Page 31 of Paternal Instincts
“The parents excused themselves and went into the backyard with Sparrow,” Zoey continued. “Flynn is consoling his brother in the living room. Nixon hasn’t stopped crying since… He hasn’t stopped crying. Full stop.” She raised her hands in aThat’s it. That’s all I’ve gotgesture.
“How is Sparrow holding up?” I asked, taking some comfort from the fact that she might do better with her grandparents around. At least then, someone might take notice of her.
“She’s okay. I ensured she ate and got dressed this morning. Nixon’s trying, but it’s clear he’s too distracted to be a full-time father right now. He’s more worried about what this is doing to his wife and baby. Imogen has shut down. She won’t talk to me or anyone. It’s like she’s gone numb.”
“That’s a normal reaction,” I explained. “It’s the brain’s self-defense mechanism when dealing with extreme stress. Not everyone reacts thesame. Thanks for the update. Go take a break. We’ll be here for a couple of hours.”
When Zoey returned inside, I faced Jordyn. “Not ideal circumstances, but we’ll work with it. Let’s talk to Flynn and these grandparents before bringing more people into the fold. After that, we’ll get Imogen’s parents and sister here and do the same. I want to visit Jude and Clementine at some point. Preferably individually. Surprise them with the news and see what kind of reaction we get. Costa found us addresses for both.”
Jordyn peered into the house. “Who do you want to interview?”
Fearing my emotional attachment to Sparrow might distract me, I offered to talk to Flynn. Jordyn headed around the house to the backyard to take care of chatting with Benedict and Bess Davis.
Hints of Old Quaid lingered, and I had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t call out to my partner and remind her about the ransom note and what it contained, tell her to dig deeper into the fractured relationships between Nixon’s parents and Imogen and see if she couldn’t suss out why they didn’t like their daughter-in-law. But Jordyn was a competent detective who could work a case as well as me—sometimes better. The only place she faltered was in self-confidence, but her skill was never in question.
I swallowed the reminders and headed inside, finding Nixon with a slightly older gentleman who was definitely a close blood relative. The two shared many of the same features: tawny brown hair, straight noses, thin lips, and angular cheekbones. Flynn carried more weight, but not in an unhealthy way. His bone structure was larger than his brother’s, the breadth of his shoulders wider. Although they were sitting, I sensed Flynn was taller by a few inches.
Their age difference showed in the slight creases beside Flynn’s eyes and the smattering of gray at his temples. Flynn looked like he’d liveda rougher life, worked a manual labor job, and didn’t sit behind a desk on a computer all day. His neglected scruff and strong physique leaned toward ruggedly handsome.
Nixon, on the other hand, was smoother and more refined. Polished. Classically handsome would be a term a romance novelist might use.
Flynn noticed me first—Nixon had his face buried in his hands—and offered a haggard smile in greeting. “You must be one of the detectives.”
“Quaid Valor.” I offered a hand to shake, and Flynn rose from the couch to take it. His dry, callused grip was strong and confident. I was right. The man had height his brother did not inherit. He cleared my six feet with inches to spare.
Nixon glanced up, his red-rimmed eyes worse than the previous day. “I’m sorry, Detective. You said not to call, but I couldn’t do this alone anymore. I needed my brother.” His voice wobbled, and Flynn squeezed his shoulder.
You weren’t alone, I wanted to say.What about your pregnant wife and daughter? What about the warning I gave you that this abduction was personal.
I wisely kept my thoughts to myself and motioned to an available seat nearby. “Mind if I join you?”
Flynn retook his spot next to Nixon, and I settled onto the edge of a plush chair, bracing my elbows on my knees and aiming for casual but not comfortable. “Flynn Davis, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How are you, Flynn?”
The man didn’t seem sure how to respond, his gaze querying. “I… I’m devastated. This is unbelievable. Do you have any information about Crow?”
“Not at this time. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Me? Oh.” He glanced at his brother, surprise widening his eyes. “Sure. Whatever I can do to help.”
“Do you need me to leave?” Nixon asked, dabbing his nose with a tissue.
“You’re fine.” To Flynn, I said, “Please understand that none of these questions are meant to offend or accuse you of anything. They’re standard and for information gathering purposes only.”
“Okay. Makes sense. I have nothing to hide.”
“Good. What do you do for a living, Flynn?”
He huffed a humorless laugh and threaded his fingers through his hair. “I’m between jobs at the moment. I was working construction with a road crew, but they let a bunch of us go at the beginning of the month. Cutbacks everywhere. I’ve been in the city looking for work ever since. Had a few interviews last week. Both were maintenance positions. I haven’t heard back yet.”
“So you’re between jobs?”
“Yes.”
“And where do you live?”
