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Large industrial fans hummed somewhere out of sight. His black shirt stuck to his torso. He needed a shower and so would Tildy after being in this building all afternoon. He shook his head as he pictured taking her home and the two of them getting into the shower together.
He stopped at the room Tildy used as a classroom and looked in, even though it was clearly empty. Her class had ended over half an hour ago. The hallway, likewise, was empty. Hawk followed the unmistakable sound of basketballs on a polished floor. Turning down the next hallway and heading through a set of large double doors, he spied a group of boys shooting hoops. The squeak of their sneakers on the floor could be heard over the drone of the fans. Mostly they were Hispanic; he scanned the group for any kids from the Rez, finding none.
“Hola,” he called out. The boys paused to glance his way. “Has visto a Matilda?” he said to the largest one.
“El que tiene el pelo largo,” he said to the others. The one with the long hair. The boys conferred with each other a moment.
They shook their heads at their friend, then at Hawk.
“No, man,” the oldest one said.
“Thanks,” Hawk replied and turned away. The building wasn’t that big, so there weren’t many places she could be. He checked the women’s restroom, which was empty. He could have checked the entire building, but he already knew there was no point. He pulled out his phone and dialed Tildy’s number- no answer. He let it go to voice mail before he hung up, not bothering to leave a message. He didn’t even have to look at the screen as he dialed the next number.
Shoving through the front doors again and back out into the summer heat, Hawk scanned the parking lot as he listened to his phone ring on the other end.
“Yo,” Caleb said, answering on the third ring.
“She’s gone,” Hawk said into the phone, forcing his voice to remain steady. “He took her.”
“I don’t understand,” Deirdre Fletcher said for about the fifth or sixth time. Hawk tried very hard not to roll his eyes or smack her. “How do you know Matilda?” she asked, eyeing him warily.
Hawk considered carefully what to say. Pissing them off too much was likely to make everything more difficult. “I’m the mechanic who worked on her car,” he said, speaking mostly to Mr. Fletcher rather than his wife. So far Tildy’s father didn’t seem to recognize him. “We’re friends.”
“Friends,” Mrs. Fletcher replied. Her tone implied she didn’t believe Tildy would be friends with a man like him any more than she believed her daughter had been kidnapped.
Hawk’s brow furrowed. It had been a bad decision to keep Tildy’s assault from her parents, but it was her choice, her insistence that they never know. Hawk had gone along with it, because ultimately Tildy’s parents couldn’t protect her. They’d obviously shown no concern for her welfare up to this point. Now they seemed more interested in what their daughter had been up to recently than in where she was now.
“Listen to me,” Hawk said, quickly losing his patience. “Tildy was assaulted.”
Deirdre’s eyes widened. “When? Today? Now? Where is she?” she asked, looking around as though Caleb hadn’t already told her Tildy was missing. Hawk fisted his hands, held them that way a moment, and slowly unfurled them.
“No,” he said more calmly than he felt. “Earlier. She didn’t tell you. She didn’t want you to worry,” he added quickly, trying to make things easier for Tildy when they eventually found her. They would find her; Hawk had already decided this. He would not lose her.
Shooter pulled up in his truck and swung out. He slammed the door behind him.
“He’s the mechanic!” Blake Fletcher said, jabbing a finger at him.
Hawk almost punched him.
“Mr. Fletcher,” Shooter said curtly, giving the man a sharp nod. He was mostly focused on Hawk. Hawk looked away from him. It was obvious why Caleb had called him. Shooter had once lost Sarah in exactly the same way. Once upon a time, Chris Sullivan had felt exactly the way Hawk was feeling now, though Hawk would never acknowledge it. Sarah had been through hell when she was taken by a psycho and brutalized. To admit that Chris knew how he felt was to admit that Tildy was in the same situation.
She wasn’t. He’d find her somehow. He’d find her before she was hurt. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know who had her or where to look. This couldn’t happen to his Angel.
Chapter 34
Tildy felt a distinct rattle in her head. There really wasn’t a better way to describe it. The left side of her face felt cool, damp even. Her eyelids fluttered open. Below her, a blur of white came into sharper focus- a white stripe, pavement, and a rocky shoulder. She had been slumped against the door with her head against the glass, which accounted for the rattle. The pain, however, was another story. Gingerly, she sat up and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. They came away sticky and red. She craned her neck, stiff as it was, and looked around.
