Page 18 of Delivering David

“Just pointed out it was in his interest to cooperate with a veteran who’s done more than one tour of duty,” Kristopher said modestly. “That and being a lot taller. Besides, I was holding his shades over his head where he couldn’t grab them. Suzanne gave him a card with a number on it, and I gave him mine, but I’ll bet you a six-pack of Bohemia beer he won’t call either one of us.”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Suzanne scolded. “Now are you going to tell us about that murdered couple? I think they might be the one Mercy gave such grief when she learned the Campbell sisters were gone.”

“The Taylors were the night supervisors at Tennessee Cares youth emergency shelter,” Miller confirmed. “They started working there when TC absorbed All Families at the first of the year and we only know that from Sophia Langley, who’s still working there today. She supplied the officer who went there with the name of TC’s regional CEO, Charles Tattersall. We’ve got people trying to contact him even as we speak.”

“Mercy spoke with Perry Thompson, the shelter’s director about the Campbell girls and he said he was going to try to find the CEO, but he never called back,” Suzanne said.

“Tattersall needs to have his ass chewed if they have to hunt him down,” Kristopher observed. “Even if he is the CEO. You should always be able to reach the man at the top.”

“Absolutely,” Miller agreed. “I’m going back to the precinct, so we can call the media about releasing a photo of David to let the larger community know he’s missing. Hopefully someone has seen him and will call us.”

“You aren’t going to announce Mercy was murdered, are you?” Suzanne’s voice rose and her weariness returned. “David doesn’t need to learn about his mom like that!”

“Suzanne, we told the neighbors she was dead,” Miller said wearily. “We had to do that for their own safety. We’ve waited long enough to release that information to the media as it is. It’s like Brower said. The neighbors have probably told all their social media contacts what happened, so it won’t be that big of a surprise.”

“Then if they know, shouldn’t we be putting up posters of him?” Suzanne demanded. “I have a picture of him we can have blown up at one of those print places. It’s just above freezing outside, and he’ll be cold and hungry if he’s even out there and–”

She knew she was babbling but she couldn’t stop herself. David was missing. Sweet David, who knew lots of silly jokes, was a math whiz and loved cats but couldn’t have one because he was allergic and hated needles. David was missing or worse might be–no. Don’t go there!

And then to her great shame, she began to cry. Great gulping sobs wracked her chest, and putting her elbows on her knees, she lowered her face into her hands and wept.

She was barely aware of the men’s soft voices and then the opening and closing of the suite’s front door. A minute later, she heard something rolling, then stopping in front of her, and a pair of hands placing themselves on her shoulders.

She continued to weep and the hands–steady and warm–remained in place, their owner blessedly silent. After a while, she sat up and the hands slid away so she could sit up and come face to face with Kristopher Brower.

His was a very fine face, with those hazel-green eyes fringed with dark lashes that regarded her from under brows as black as his hair. His mouth under that slim moustache, was full-lipped, sensitive but incredibly sexy.

“Here.” He handed her a handkerchief he’d pulled from his trouser pocket.

“Another one? I’ve heard about these,” she sniffed, patting her face dry. “Aren’t they sort of standard issue for BP members? This is the second one you’ve handed me.”

He smiled and fine lines crinkled around his eyes. “Something like,” he said cheerfully. “I think Hank buys dozens of boxes of them every month. Good for all kinds of things, don’t you know.”

“Yeah,” Suzanne agreed, twisting the cloth between her fingers. “Did Grant say anything else?”

“Mostly that you needed to rest. What did you have for breakfast this morning?”

“Toast with peanut butter and some yogurt,” Suzanne recalled. “I’m actually hungry, but I don’t think going out again is a good idea, do you?”

“No,” he agreed. “I checked in the kitchen before going over to Elaine’s office this morning. There’s a ton of food in the fridge we can heat up. I’ll bet Patrick made most of it.”

“Are you the one he won’t let in the kitchen except to plate the food or clean up?” she teased.

“That would be me,” he said, and she laughed at his mournful expression.

“Why is that?” She was suddenly aware of how little she knew about this man. Last night–or was it very early this morning? –Hank Patterson had only told her Kristopher’s name, and that he was in the area. “Did you set something on fire?”

“That’s a story for another time,” he said. “How about moussaka, home-made whole wheat rolls and a Greek salad for a late lunch?”

“That sounds awesome,” Suzanne declared. “I love Greek cooking.”

“Good, because the moussaka and rolls are already in the warming drawer courtesy of yours truly.”

Suzanne stared at him. “Hunger must be making me stupid,” she said. “When did that happen?”

“I slipped in here while you were talking to Amos,” he admitted. “It was a guess that you’d like Greek food, but everything Patrick makes is beyond delicious. It should be warm enough by the time we finish with our showers. I can make a pot of tea to go with it if you like.” Concern drew his eyebrows together. “You’re sure your wrist isn't hurting too much?”

“The OTC pain meds I always have in my suitcase will do the trick,” she assured him. “Shouldn’t we call Hank Patterson and tell him what we’ve learned?”

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