The Hunt For Hawke's Daughter

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“Ma will post the particulars, along with Livie’s photo, on the Internet,” he explained. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Though out of necessity he’d been referring to Livie by name since the boat, she noticed that nowhere in his message to his mother did he make any mention of his paternal connection with her. And when the material had been faxed, he returned the photograph to Karen without further comment. And, again, without looking at his daughter’s likeness. Well, he’d warned her, hadn’t he?

Twilight had faded into a balmy summer evening by the time Devlin delivered her to her front door. He had been silent again on the drive back to Summit Avenue. Deciding their next course of action, she hoped. She meant to know just what that was before they parted for the night.

He didn’t reveal it, however, until she faced him on the stoop, asking an anxious, “What now?”

“You get a good night’s sleep.”

“You don’t really suppose that I can possibly—”

“Try,” he urged, “because there’s nothing more we can do until tomorrow.”

“Then what?”

“We go to your bank when it opens in the morning. Providing, that is, you and your husband have any joint accounts that we can examine.”

“We share a checking account.” She understood Devlin’s intention. If Michael had cleaned out that account, it would be a strong indicator that he wasn’t coming back. “There’s also a safe deposit box. It doesn’t contain any valuables like jewelry, just the usual essential documents.”

“Good. What’s inside a deposit box can sometimes tell you more than any account.”

Or what’s not in it, he might have added. But Karen didn’t want to think about that.

“I’ll say good night then,” he said. But he lingered for another moment on the stoop. There was something obviously nagging at him. He finally made up his mind to address it. “Got something to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Were you in love with him?” he blurted.

The question startled her. Why in the world had he asked it? “I thought so,” she said.

“And what about now?”

“No, but does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He started to leave and then turned back with a husky, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to offer you that safety you were looking for when you turned to Ramey. I’m just not a safe kind of guy.”

Was he warning her about himself? “I’ll remember that,” she called after him as he started down the walk to his car.

“There’s something else I want to ask you to do,” he said over his shoulder. “Try again to reach what’s-her-name, this assistant of Ramey’s. Could be she has the answers.”

“Bonnie Wodeski, and I will.”

She watched him drive off to his hotel, and then she went into the house and rang Bonnie’s apartment. As before, she got nothing but the answering machine. Leaving another message, she went up to her bed.

As she had predicted, sleep was impossible. And not just because she was sick with worry about Livie. The image of Devlin Hawke, with his black hair, blue eyes and killer smile, troubled her thoughts. He was a necessity. She couldn’t find Livie without him. But their essential alliance was as uneasy as the atmosphere before a summer storm, charged with issues and past conflicts as volatile as chain lighting. Karen didn’t know how she was going to survive him.

HER FIRST CHALLENGE in that area occurred early the next morning. Exhaustion had finally permitted her to drift off, but she couldn’t have been asleep more than a few hours when she was roused by the insistent ringing of her doorbell.

Disoriented, it took her several moments to struggle out of bed and into her robe. By the time she groped her way down the stairs, the ringing sounded so urgent that her heart was in her throat. All she could think of was that the police were here to report the worst.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry when she arrived in the kitchen and saw Devlin at the door, signaling through the glass to be let in. Still groggy, she fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Is something wrong?”

“Not unless the coffee gets cold.” He held up a bulging paper bag. “I brought breakfast.”

“You scared me to death!”

“Sorry.” He pushed past her into the kitchen.

When she closed the door and turned to confront him again, he was already busy at the counter unpacking the bag, lifting out juice, two containers of coffee and a selection of Danish. The sight of him fully awake, with a brisk, take-charge attitude and wearing a pair of crisp tan slacks and a fresh oxford shirt that managed to emphasize his rugged good looks, irritated her. She was conscious of looking less than human herself in her wrinkled robe and with her auburn hair uncombed.

“What are you doing here at this ungodly hour?” she accused him. “The bank doesn’t open until nine.”

“We’ve got other errands before then. I want to get inside Ramey’s office and look at his records. That is, if you know where to lay your hands on a key.”

“There’s a spare one in his desk here, providing he didn’t take it with him.”

“Good. And along the way, I’d like to stop off and turn in my car. No point in paying rent on it when we’ve got yours.”

“I see,” she said dryly. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, how do you like your Danish? Warm or cold?”

“Neither until I’ve showered and dressed. And while I’m doing that, you can make yourself useful.” She slapped a phone book in front of him. “You’ll find the air-conditioning service listed at the back. See what you can do about arranging for a repair. Bonnie Wodeski’s number is there, too. Maybe you’ll have better luck reaching her. All I get is her answering machine.”

Devlin had made himself at home and was removing the Danish from the microwave when she returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later in a summer top and matching cotton pants.

“Looks like we won’t have to break in,” he said, eyeing the key to Michael’s office that dangled from her hand. “Air-conditioning people will be out this afternoon, and the machine is still answering at Bonnie Wodeski’s apartment. Sit down to your breakfast and tell me what she looks like.”

Karen seated herself and reached for the juice that was waiting for her. “Bonnie is a bottle-blonde and a bit on the flashy side. Why are you asking?”

“Because that juice you’re drinking, along with the coffee and Danish here, came from a cafe near Michael Ramey’s office.”

“You have been out and busy, haven’t you?”

“That’s right. I was checking the neighborhood there, asking a few questions. The man behind the counter in this little cafe is the talkative type. He said Ramey came in there all the time for lunch. And guess what? On more than one occasion he was accompanied by a blond woman. The guy said the two of them were very cozy.”

Karen stared at him. “If you’re saying Michael was having an affair with Bonnie and the two of them have run off together, I don’t believe it. She simply isn’t his type.”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s true, but it is another possibility we have to consider.”

Devlin offered no further argument, but Karen knew what he must be thinking. Bonnie wasn’t answering her phone. Could that mean she, too, was missing? Maybe their visit to Michael’s office would provide an explanation.