Page 8 of Rescuing Sara

Patrick stared after her, then at the food cluttered table. After a moment, and against his home training, he picked up his napkin and left the filled table to head for the office.

Mac had assured him yesterday Danni had familiarized herself with the Safehouse computer system. But instead of the massive unit, he found her seated at a smaller desk, her laptop open, unbraiding her hair and combing it with her fingers. Taking a chair from the bigger desk, he pulled it forward to staddle it and sit beside her. “What ‘cha doing?”

“Checking Sara’s website.” She pointed at the large school type photo on the screen, showing a young, blonde girl with enormous green eyes and a gap-toothed smile. “See that box in the corner? If someone has information and called the police, a star will appear with the date that they called.”

Patrick looked at Sara’s data–age, height, the clothing she was wearing when she vanished, eye color and blood type and the date of her disappearance listed in another box– to keep from staring at the three lone stars. “Who designed this for you?”

“A friend.” Danni set aside the mouse, propped her elbows on the table and put her chin in her hands. “He thought if I could see someone had called the police, it would make me less crazy–”

Her voice broke and her hands moved to cover her eyes as she began to silently weep. Patrick stood to turn around his chair so he could sit close enough to put his arm around her shoulders.

And then she was in his arms, wrapping hers around his neck as she continued to cry, soaking his sweater. He rested his chin on her head while breathing in a scent that conjured up images of springtime, fresh and full of flowers.

After a while she sat back and wiped her face with the back of hand. “Sorry,” she muttered, shoving back a strand of hair.

“Crying helps,” Patrick said, handing her the napkin. “Letting out is better than having it blow up later.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, blotting her face. “That’s what I tell Sara.”

“You see?” Patrick spread his hands. “Great minds think alike,” and she rewarded him with a smile.

A trilling sound came from her pocket, and she took out her phone. “It’s Father Ryan,” she said, looking at the screen.

“From St. Nicholas?”

“Do you know him?”

“Let’s say we’ve met,” Patrick said, his fingers straying to touch the old injury. “Please don’t tell me there has been another shooting?” The day he and Elaine Prescott were attacked at St. Nicholas last month, Father Daniel Ryan had been more than helpful in keeping order after a local pimp’s crazy girlfriend started shooting up the church while the pimp’s thug snatched Elaine. The crazy girlfriend was later caught but not before her wild west style shooting grazed Patrick’s shoulder.

“No.” Eyes widening in realization, she asked, “Were you involved in that shooting? It was in all the papers.”

“Yes, but let’s talk about that one later,” Patrick suggested. “What does Father Ryan want?”

“He says he has a parishioner who wants to talk to me about Sara but will only do so if I promise not to call or bring thepolice.” Danni looked at the message again and back at him. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Neither do I,” Patrick announced. “Are you a parishioner there?”

“No,” she said. “But Sara is, and I’ve been going to Noon Masses since she vanished to say a prayer for her. They have a great choir. Her housekeeper takes her there several times a month. Ed doesn’t bother with what he calls ‘such foolishness.’ Are you sure you don’t mind going to the place you were shot?”

“The church didn’t shoot me, Danni,” he said. “Some poor crazy woman did. Don’t worry about it. So, we’re off to St. Nicholas after we put away the breakfast stuff ‘cause never leave a dirty kitchen. But first we’re going to practice dropping and rolling.”

Her eyes widened again, this time with curiosity. “Dropping and rolling?”

“Yep. Stand up and go over there, please.” Patrick pointed at the center of the room, then went to stand several feet away from it. “Now, depending on where we park and how far it is from the church, we might have to walk several hundred feet to get there.”

“I don’t–”

“Just listen,” Patrick insisted, trying to keep the urgency from his voice. “You were nearly attacked on a city street in broad daylight two days ago. That dart could have been intended for you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and he watched the color drain from her face. Damn, he hated scaring her, or reminding her of what happened to Leo Anderson, but they couldn’t take any chances. And she needed to be scared, especially if it did turn out to be The Cadre.

“If you hear me yell, ‘drop and roll’, do it,” he continued. “Just like they taught us to do in school if we were on fire. You know, drop to your feet and roll away as fast as you can.”

Her lips pulled together in thought as if tasting the idea. “You don’t think someone would try to dothat,do you? Set us on fire?”

“Lord, I hope not.” Patrick withheld his sigh of impatience. “But we need to have a safety plan for when we’re in public. So, let’s practice. Danni! Drop and roll!”

She fell to the carpeted floor and looked up at him. “Which direction do I roll?”

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