Fixing Perfect (7 page)

Danny's voice rose and even the squirmiest of players stopped talking. “We ask Your will for our teammates today, that they have fun, that they're good sportsmen, that You keep them safe. But Lord, more than this we ask Your blessings for Kaitlyn George and for little Becca. Follow them. Keep them safe. Bring them home today to their families. And as always, we ask that You keep all our children safe. We ask this in Your name, Amen.”

Kerry whooped and headed for the dugout.

Sam leaned close to Robin. “Danny should have been a preacher.”

“I think he was, once. He's said a few things that make me think he was, anyway. Or studied to be one.” Robin tightened her hold on her crutches and started for the outfield.

“He sure knows how to pray.”

Robin watched him in between navigating the hummocks of grass and dirt. “You're doing your best.”

He frowned. “What's that got to do with how the coach can pray?”

As if she couldn't read his every expression. “Nothing. It's what you're worried about, though, isn't it?”

He didn't answer, just slipped his mitt over his fist and glared at home base.

Robin stopped beside him and snagged her mitt from his back pocket. She'd never caught anything with it, not yet, but it had already molded itself around her hand. “Look, Sam, you're not responsible for the universe. You found that baby. How can you say you haven't done enough? She would have died if you hadn't found her.” She made him meet her gaze, glaring her affirmation into his soul until he looked down, and nodded. “You're not the only one God can use, but then, neither is Danny. He's using us all, anyone who lets Him.” She shrugged. “Maybe even the people who don't want Him to. He can use anything, can't He?”

A smile twisted up one side of his mouth. “He sure can.”

“So now you're taking a break. Did you even sleep last night?”

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. “I couldn't help it. I sat down to eat a sandwich and woke up with mustard on my face.”

“That must have been pleasant.”

“But Becca and Kaitlyn are still out there at the mercy of some sicko. Becca's only five.”

“I know, Sam. We all know that. And everyone is doing what they can. Those of us who can't search are praying.”

“Yeah, we need prayers.” He closed his eyes, probably lost in a prayer of his own for a few minutes. Robin let him do that work in silence. He'd feel better for it.

“Batter up!” Coach Danny's voice echoed across the field.

Robin turned to face the game. “If anyone hits a fly, I want to try to catch it, OK?”

“You got it, babe.”

Her lips pinched, but she didn't let him catch her expression. Maybe he didn't know how it sounded. Maybe he didn't mean to ram the word so deep in her heart she'd probably never be able to remove it, never be able to forget it.
Babe
. Like she was his, belonged to him, was beloved by him.

I am Your beloved, that should be enough, shouldn't it?

Sometimes it actually was.

 



 

Several parents took their kids home as soon as the game ended. The pizza parlor wasn't any less noisy, but Sam still felt the yawning void that their absence left. He settled Kerry next to Robin, bent to tuck her crutches under the table where they wouldn't trip anyone up and rose to find Donovan seating himself across from them. Sam clenched his fists.

Robin wasn't interested in Donovan. She'd made that clear.

But Sam couldn't stop disliking the guy. He sure didn't want to explore how deep the dislike ran, find out if it had progressed to hatred. Or why.

Donovan set his camera next to the parmesan. “I got some good pictures out there today.”

Sam took a deep breath and ordered himself to at least be polite. “You got all the permission slips signed?”

“All but a couple. I made sure not to get those kids in the shots. Not too hard, really. And both of those have gone home. Parents thought they'd be safer there, I guess.”

“Do you blame them?” Sam met the other guy's gaze, and let the challenge shine clear in his own.

“Oh, not at all. They want to protect their kids. It's just—what harm can a few pictures do? Or a slice of pizza, you know? It's not like anyone can get to a kid here.” He shook his head and mumbled something about parents being overprotective. “We're all here. How's he gonna get to the kid?”

“You never know. It could happen in the bathroom, in five minutes. Destroy a kid's life forever.” Sam felt glued to the spot, unwilling to leave Robin and Kerry to this guy, even for the short time it would take to fetch their drinks.

“What, kidnapping? They'd have to get them out—”

“I'm talking about molestation. Isn't that why monsters kidnap kids and kill them after?”

Donovan stared at him, his mouth hanging open before shaking his head. “Yeah. I was just talking about kidnapping.”

“It's all related.” Sam moved so the server could put the hot pan on the trivet in the center of the table.

Danny, maybe sensing his tension, brought over a pitcher of soda and a stack of cups and plastic lids. He leaned close to Sam's shoulder. “Tone it down, boy. I don't want you starting something in front of the team.”

“Right.” But the word had to fight past his clenched jaw. Sam pointed at the pizza in the middle of the table and motioned to Donovan. “After you.”

“Thanks.” Donovan slid two pieces onto his paper plate.

Sam gave both Kerry and Robin a slice.

“Mmm, pepp'roni. My favorite.” Kerry took a huge bite, gasping as the hot cheese hit his tongue.

Sam held his soda for him before he filled his own plate.

“Not every kidnapper wants to have—” Donovan stopped, his eyes going to Kerry's face. His own reddened. “They're not all pedophiles. And this guy, he's not even after kids, anyway.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam gripped the edge of the table. “You can't be serious. He went after two little girls. No one can find Becca. Why else would—”

“Hey, guys, not here, OK?” Robin put her hand on top of Sam's. He turned his palm up and grasped her fingers.

“Sorry. Inappropriate, I know.”

“Very. And we've already been over this once.” Robin motioned for another slice and Sam served her. “Thanks. Tell me about the pictures you took at today's game, Donovan. What are you going to do with them?”

Sam turned to see what Donovan would answer.

The other man's jaw bunched over clenched teeth and his eyes narrowed. “Look, I hate pedophiles. Jerks that prey on kids for that—they're sick, they deserve to be put to death. I think that should be the law.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “They ought to be obliterated off the face of the earth. Just put all of them into one of those Nazi ovens and—”

“Donovan. Cool it.” Coach Danny dropped his hand onto Donovan's shoulder and shot Sam a look. “We understand your passion but this isn't the place to air it.”

“Yeah.” Donovan closed his eyes and bent his head. “Yeah, you're right. Sorry.”

Danny's fingers tightened so Donovan's t-shirt bunched in wrinkles underneath. “Tell me. You helping in the search for that girl? I know Sam's been out with the search every day since Kaitlyn disappeared.”

Donovan looked up. “The first day. I was there when Sam pulled the little kid out of that warehouse.”

Sam didn't remember him. But then, there'd been hundreds of people the first day.

Danny let his hand fall. “They still need volunteers. People have lives; they need to get back to their jobs. Why don't you go and see what you can do to help?”

“Yeah, that's a good idea.” Donovan slugged back the rest of his soda and stumbled to the door.

Danny watched him go, his shoulders twitching. “He's a good guy, but he needs to put a lock on his mouth.”

After a short, tense silence, Robin turned to Kerry. “Hey, buddy, here's a couple quarters. Go play some games for me, all right?”

Kerry's eyes never left Robin's face. “You sure it's OK?”

“Yeah, it's OK. We're here. We'll watch out for you.”

“K. Good. K.” Kerry got up, lurched a few steps away and turned back. “Thanks, Robin.”

She grinned. “You're welcome, my friend.”

A short while later, Sam's phone went off. He checked the caller ID before he opened it. “Albrecht here.”

“It's Bricker. You know that girl with the crutches?”

Sam glanced to where Robin chatted with a mother of one of her teammates. “Are you talking about Robin?”

At the sound of her name, she glanced up at him, eyes guarded.

“Yup. What's her last name? And while we're at it, what color are her eyes? They're blue, right?”

“Why?”

Bricker let the silence stretch out so that Sam itched to touch Robin's arm, to make sure she was still next to him, alive and well. He didn't. Instead, he turned to block more of the restaurant noise and said, “Yes, they're blue. Why?”

“The girl who went missing three days ago? Kaitlyn? We found her.” He didn't sound happy about it.

Sam muttered a word he wasn't supposed to let the kids hear. His heart cried, but he kept the sound from his voice.

“And the perp not only dyed her hair black and painted her eyelids; he made her a cute little pair of crutches, just like your friend's. Out of twigs and some twine, stuff like that.”

Revulsion roiled in Sam's gut. “Someone's stalking her?” He checked to see if any of the kids, or worse, Robin, had heard. She stared at him.

“Yeah. Looks like someone's got a nasty, unhealthy obsession with her.”

“You got that right.” Sam gripped the phone so tight his hand trembled.

“Do you know where Robin is right now?”

“We're both here at Octavio's.”

“Can you get her over to the station? We'd like to talk to her.”

 



 

Robin clasped both shaking hands over her mouth. If she didn't, she'd scream. Or throw up. The gray walls and linoleum of the police station seemed to shriek of coldness and despair, and the questions Officer Bricker kept firing at her exacerbated the effect.

She turned to Sam. “This is bizarre. I'm freaking out here. Who'd
do
that?” She rode over his reassurances without hearing one. “If he wants me, he'd better come after
me
, and leave everyone else alone!”

Bricker leaned closer, blocking her view. “Miss Ingram, I realize this is quite a shock, but we're going to need a list of all the people you know, even casually.”

She nodded, nodded again, and said, “I'm sorry. What did you say?”

“A list.” Sam pulled her closer to his shoulder. Ever since they'd told her, he'd stuck right next to her. That had been all that was keeping her sane. The minute he left, she wasn't sure what would happen.

“A list of people I know?”

“Everyone.” Bricker flipped to a new page in his memo book. “And when you think of someone else, you call me and we'll check them out, too.”

“You're going to investigate all my friends? Take them in to question them?”

“Question them all, yes. Take them in if we feel we have reason.”

She clenched her hands. “It wasn't a friend of mine who did this. I couldn't love someone like that!”

Sam put his arm around her and kept her grounded. “Even people you know from the grocery store. From your physical therapy group. From the team. Church. People who come into the shop. Anybody, Robin, it could be anybody.”

“Then why—”

“Anybody, yes,” the officer interrupted. “But most likely someone you know.”

Robin swallowed and closed her eyes. “That does not make me feel good.”

Bricker didn't answer.

Robin took a deep breath and started to rattle off names. After a minute, she added, “You can get a list of the team members from Danny. He's got it on his computer, and their phone numbers and families.”

Bricker nodded.

Sam said, “I'm not sure everyone is on the list. I mean, people show up to watch, but they're not official runners or even family.”

Bricker nodded. “Got it. We'll get started as soon as we can.”

“Hey.” Sam reached for her arm. “What about that guy Grace keeps talking about? The one who likes you?”

Robin frowned. “What about him?”

“He asks questions about you. And Grace says he likes you.”

Bricker looked interested.

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned toward Sam, though she didn't lower her voice. “I thought
you
liked me. We're friends, aren't we? Doesn't that mean
you're
a suspect?”

Bricker stood and shut his memo book. “We're looking into everyone, Miss Ingram. Just because we ask questions doesn't mean we're about to haul anyone off to jail. But we want to stop this guy before he kills again. Remember, there's still a little girl missing.”

“Becca Harrison.” Robin clasped her arms around her stomach, trying without success to hold in the chills and the horror. “How could I forget?”

 



 

Becca kneeled on her mattress and sat back on her heels. In front of her she'd piled every book Mr. Bird had—all seven of them. He'd read all of them to her over and over ‘til she could repeat all the words that went with each picture, and in the right order, even when she couldn't see the pictures very well.

Unless Mr. Bird was there with his big old flashlight, the room was almost dark. There was a light bulb right up on the ceiling, but every day the light it gave out got yellower and yellower.