43
Ladybirds and angels
Rafferty rose, grabbing the handles of the gift bags and told a stoic Mrs. Bronson, “Nothing will stop me from taking care of those children. Best you get on my side and make it happen.”
“You’re circumventing procedure,” she griped.
“For a very good reason. Keeping them safe.” He nodded toward the swing set where Connor stood, catching his sister as she jumped into his arms. The boy staggered under her weight but managed to stay upright. Sinead gave a shout of glee as her brother steadied her and lowered her to the ground.
“That remains to be seen,” Mrs. Bronson muttered, moving to the opposite side of the picnic table, perching on the far edge of the bench. Rafferty ignored her caustic reply, sat with his back to the table and her, and watched Connor and Sinead interact with the sheriff’s wife.
Raegan crouched before the kids and said something.
Connor nodded and she gave him a quick hug.
She turned to Sinead, kissed the girl on her forehead, and spoke to Connor again before straightening.
Lifting a hand to her face, the woman swiped a finger under her eyes.
The sheriff joined her and placed a kiss on her cheek before wrapping his arm around her shoulders and hugging her close.
Rafferty returned his focus to the youngsters moving across the grass, Connor holding Sinead’s hand.
The little one squealed and stumbled to her knees. Connor stooped beside her. Rafferty shot to his feet, but sat back down as she laughed again, peering intently at the grass.
“It’s a ladybird,” he heard Connor say. On hands and knees, heads close together, the two siblings held an earnest conversation.
His heart hammered in his chest, and a wave of apprehension washed over him despite his earlier heroic proclamation to Mrs. Bronson.
Those two innocent kids were his responsibility.
His .
God help him. And them.
Maybe Mrs. Bronson was right?
He dismissed the thought as soon as it popped into his head.
Selena depended on him, and while Kamila walked free, those kids were not safe. God help them, he was their best option.
Then Sinead cried, pointing in the air. “’Adybird fy way, Onna!”
Connor said something to her, and she vigorously waved her hand. “Bye-bye ’adybird.”
Rafferty hadn’t really given thought of how to introduce himself to Sinead, but Connor had that in hand when the two reached him. “This is Dad, Nadie, and we’re gonna live with him now.”
Sinead observed him with wide, effervescent eyes, the golden burst surrounding her pupils blending into a unique green and brown he likened to the shimmering water flowing around the shaded rocks on the small lake on Lawson’s Landing. “No! Want Mommy.”
“Remember, Nadie,” Connor said before Rafferty could formulate a suitable reply. “I told you Mommy’s an angel now. We can’t see her anymore, but she’s watching us all the time.”
Sinead lifted her face to the sky. “A’el?”
“Uh-huh,” Connor replied.
She batted her open palms on Rafferty’s leg. “Up. Up.”
He lifted Sinead onto his lap, and she pushed to her feet, balancing on his thighs. Clasping his hands around her waist, he marveled at how little she weighed and how fragile she felt.
She suddenly arched her back. Lightning fast, Rafferty placed a splayed hand on her back and pulled her upright. “Whoa, kiddo.” It wouldn’t do to have the girl tumble to the ground the very first time he held her.
Unperturbed by his fright, she bent her knees and jumped, lifting her arms into the air. “Fy, fy.”
“Only birds fly, Nadie,” Connor said.
“No.” Arms still stretched above her head, Sinead looked Rafferty straight in the eye. “Up. Up. Nadie fy. Peas,” she added, batting her eyelashes at him.
And just like that, the little urchin stumbled into his heart, and he became a slave to her bidding.
Sinead wanted to fly? Fly she would.
Rafferty stood and lifted her high.
She whooped, arms and legs outstretched. “Fy! Nadie fy!”
He spun around, swooping her low before lifting her high over his head.
“Mommeee! Nadie here!”
He spun again.
“See Nadie! See Nadie!”
With a croaky laugh, Rafferty hugged her close. “More later, my little Nadiebird,” he rasped, his throat tight.
He moved back to the table, sat on the edge of the bench, and lowered her to the grass. Reaching for the pink bag decorated with colorful balloons, he placed it on the ground. “Here’s a present for you, darlin’.”
She wasted no time dipping into the oversized bag and pulling out a stuffed penguin almost half her size. “It’s Appy!” Beaming, she held the toy out. “Look, Onna!”
“I see it.” Connor smiled at her and rubbed a hand over the soft fur. “It’s Happy. What do you say to Dad, Sinead?”
Sinead hugged the penguin and gave Rafferty a shy smile. “Fank you, Daddy.”
Warmth flooded his heart and tears prickled behind his eyes at her easy acceptance of him. “You’re welcome, Nadie. And this one” — Rafferty blinked rapidly to clear his sight — “is for you, Connor.” He handed the boy the yellow bag covered in racing cars.
Connor acted cool as he accepted the gift, but that morphed into outright exhilaration when he extracted the bulky box. Clutching the sides he stared at the image for a moment. “Wow. Oh, wow.”
“What you got, Onna?”
Connor turned the package so his sister could see the front. “It’s a remote-controlled car,” he whispered with awe.
“That nice,” she replied, rubbing her cheek against the penguin’s fur.
Rafferty stifled a laugh. The dubiousness in her voice belied her reply.
Placing his gift on the bench, Connor turned to Rafferty.
“I’ve wanted one forever and ever.” His “thank you” was muffled when he threw his arms around Rafferty and buried his face against his chest. Rafferty rubbed across the boy’s bony shoulders and figured he owed the shopkeeper from Books and Bakes big time.
Connor pulled away and ran a reverent hand across the box. “Will you help me with it later?”
Mrs. Bronson, bless her heartless soul, chirped up, “Mr. Lawson won’t be going back with you, Connor.”
The boy's eyes brimmed with worry as he met Rafferty’s gaze. “You’re not staying with us?”
Rafferty turned a searing glare on Mrs. Bronson, a silent promise of retribution, then softened as he faced Connor again. “Not yet, buddy. But soon.”
Connor’s mouth flattened into a thin line. He dropped his head, shoulders locked tight, and scuffed his boot hard against the dirt. “But Mom said,” he muttered, low and tense.
Something in the kid’s voice and the stiff set of his shoulders triggered Rafferty’s instincts. He wasn’t used to dealing with kids, but human response?
That he was trained for.
And this wasn’t just disappointment.
There was something else working under the surface with Connor.
Something that didn’t sit right with him.
Cut the kid some slack. His entire life just got upended.
Rafferty shoved the worry aside. There were enough known problems to tackle. “Soon, Connor. I promise.” He lifted the boy’s stubborn chin with his finger. “We just need to work out a few details. Some legal stuff with Mrs. Bronson. Until then you’ll be staying with your friend. Okay?”
Connor’s sigh was one of resigned exasperation. “I guess.”
“In the meantime, how about we see what yummy things are in the basket?”
“Okay.”
“Wanna help me unpack?”
Connor nodded and moved to the opposite side of the table. Standing on the bench, the boy reached into the basket and emptied the contents.
And Rafferty entered an alternate reality.
Sinead claimed his thigh as a perch, jabbering away so fast he couldn’t keep up.
She wriggled as much as she talked, and he found keeping his forearm around her body the only way to anchor her in place while Connor set a variety of items on the paper plate before them.
Sliced apple, a handful of blueberries, diced cheese, quartered peanut butter sandwiches, and two kiddie-sized apple juice boxes.
She had taken it upon herself to feed him, and tilting his head down to accept the slice of apple she held up to him, Rafferty caught a whiff of fresh powder and sunshine mixed with apple, and inhaled deeply.
Something warm and heavy settled in his chest. And he understood that he would forever associate that smell with this bittersweet moment when he, bad-boy prodigal, morphed into a dad.
Without even thinking, he squeezed a little tighter and dropped a light kiss on the top of Sinead’s sun-warmed head.
When Rafferty lifted his head, it was to look right into the eyes of the solemn boy across from him. Approval and relief shone in Connor’s gaze, and as much as that profound and unexpected trust heartened him, it also saddened him that a child so young carried such heavy burdens.
Which reminded him …
“Tell me about your special hiding place, Connor.”
*
That afternoon Rafferty walked through the quiet house, a silent sheriff (Beau, as the man had requested earlier) by his side.
In the back bedroom, he pulled open the double doors to the closet.
A neat array of clothes hung from the rail.
Without exchanging words, they systematically removed the clothing, laying the items on the bed, exposing the back of the storage space.
Nine two-foot square panels of painted wood faced them.
Rafferty pressed on the side of the middle panel.
Soundlessly, it unlatched, and he pushed it open, exposing the dark cavity beyond.
Connor’s secret place.
“I’ll be damned,” Beau murmured.
Rafferty reached in and flicked the switch he found on the inside of the right panel. Light exposed the area. He entered. It was surprisingly spacious, stretching the full length of the outer closet, and at least four feet deep and a bit over six feet high.
And he almost smiled. Almost.
Decorated to be a fun hideaway for a child, it held a certain charm.
Large colorful undersea murals covered the walls.
Several plush cushions lay stacked on top of a low, free standing two-shelf unit painted aqua.
The shelf contained a variety of books and board games, bottled water, a six-pack of juice cartons, and a plastic container with snacky food.
The wooden chest grabbed his attention. He tugged it away from the wall and through the opening. “We need bolt cutters.”
“In the Tahoe,” Beau replied and strode out.
Rafferty reached the living room at the same time the sheriff returned and placed the chest on the coffee table.
Seconds later the lock snapped, and Beau raised the lid revealing three medium sized backpacks. The man hauled them out. And gave a low whistle, dropping the bags onto the couch.
Rafferty turned his attention back to the chest and whatever caught the sheriff’s attention. “Damn.”
A Glock 42 and two full magazines lay on the bottom beside a folded money belt.
Damn, indeed.
Rafferty lifted the money belt, unzipped the first pocket, and extracted three passports and a driver’s license. A quick glance showed much younger photos of the kids — Connor, a toddler; Sinead still a small baby.
All under different names.
He let out a whistle of his own when he unzipped the second, bulkier compartment of the money belt. “There’s gotta be at least ten grand here.”
“That explains the bank withdrawal the morning she died.”
Rafferty shot the man a sharp glance. “Withdrawal?”
“She had five grand on her person when we found her. A look at her financials showed she’d emptied her savings account that morning. Just under eighteen thousand total.”
“You could’ve mentioned that fact sooner.”
The sheriff merely shrugged.
He tamped down his annoyance with the man, voicing an important fact. “She was planning on running following Kamila’s visit.”
The poor woman had lived looking over her shoulder, waiting for Oliveira to find her. But when danger arrived, it wasn’t from the person she expected.
Beau palmed the pistol, ejecting the magazine and the chambered round. “The serial number’s been filed off,” he grumbled, placing the weapon and ammunition on the table.
A quick search of the backpacks revealed clothing for the three of them. Enough for a couple of days.
Beau picked up a grimy, floppy-eared bunny. “Flopsy. Nadie’s been asking for it.”
Rafferty set aside the book — Charlotte’s Web — he’d pulled from Connor’s bag and gave a heavy sigh as he viewed the contents with acute disappointment. “I was hoping for answers.” He gave a mirthless laugh. “But now I only have more questions than before.”