Page 5 of Paternal Instincts
“Come on.” I took Jordyn’s arm and steered her toward MPU.
“Quaid, you’re on leave.”
“I haven’t walked out of the building yet. I’ll help youget started.”
“It’s not fair.”
“Nothing is fair in MPU. You haven’t learned that yet? Talk to me. Give me your thoughts out loud.”
“It’s a ransom, I guess. Right?” She motioned to the note in the plastic bag. “Don’t these perps usually ask for money?”
“Sometimes. Based on what’s written, this is a case of extortion. You work it the exact same way as a ransom.” I handed her the note. “What is one indisputable fact you can draw from this?”
Jordyn didn’t hesitate. “It’s not a stranger abduction. It’s familial.”
“Correct.” I smiled at Jordyn’s visible swell of pride. “The best approach is for us to find out all their dirty little family secrets because this note tells us a lot more than you think.”
I had hundreds of cases under my belt. Some wins, some losses, and some that might never be solved. Those hurt the most. The faces of the missing decorated the wall beside my desk. No answers meant no healing. No moving on. It left a gaping, insidious wound in a family that slowly destroyed its foundation. I had experienced it firsthand.
Every child abduction jabbed a tender spot beneath my ribs, reminding me of a time long ago when my family had been torn apart in the same way. The irreparable damage had changed the course of my life. I’d followed in my father’s footsteps for a reason. For justice? For answers? For comfort? I didn’t know for sure, but it was something I had to do. Help others who had suffered the same thing. In all the cases I’d worked—except my sister’s—I’d managed to keep a professional distance.
It was required. Necessary. Too much empathy could destroy a career. A person. My father had warned me on the day of my promotion to keep a level head and not let it get personal. I’d heeded his advice as much as possible.
Today, I was to be tested.
The man in the bullpen, with rumpled clothes and messy hair, face buried in his hands and elbows planted on his knees, was the picture of grief and heartache. I’d seen it plenty, and I empathized. His misfortune echoed inside me on a cellular level. Thankfully, I’d developed an immunity to its crippling effect. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to do my job.
The little girl sitting at his side, however, was a different story. With her pale complexion and wide, terrified eyes, she sat motionless, gaze flicking about as though alert for monsters. The container of chocolate milk clutched in her tiny hands seemed long forgotten. Her tangled auburn hair looked like it hadn’t been washed or brushed in days. The stains on her clothes reflected neglect. Her shoelaces were untied. I’d have assumed poverty, except the father’s business attire and the child’s trendier wardrobe told a different story.
The girl, no more than five or six, was a shadow beside her father. A wisp. In the frenzy that followed a child abduction, this little girl had been unwillingly forced to ride the roller coaster of her parents’ emotions without a safety harness.
I knew that ride intimately. Every winding curve. Every unending loop. Every sudden jolt when the tracks changed direction without warning. The yelling. The blaming. The gut-wrenching tears.
“Quaid?” Jordyn touched my arm, jolting me from the past.
I wasn’t sure when I’d stopped walking. The nauseating swoop of an unexpected hill reminded me that I’d never gotten off that ride and had only learned to manage it better as an adult. Therapy had been a curse and a blessing. Dredging up the past was both healing and excruciating.
This child, the little girl with the chocolate milk, was six-year-old me, and I was her.
When her pale blue eyes found mine from across the bullpen, her rosy lips parted a fraction.
I see you, I wanted to say.You aren’t invisible.But she knew. Somehow, despite her age, I sensed she recognized a kinship in me. Her little shoulders sagged with what looked like much-needed relief.
Chapter 2
Quaid
Ignoring Jordyn’s inquisitive silence, I pulled my shit together and crossed the bullpen toward the distraught man and forgotten child. Since the father kept his face buried and didn’t notice our approach, I squatted in front of the girl first, bringing myself to her level.
Wide blue eyes blinked with a mixture of fear and hope as they studied my face in the curious way children did when meeting strangers.
“Hi. My name’s Quaid. I’m a detective with the police department.” I showed her my badge to ensure she understood I was a safe person in her upended life. “What’s your name?”
“Sparrow.”
I grinned. “Like a bird?”
She nodded and held out her chocolate milk container. “This is gone.”
