Page 6 of Paternal Instincts
“Do you want something else to drink?”
She shook her head and gnawed her lip.
“Are you hungry?”
She nodded without hesitation. “My tummy is grumbling. Mommy forgot to give me breakfast, and Daddy is too sad and didn’t want to make me toast. Clementine is gone.”
Considering it was nearing six in the evening, I assumed the girl hadn’t eaten all day. “Well, that’s no good. We better fix your grumpy tummy. Let’s see what we can find.”
The recognizable weight of sorrow emanating from beside me drew my attention. I glanced at the father, who had emerged from his slump and stared with swollen, red-rimmed eyes between his daughter and me.
I straightened and offered my hand to shake. “Detective Quaid Valor.”
The man got to his feet and clung to the offering like a lifeline. “Nixon Davis.” His voice cracked. “My son is gone.” Chin wobbling, he motioned to the evidence bag in Jordyn’s hand. “Someone took him. Please… Please, help me.” Nixon dissolved into sobs, knees vibrating until he collapsed into the chair again, burying his face as he came apart.
Sparrow watched it happen, worry and fear the predominant emotions on her fragile face.
I spoke quietly to my partner. “Calm him down so we can talk. I’m taking Sparrow to find food. She doesn’t need to see this.”
“But…”
“I won’t be long. He needs to pull himself together, or we won’t get anywhere. We need information.”
Jordyn gave a clipped nod while I bent to Sparrow’s level again and offered her my hand. “Do you want to find something to eat?”
She glanced at her father before peering uncertainly at my outstretched palm.
Locating my credentials again, I held them out to remind her I was a safe adult. “You can carry them while we walk. Does that help?”
Hesitantly, she took the card and studied my face in the still image. “This is you?”
“Yep.”
“You’re a policeman?”
“I am.” I offered her a hand again. That time, she took it.
Not only were her fingers small and delicate but they were freezing. Considering it was June, I assumed it had more to do with nerves and exhaustion than cold.
Twice on our way to the staff lounge, Sparrow checked over her shoulder. “My daddy is sad because Crow is gone.”
“Is Crow your brother?”
“Yeah. He’s bigger. I’m the little sister.”
“Your brother is a bird, too.”
I earned a shy smile and nod. “We can’t fly. Grandpa Davis says our names are silly, and he looks for my wings when he visits. I don’t have none.”
“Does Crow have wings?”
“Nope. He’s just a regular boy and not a real crow.”
“How old is your brother?”
“He’s eight. I’m five.” She tucked my credentials under her chin for a moment to show me four fingers and one thumb. “See? This many.”
“A whole hand. Wow, that’s a lot.”
