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I sit forward. “Have you checked her house?”
“No. It’s clear on the other side of town.”
This isn’t important enough for a ten-minute drive?
And then I put two and two together. “Jacob has your car again.”Hercar.
“I was going to call the school to sign him out later, and he was going to pick me up at one.”
“Hollie.” My blood starts to run hot. The lady should not have to walk from job to job like a vagrant. The kid hasn’t exactly earned the privilege, if you ask me.
“Don’t gripe at me, John.”
I almost smile. The demure waitress has more fire than she lets on. Reaching across the desk, I push my laptop closed.
“I called Ben. He said that if Jacob doesn’t show up, it won’t be good.”
My eyes close. Nope, and for that matter, truancy will come back to bite him in the butt, as well.
The wooden hanger dangling from a hook rattles against the back of the door when I slide my sport coat off it, draping the navy fabric over my arm. “Where are you now?”
“Charlie let me come home to check here.”
“Stay put, Hollie. I’ll be there in an hour.” Sooner if traffic cooperates.
This is not a fun occasion, but Hollie is a sight for sore eyes, purse over one shoulder, jogging down the stairs to meet me. Her hair is striking this morning, freed of its typical ponytail and styled into loose waves. Her legs are long and lean in dark slacks, and her pale pink blouse is simple and perfectly feminine. Like her.
Scratch that. There is nothing simple about Hollie Carpenter. If there were, I would not have abandoned my post in Dallas at the slightest whimper from a damsel in distress. Trust me, I’m not normally this gallant.
She stops, eye to eye, on the bottom step. “Thank you. I didn’t mean for you to come all this way.”
I’m not letting her off that easy, and besides, I love staring into her eyes.
She blushes and glances toward bright geraniums in a clay pot, a splash of color at the base of the staircase. “Okay, I guess Iwashoping you could come. I didn’t have anyone else to call.”
The tiny swell of ego bursts. Anybody would do, huh?
Don’t care. In a risky mood, I clasp her elbow and squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m glad you did.”
I am. I’m sick of that boring office, stupid work, aggravating coworkers. Let the bad guys have a day off because I need a break. I’m only sorry it’s coming at Hollie’s expense.
I squelch the impulse to wrap her in my arms, knowing my motivation would be less than altruistic and that her morning is complicated enough already. I open the passenger door and wait while she gets in.
Once behind the wheel, I back down the driveway. “Tell me where Reagan lives.”
Her directions are clear and concise, and I know the neighborhood we’re heading to. Nice digs this Reagan girl lives in.
Sure enough, the house isn’t merely big. The term sprawling could be applied. It’s the largest on the block, a showplace with a modern design and professional landscaping. In fact, said professionals are milling about, the aroma of fresh-cut grass mingling with exhaust from a gas engine.
Hollie beats me to the sidewalk. The drone of the lawnmower consumes whatever words she says as we approach the door and ring the bell. There are two vehicles in the driveway. Hollie’s atrocious beast and a shiny new one.
I put the chances of the dysfunctional duo opening up at fifty-fifty.
Color me surprised when the glass and wrought-iron door swings open within seconds. A gorgeous blonde in jeans and a Chandor High t-shirt greets us with a half-hearted attempt at a smile, her eyes redder than Hollie’s.
Nobody’s having a good day, are they?
She admits us, leading us into a giant living room with a towering vaulted ceiling. A stone fireplace stretches clear to its apex. The place is a far cry from Jacob’s humble abode.
