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“I thought Hack might have said something,” she said. “Well, surprise, I’m what the club calls a Hoez, not all the dancers at the Roadside are Hoez, but all the Hoez are dancers. That an issue?”
“In what context?” he asked.
“Me being alone with you right now?”
“I used to say there were two things I didn’t pay for,” he said grabbing two bottles of water in one hand and snagging the bag of popcorn from the microwave. Adjusting his finger enough to angle one bottle toward her she took it with a smirk. “Then they started bottling water and one of them went away.”
“I’m not here looking for cash,” she said. “What can I say, I like meeting new people.”
Settling on the couch the two of them sat in silence as the banter began between Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. Testing him and tormenting her. Mike couldn’t help feeling out of place with Porsche so comfortable on the couch. Turned sideways she’d taken her boots off and had her feet up on the pillows. Her phone out scrolling as she placed the popped kernels in her mouth. Her focus shared between two screens as a familiar alarm was set off on her phone and she lowered the device.
Ice ran through his veins as he kept his face locked on the movie, knowing full well his daughter was now front and center on her phone. She didn’t shift or adjust herself. No silencing the phone or calling out. Her body as passive as it had been before the repeating siren blared.
“We have a storm coming in?” he said, hoping the notification was about anything but him. Hell, another child being abducted in this area.
They couldn’t be spreading the search area further, could they? Had they calculated how far he could have gotten? Was it now live from the Canadian border to the Mexican. His name, Syd’s, pictures and details making its way across the country in educated guesses on how far a man could make it with an eight year old.
Chest tightening and his mouth becoming arid, he took another swallow of water. Tension mounting as Deborah Kerr was getting sass from the kid stuck in the railing. Standing, he headed to the kitchen as Porsche sat silently on the couch. The alarm now gone and only orchestra music and low tones of people trying to not be heard by others came from the TV.
“It’s the second one,” Porsche said, her voice devoid of accusation. “There will be another and another, until the authorities mark her as found.”
“For a few days,” he reasoned. “The end of the week.”
“By the end of the week it will be on the national news out of New York.”
“Doubtful,” he countered, turning to see Porsche poised on her knees, hands bracing on the back of the couch with fire in her eyes.
“We deal with this all the time,” she challenged. “Trust me, we know the timeline and right now Hack is doing his own due diligence on why you’re spring breaking in Montana with a girl moving her way up on the endangered child list with the FBI. It is the FBI now because they’ve crossed state lines.”
“You don’t understand—”
“Give me any excuse you want, but know my bullshit meter is high and when Hack makes his way home, he knows every method you have for deception.”
“My daughter is my only priority,” he said as a shrill cry reverberated down the hall from Sydney.
Porsche and Mike bolted toward the bedroom, with her trying to box him out as they both rushed into the room.
Sydney was sitting up in bed crying out, her eyes vacant and focused on a closed closet door. Breaths quick, she gasped as if her throat were being choked and Mike moved quickly to her. The visceral reaction of his baby girl cringed back with an inaudible scream of terror stabbed him through his already thudding heart until she finally realized it was him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hold and warm wetness covered his lap when she crawled on him. Cradling the back of her head with the gentleness he’d had when she was an infant he held his little girl tight to his chest and rocked. “It’s okay baby, I’m here.”
The smell of piss radiated in the room and he knew she’d need to be cleaned up. Lifting her he carried her into the bathroom and sat her down on the counter. Stepping back for a moment, but keeping contact by cupping her head in his hands. Searching for the recognition in her tear-filled eyes.
“There’s my little girl.”
“I—I—I—” she choked on her words. “I had an accident.”
“It’s okay, sheets and pajamas can be washed,” he said.
Porsche touched his back. “How about you let me clean her up.”
He shot a glare over his shoulder at the stranger offering to touch his daughter.
“I’m a girl, and she’s old enough to clean herself up,” Porsche countered. “But if she needs help I’m here. You strip the bed and get changed.”
Glancing down he saw the darkened stain spread across the front and side of his shirt and jeans from where he carried his daughter.
“Besides, I’m all about working out bad dreams. Let me talk to her.” Porsche’s light eyes became challenging. “You have about twenty minutes before the next alarm goes off and trust me, the Steels who made their way home aren’t going to sleep through it.”
Sydney’s eyes blinked up at him. “Ms. Porsche’s nice.”
“Yes, she is, do you want to talk to her?” His hand stroked the tangled mess of hair in need of a good wash and knew he’d come to a crossroad. “Are you okay with her helping you get cleaned up?”
Sydney nodded her head.
“I’m going to grab her some fresh clothes, then I’ll be right outside that door.”
