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“Hey, Kane I made a really cool snowman today,” Hunter hollered running up the staircase.
“Let me see if I can find him,” I told Hunter.
I dug though my purse until I found my phone. I typed out a text.
We’re home. Where are you?
Taking care of it.
I bit my lip. What in the hell was he talking about?
Where are you?
I texted again and waited for some kind of answer that made sense. I was nervous. Worried that Hawk’s way of taking care of things were part of his past, not his present.
I’ll be home after dinner. Sorry.
That was the last text I had from him. What was he going to do? How would he handle this? I wanted him home—dealing with this crisis with me. I needed him. Didn’t he know that?
I stared at the phone when Hunter came bounding down the stairs.
“Can we make that popcorn strand you told me about?”
“Sure. Sure we can.” I tossed my phone on the table. “And we can put on a Christmas movie. How does that sound?”
I made my way to the kitchen and started on the popcorn. I had no idea where Hawk was and I didn’t like the feeling in my stomach one bit. I felt nauseated again, and my head suddenly felt fuzzy. It was too much stress. Too much worry. But I had to power through. For Hunter.
39
Kane
The woman who sat across from me in the diner kept picking at the stuffing coming out of the booth.
“Coffee?” I offered.
She looked over her shoulder at the waitress approaching the table.
“Yes, I’d like a cup.”
I nodded to the waitress to bring us two cups.
“So, tell me Ms. Martin. Why did you make up this story?”
I wasn’t the kind of man to hold back my emotions or my thoughts. I knew when someone was conning me. And this woman wasn’t taking my son from me.
She slammed her fist on the table and hissed, “My son was kidnapped. I didn’t make it up.”
“Yeah, that part of your story checks out. But why do you think it’s my son? Why did you contact DC police last night? Hunter has been in the system for three years. There is no record of anyone ever trying to contact him, meet him, reach out to him. Nothing.” I glared at her.
She pulled the wool cap over her forehead. “How was I supposed to know he was in DC?”
She had met me on I-95, just south of Fredericksburg. I was surprised no one had spotted me yet.
I leaned back, crossing my arms. I didn’t buy it. None of it. “You’re not that far away. Tell me what it is you want.”
“I want my child,” she seethed.
“Hunter isn’t yours,” I countered.
