Page 18 of Rescuing Sara

“Sara was with me at The Museum at 4thand Main to see an exhibit on Horses and Art in the Children’s Wing,” she said. “Thank God because she didn’t see her mother just after she died.”

“Thank God,” Patrick echoed.

“After my dad dying, that was the worst day of my life,” Danni added. “Sara was heartbroken, especially when Ed didn’t even come to the funeral. She was smart enough to notice that he wasn’t there.”

“I think I’m starting to hate that SOB Ed Turner.” Patrick said. “Sara had no other family?”

“Lacey’s parents died years ago, and she had no siblings,” Danni explained. “Ed, like Levi and Lacey was an only child and his wife died twenty years ago, so there was no one else to take custody of Sara. She’s lived with him since Lacey died, but he’s left the childcare to his live-in housekeeper Mrs. M. who adores Sara. I try to see her every weekend.”

“Is Sara diabetic?”

“No,” and this time her sigh was one of relief. “No one on either side of Levi or Lacey’s family ever had diabetes. Lacey’s was just a genetic fluke.”

“Wow,” Patrick said softly. “I’m glad Sara has you in her corner. Especially since ‘grandaddy’ is so non-involved.”

“You know, when I think about Sara being out there somewhere, and that we might have found her by now if not for Mrs. Everett–” Fury blazed in Danni’s eyes and curled her hands into fists. “She must be terrified. What if she’s alone and no one is taking care of her, being sure she has enough to eat or keeping her warm? What if she thinks no one is looking for her.”

“But she won’t,” Patrick said. “If anything, she’ll knowyou’relooking for her and you won’t stop until you find her.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“For what?”

“For asking me about Sara.” A weariness was growing in her eyes and staining her face. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“To put together a plan?” he suggested and winced when she gently thumped his shoulder.

“Sorry!” But a hovering smile threatened to turn the corners of her mouth. “See you then.”

And after a quick kiss on his cheek, and picking up her shoes, she was gone.

Daybreak.Thursday morning South Knoxville

The Man parked the none descript car near the appointed spot in Talbot Park. It was a place well-known to hikers and cyclists but was seldom used at this time of year. Too dark and too cold, which made it perfect for what he was going to do. Before exiting the car, he covered his shoes with house shoe like covering and donned a pair of latex gloves.

Outside, he met a blast of frigid air that frosted his breathing and burned his tobacco scarred lungs. He shrugged deeper into his coat and pulled down his hat before heading to the picnic tables near the bluff overlooking the river. He’d chosen the spot with care; confident no one would appear at this time of day.

His appointment, Frank Sullivan, was waiting by the tables, his features tight with cold and anger. “You’re here,” he grumbled. “What the hell was so important you had to drag my ass out of bed at this hour to the middle of nowhere?”

“I paid you to do a job,” The Man said. “And paid you very well, so you come when you’re called.”

“Alright,” Frank grumbled, but his feet were restless.

“You have failed twice to kill Danni Blake,” The Man said. “You were paid very well to carry out the task, so what’s the problem?”

“That guy with her moved,” Frank clipped off his words as though he, The Man, were at fault. “Had a clear eye on her as I approached, but he moved at the last minute when I fired.”

“That ‘guy’ was a decorated police officer, you idiot,” The Man snarled.

“How was I supposed to know that?” Frank asked. “He was wearing civilian clothing as far as I could tell.”

“Another failure on your part. As soon as the police analyze the contents of that needle you used, they’ll have every available officer trying to track down his killer.”

“Haven’t heard anything about that,” Frank responded. “And I’ve got street informants all over Knoxville. Using a recorder like it was a blow gun was damn clever. You said to make it clean and quiet, and that’s what you got.”

“I’m not interested in your cleverness,” The Man snapped. “I pay for results, not failures. And the second time? What’s your excuse for that?”

“That damn guy yelled something at her just as I was about to stab her with the syringe, and she hit the ground, rolling away like a dog.” Frank described. “Then the bastard tackled me like a f’ing freight train. I hope like hell I broke his nose with that tray ‘cause he had blood running down his face like a slaughtered hog. Then the bitch gets up and pulls out a gun and just as I take off like a bat out of hell, she starts firing at me.”

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