Page 17 of Rescuing Sara

“I’d supply you with some of the vocabulary I learned at the precinct when my dad would sometimes take me to work,” she shared. “But–”

They both laughed and she said, “You mentioned a sister?”

It was as if someone had snapped off a lamp or brought down a shade in a darkened room, closing it off from any light or warmth. He stared into his wine glass for a long moment before saying, “I’d rather not talk about that, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” she said, hastily. “Would you mind very much if after dinner I went to the office? I want to do some moreresearch before I write my next article. If I can get it finished tonight and e-mail it to him, Stanley Harris might run it inExcelsiortomorrow morning.”

“Sure,” Patrick agreed, his features relaxing. “I’ll probably turn in early myself. Or I might see if I can beat Kristopher at chess. He beat me the last time we played online. I’d like to see how well he does in a face-to-face match.”

A sparkle brightened her eyes, making the amber glints glow with a golden light. “Do you need to be worried?”

“Not a chance,” he said, taking her hand and pulling them both up. “I just heard the timer, so let’s eat before Kristopher’s luck runs out and something spontaneously combusts.”

After an excellent meal–leftovers really do taste better on the second day they decided–and two games of chess, with each man winning once, Patrick excused himself, leaving his comrade to clean the kitchen. An easy enough task because the room had been nearly spotless when they’d carried their dinnerware to the sink. Kristopher and I must, Patrick thought, share the same kitchens-must-be-clean-before-bed gene because the room was spotless. He wished his comrade a good night and headed for the office to tell Danni good night.

He found her once again seated at the desk, staring at the screen, and then writing in an old-fashioned spiral-bound notebook. He came to stand behind her and saw she’d pulled up the article Anne Hamilton had written,Not in My Backyard,about child-trafficking in Gainesville, Florida that had exposed The Cadre’s work.

She made a few more notes and then moved the mouse to pull up another article about a teen trafficking case in Chattanooga, Tennessee from two years ago. Just a quick look at the facts on the screen were the stuff of nightmares, and he said, “Not exactly what I’d call bedtime reading.”

“Hardly,” she said, moving the page forward. “It says that Chattanooga gets a lot of trafficked kids coming through there because of its proximity to Atlanta and Knoxville. Sort of like the Oxyhighway when the opiate trade erupted. It’s a short distance between both Knoxville and Atlanta.”

“I’d never considered that.” He sat in the chair next to her. “Do you do research on all of your articles before your start to write.”

“You betcha.” She sat back and rubbed her temples. “One of the first things I learned when I began my degree in journalism was that you must get your facts straight before you start writing or investigating. Learned it from my dad too.”

“Sounds like he was a good teacher.”

“He was,” she agreed. “And a good father too.”

“There’s something I want you to do for me,” he said abruptly.

She regarded him, as if trying to guess his thoughts. “Okay,” she said. “What is it?”

“I want you to tell me about Sara and Ed Turner.”

“Sure,” she said, and her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I can do that. Maybe over a glass of wine?”

“I can do that,” he echoed, heading for the bar in the corner to pour two glasses of Hank Patterson’s favorite red blend. He returned to find her on the sofa, legs curled up under her. He sat, offered her a glass and asked, “Sara and Ed Turner?”

“Ed Turner never approved of Levi, his only child marrying Lacey, Sara’s mother,” she began. “The Turners are very wealthy and had grand ideas about the kind of woman Levi should marry. Lacey’s family was middle-class. Levi and Lacey met in college, and they both became teachers, which infuriated Ed, who had big plans and ideas about Levi joining him in the world of business and high finance. After Levi died when Sara wasfour, Ed hardly spoke to them. The fact that Lacey was Roman Catholic, didn’t set well with him either.”

“Jeez, what a prick.” Patrick studied her beautiful, sad face. “What happened to Levi?”

“He was hit by a car when he was out bicycling,” Danni said. “He often took Sara with him in one of those little seats you can put in the back, but not that day, thank God. Lacey and Sara were devastated. Ed came to the funeral, but over the next four years, seldom visited and then only on holidays. Sara never could understand why her grandfather didn’t like them.”

Recalling Sara’s smiling website photo, Patrick took a long sip of his wine. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like the answer to my next question. What happened?”

He watched her brown eyes darken. “Lacey died is what happened. Not long after Sara’s eighth birthday on Christmas Eve. It will be three years next January.”

Swallowing the curse of exasperation rising to his lips, Patrick repeated, “What happened?”

It was her turn to sip her wine. When she’d finished, she set her glass on the table and said, “Lacey had juvenile diabetes growing up, so of course she became diabetic as an adult. She was meticulous with her diet, watching her sugar like a hawk. Sara probably had the healthiest diet of any kid I know, and Lacey always had insulin with her. She’d even taught Sara how to inject her if something happened.”

At her description, a glimmer of realization occurred to Patrick, and a heaviness began to spread through his chest. “Did Lacey miss a dose?”

Sadness tugged at the corners of Danni’s mouth. “Good guess, Lieutenant. Yeah. She’d taken a nap but left her phone in her purse, so she didn’t hear the alarm on it go off. When she woke up, she was so disoriented, she couldn’t find or get to herinsulin. A friend came by and found Lacey unconscious on the bedroom floor and called 911, but it was too late.”

“Where was Sara?” He pointed at the bottle on the bar, but she shook her head and picked up her glass again.

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