and the church, and Jodi felt herself adrift in a voiceless world; a world where she was only ever an observer.

A gust of wind caught the top branches of a tree overhanging the rambling house, scraping bare wood against the roof and sending a cascade of twigs over the eaves. The cold crept past her scarf and down her back and Jodi wondered if spring would ever come again.

“Hey.” Ricky’s voice behind her was low.

She spun around.

His long, serious face was pale, composed. But his eyes were dark with pain and Jodi reached forward and folded him wordlessly into her arms.

For a few precious seconds, she inhaled the warm strength of his body. His hard frame trembled against her, and she could feel his long slow breaths as he fought for composure. Without thinking, she stroked his back—long comforting strokes—until she felt him calm.

The tiny part of her brain that was still operating set up the usual warning blare.

She was too close, making herself too vulnerable. This complex, secretive, infuriating, and even damaged man had snuck past her defenses.

Because she loved him.

Joy zinged through every pore, immediately followed by panic.

“Let’s pick this up later,” Ricky whispered, his voice catching a little. His hand grazed her cheek. Jodi nodded and tried not to wonder exactly what picking things up would entail.

She stepped back. The mist cleared, and she remembered why they were here. Something bad had happened. Something which had rocked Ricky to the core.

She tried to control the quiver in her voice.

“Is there...bad news?”

He managed a reassuring smile. “The boys haven’t been found yet.”

Jodi’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Then what? Had he been fired, had his father taken a bad turn...?

Ricky gave a small shake of the head, clearly reading her mind. Instead of answering, he took her hand and led her up the steps. He rapped lightly on the door.

“I don’t think anyone is at home,” Jodi began.

“Silas is at home. Hattie has taken the little ones out for the day. Jaime is apparently taking the boys’ absence very badly, refusing food and not sleeping. Almost as bad as when they first got her. They’re hoping that a visit to one of the other mom’s houses and some TLC from Alma and Hattie might work.”

Ricky squeezed her hand briefly. The front door opened. Silas ushered them inside the cold, silent house. His face was grim. He led them to the study without a word and settled behind his desk.

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