CHAPTER SIX
“But why can’t I play outside?” Isabella whined, crossed her arms, and stuck out her bottom lip. “I want to jump on the trampoline.”
“Not today, Isabella,” Lucia snapped at her, then calmed herself. “Why don’t you go play in your room?”
“But my room is boriiing,” she continued to press.
“Either you find something to do”—Lucia propped her hands on her hips—“or I’ll find something for you to do.”
“Maaan.” Isabella frowned and mumbled something under her breath as she stomped the entire way back to her bedroom.
Lucia couldn’t keep her child cooped up forever. But how was she supposed to explain the dangers of what was going on in town without scaring the crap out of her?
She headed into the laundry room and started emptying the load of towels from the dryer and dumping them into a basket.
Maybe she should talk to Blanca. She was an incredible mom who possessed a great deal more wisdom than Lucia. She would prefer to speak to her face-to-face but was worried about running into Eddie. She had a very clear understanding of his feelings for her, and they weren’t favorable.
Part of her brain screamed, Screw him! He was the one who left you!
But her wounded heart whispered, Why would you risk being hurt again?
“Ugh.” Lucia lifted the basket of warm laundry, propped it on her hip, and carried it into the family room.
She set it on the couch, dropped down to sit next to it, and began folding. She was halfway through the pile when she heard a loud CRASH, then tires squealed. Her daughter screamed, and the sound scraped down Lucia’s spine like a jagged knife.
She bolted up from the couch, ran toward the hallway, and met her daughter halfway as she ran from her room.
“Mommy! Mommy!” Isabella’s eyes were wide, and her face was white as a sheet.
She wrapped her arms around Lucia’s waist and looked up at her with tears in her eyes.
“Someone threw a rock through my window!” She sobbed, and her entire little body quivered with fear as she buried her face against her mom’s tummy.
Lucia wasted no time. She scooped up her daughter, ran through the house, and snatched up her cell phone before charging out the back door. She dashed across her backyard and kept going until she got to the house behind theirs.
“Bart!” She pounded on the door, looked over her shoulder, and pounded on the door again. “Bart!”
The door burst open, and her neighbor, Bart Traven, was standing there in his usual motorcycle-themed T-shirt and jeans, holding a plate of chicken wings. “What the devil is wrong, honey?”
Bart was a seventy-four-year-old motorcycle enthusiast whose lovely wife died last year. They never had children of their own. So they treated Lucia like a daughter and Isabella like a granddaughter.
“Can we please come in first?” Lucia continually checked over her shoulder.
“Of course. Come on in.” He opened the door further and stepped aside so they could enter his kitchen. “What in the world happened?”
He gave a last look around outside, shut the door, and locked it. He set the plate of wings on the counter and washed his hands at the sink.
Lucia gave him a quick rundown as she tried to get to Mark’s contact information in her phone.
But her efforts were thwarted by Isabella, who was wrapped around her like a koala bear on a branch.
The poor thing—her entire body was one massive quiver, and her quiet, hiccupping sobs nearly broke Lucia’s heart.
“Here, let me take her.” Bart gently patted Isabella on the back. She turned to peek at him, and he held out his hands. “Come on, sweetie pie, let’s let Mommy make a phone call.”
She released her mom, leaned toward Bart, and wrapped herself around him. He gave Lucia a reassuring nod and took her daughter to the other room.
Lucia’s hand shook terribly. She opened and closed her fist a few times before she was able to get to Mark’s number. She tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear.
While it rang, she took in a few deep breaths and slowly released them in an effort to calm herself down.
“Hey, Lucia,” Mark said. “What’s up?”
“Someone just threw a rock through Isabella’s bedroom window!” The more she thought about the terror on her daughter’s face, the angrier she became. “She was in there playing, Mark! They could’ve hit her!”
“Is she okay?” he asked.
“Physically, yes, but she’s terrified.” When she thought about what could have happened to her little girl …
“Okay, where are you now?” It sounded like he was running.
“We’re at Bart Traven’s place,” she said. “He lives right behind our house.”
“Yeah, I know Bart, and I want you to stay there.” A car engine fired up in the background. “We’re on our way.”
“Okay, thanks.” Lucia tapped the screen, and her hand fell to her side. She closed her eyes and settled herself before heading into the front room.
She stood in the wide opening between the front foyer and the great room. Isabella was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the coffee table. Lego of varying sizes, colors, and shapes were spread out across the table, and she was so busy creating something she didn’t even notice her.
Bart turned and gave Lucia a questioning look.
“Mark Collins is on his way here.” She wrapped her arms around herself.
“Why don’t you come sit down.” He pushed up from the chair with the energy of a man much younger than his seventy-four years. “How ’bout I make you some of the tea you like so much?”
“That would be great.” She walked over and sat on the couch directly behind Isabella.
Her daughter turned her head to look up at her. “Is Mr. Mark going to find the person who broke my window?”
“He’s sure going to try.” Lucia skimmed her daughter’s bangs away from her eyes.
She couldn’t help wondering if what happened just now was connected to the missing girls. Or maybe she was just being paranoid. But what were the chances girls started going missing the same time someone tried to grab Violetta, and then a rock was thrown through her daughter’s window?
“Mommy, are you scared?” Isabella asked.
“I’m a little bit scared, but I’m so happy you weren’t hurt.” Lucia would never lie to her child, but she would do all she could to protect her from the truth.
“Want to help me build something?” Her daughter shifted over to make room for her.
“Well, I’m not as creative as you are, but I’d love to help.” She scooched off the couch and squeezed into the space next to her daughter.
Isabella showed her where to put the pieces, and they were pretty close to completing one section of her creation when Bart returned.
“Here ya go.” He held a wooden tray with three mugs on top. One of them was the unbreakable plastic mug his wife had bought especially for Isabella. “Isabella, I made you some of my special hot chocolate.”
“You did?” Her daughter’s eyes lit up, her fear pushed aside by joy at the prospect of cocoa. She turned to her mom. “But it’s close to dinnertime.”
“I think we can make an exception this one time.” Treats weren’t typically allowed close to mealtimes, but her daughter deserved something special after what had happened.
Isabella sipped on her cocoa, and Bart and Lucia filled the time chatting about innocuous topics, like the recent motorcycle rally he’d been to in Daytona Beach.
He was such a kind man, and he’d had a rough time after his wife died.
For a few months, he’d hidden himself away in the house, not taking visitors.
There were no rules for how a person should deal with grief. Lucia had made sure he knew they were there when he needed them, and they’d given him space to allow him to grieve in the way he wanted.
It had been a rough few months for Isabella, because she’d missed seeing him.
She would often hang out in his garage while he tinkered with one of his many motorcycles.
He taught her about tools and how to take care of them.
Lucia had been worried her daughter was being a nuisance, but Bart had assured her that he loved having her there.
He even bought a little motorcycle helmet for her daughter and would take her for rides around the neighborhood.
There was a knock on the front door.
Isabella jumped up from the floor and crawled into Lucia’s lap. Her daughter stared at that door like Lucifer himself was on the other side.
Bart headed to the front door, looked through the peephole, then flipped the deadbolt and opened it. From where she sat, Lucia couldn’t see who was at the door.
“Good to see you, Mark.” He reached out a hand, and they shook.
“Sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Mark stepped inside, but the door remained open. “Bart, this is—”
“I know who this fella is. It’s been a long time, son.” Bart smiled at whoever it was, and an arm reached through the doorway to shake his hand. “Well, come on in.” He swept his arm toward the front room. “The girls are in there.”
Mark moved away, and the man with him entered the house and shut the door.
Lucia’s heart dropped to her feet, and every ounce of breath in her lungs evaporated.
The man with Mark was the same man who broke her heart and spoiled her for other men—Eddie Calabretta.
He scanned the space, and his dark eyes locked on hers.
He looked good—really good. Damn him. The cute nineteen-year-old boy she remembered had turned into a gorgeous, full-fledged man. He’d always been lean, but he’d bulked up in the years since she’d last seen him. His shoulders were wider, his chest was impressive, and his arms looked powerful.
And from the look on his face, he wasn’t happy to be there.
Why was he there?
“Lucia.” Eddie gave her a quick nod, then he turned his attention to Isabella and gave her a big smile. “Hi, my name is Eddie. I’m Blanca’s son.” He remained on the opposite side of the room.
Whether he was trying not to crowd her daughter or simply avoiding getting closer to Lucia, she couldn’t be sure.
Isabella gave her mom a quick look. When she got the nod of approval, she introduced herself.