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“But…” the woman began. “Let me get Ms. Turner.” She disappeared, and Stephanie clenched his arm until her nails cut through the shirt material and dug into his skin. The woman returned with another older one, and the concern on both women’s faces did not bode well. Hawke moved closer to Stephanie.
“Ms. Martin, we had a new girl working here this afternoon. She got off half hour ago, but I’m calling her now. The sign-in sheet indicates that Meechi’s dad picked her up. I know myself that her father passed away, so we will get to the bottom of this.”
Stephanie cried out. “How the hell could this happen? Where is my daughter? Meechi!”
Hawke removed a pen and a sheet of paper from his jacket. “What exact time did they leave, and give me a description of the man. Better yet, give me the number of the woman who saw him. I will call her myself.”
“I’m calling the police,” Stephanie blurted. Hawke saw that tears had already started down her face, and she fumbled with the display on her phone. He knew she had no idea what buttons she pressed.
“Come over here, baby, and sit down,” he instructed, taking her hand. If it weren’t for the situation, he would not have used the endearment. The word slipped out.
“I don’t need to sit down, Hawke. We have to find her, and I want someone to tell me how the hell they hired some person who doesn’t know what she’s doing? Meechi has been coming to this daycare for five years, damn it. Where is my baby? You know what, forget it. Hawke, let’s go look for her.”
He caught her hand and forced her to stay by him, and then turned to Ms. Turner. “The number.”
The woman rang her hands seeing Stephanie’s panic. “I can’t give you—”
“Two seconds to give it to me,” he said. “I work as a private investigator. I will find Meechi, but if you hinder me in any way, you will regret it.”
“Sir, there’s no need to threaten me. I’m not the enemy here.” He heard the tremor in her voice.
He waited a beat, and she gave him the number. He punched it into his phone, and with a dead calm that he knew was a lot more effective than shouting, he obtained all the information from the aide. The question was, at ten years old, why would Meechi go with a man claiming to be her father when she knew her father was dead?
He disconnected the call and pulled Stephanie close to him. She turned her big brown eyes up to him, and he felt his heart stir with a need to protect her and her child. “Does your late husband have a brother?”
Her eyes widened. “Yes, two of them. Why?”
“I’m guessing they look a lot like him?”
She frowned. “The oldest is a dead ringer.” She froze. “You don’t think—”
“I’m pretty sure. Give me his address, and you stay here to wait for the police.”
“I’m coming with you, Hawke. If that bastard has my baby, I’m going to crack his head open. Trust me.”
He kissed her lips briefly. “I do trust you. Now trust me to go. You will need to give a report to the police so they can begin their search. If he did take her, it’s possible he didn’t go home. The police will need to put an APB out on him.”
She didn’t appear to like it but acknowledged his logic. “Okay, but please stay in touch. I can’t bear sitting here, Hawke.”
“I promise. I will find her.”
He left the daycare on the run and jumped into his car. Rather than head over to the brother’s house that way, he found somewhere off the beaten track to park, where he wouldn’t be seen. If he flew, he would make it faster, but something told him Michael Ward didn’t take Meechi to his house, and the only solution in that case was a bird’s eye view.
Hawke shed his clothing and stuffed them in the trunk, and then he stretched his arms to the side and called to the animal deep inside. As easy as shedding skin, he shifted, his bones cracking and morphing, breaking down and then rebuilding until he became the hawk. With a loud cry, he took to the air, pumping his wings. After gaining a height of a mile up, he headed toward Michael’s house. Flying all over the city on a regular basis, he had a good grasp of the layout and knew which direction to go. Stephanie had given him a description of the car, but he saw few that would match in the area. A quick training of his vision on the couple of drivers told him they weren’t his targets. He had to keep moving, because the longer it took him to find Michael the bigger the gap to catching them.
On a hunch, Hawke took a scenic route out of town that few people used because it was at least five miles to get back to civilization. The moment Hawke crested a hill blocking the road, he knew he was on the right track. The golden Porsche 911 gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight like a beacon. The man had pulled over to the side of the road and was pacing. Hawke swung around so he flew over the right side of the car. Meechi sat in the back seat, her cheek tucked against her hand and sound asleep. Nothing could be more convenient for him.
In one fell swoop, Hawke landed, changed, and dragged the man up by his neck. Michael choked and struggled. His eyes grew wide.
“What do you think you’re doing with her?” Hawke snapped. When scarcely a croak escaped Michael’s throat, Hawke let up a little. “Speak!”
“I’m not going to hurt my niece, but I had to take her. I had to or—
Hawke shook him hard enough for his head to bob back and forth on his neck. Red stained the man’
s face, and it took almost as much self-control as Hawke had not to push until the fool passed out. “Or what?”
“Why are you naked?” Michael demanded. “Are you some kind of perv?”
