Rescue Team (12 page)

Wes wasn’t sure in the fading light, but it looked as if Kate’s face had gone pale.

-  +  -

Kate made herself smile. “That explains why no one looks like anyone in your family. Except your father. You look just like him.” She was grateful the daylight had gone and was relieved to hear
the growing swell of music beckoning from doorways along South Congress. She didn’t want Wes to see her face, hear the ache in her voice. Or ever discover the ugly irony: his family rescued babies . . .
and I abandoned mine.
This man had gone to church with his family this morning. While she had a cross hidden away in her closet. Kate and Wes Tanner couldn’t be more different. Why was she here with him?

“Kate?” Wes leaned closer, the strings of lights illuminating his face. “You okay?”

“Fine.” She scurried to change the subject. “So you went to UT Austin?”

“Yep.”

“Longhorns.” She raised her fist, waggled her thumb and pinky in an enthusiastic UT hand sign.

“Um . . .” Wes appeared to be struggling against a burst of laughter. Someone at a nearby table hooted. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Hook ’em horns.” Kate lowered her hand a fraction. Shot him a
duh
look.

“That is ‘hang loose’ in Hawaiian.” He gently repositioned her fingers, the warmth of his skin sending tingles clear to her shoulder. “This is hook ’em horns.”

“Oh.” She met Wes’s gaze, far too aware that he hadn’t let go. And that the foolish tingling had reached her ear.

“Are you finished with your chicken cone?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

“Mmm . . . yeah.”

“Good.” Wes captured her hand and gave it a tug. “Then let’s find some music. But no ukuleles, aloha girl.”

I
T HADN’T TAKEN
W
ES LONG TO REALIZE
that Austin’s historic Sixth Street music epicenter—Antone’s, The Parish, Emo’s, The Continental Club, even Stubb’s Bar-B-Q—wasn’t going to work for his “let’s find some music” impulse. Too loud, too crowded, too . . . not Kate Callison. Despite a bass-heavy atmosphere reverberating with excitement and Kate’s own memorable history with air guitar, she hadn’t looked at all comfortable there. Not to mention there was no place to sit that didn’t require shouting like a cattle auctioneer in order to talk. It didn’t fit what he had in mind. Wes had caught a glimpse of Kate behind her prickly exterior and he wanted more. He was eager to know who she was apart from being a nurse. And he wanted her to know him beyond his involvement in search and rescue. Kate Callison and Wes Tanner getting to know each other in a do-over. Far removed from the regrettable way they’d first met. Maybe this place . . .

Wes watched as Kate enjoyed the panoramic vista from the coffeehouse’s huge lower deck; the tree branches overhead were already strung with the first thousand lights of what would be an incredible annual holiday display. A view of Lake Austin, air rich with the aroma of roasting beans, tabletop candles, a three-man combo offering a “smooth gospel” blend of acoustic guitar, flute, and drums. Yeah, Wes finally hit it right. Especially because—

“Heaven.” Kate’s tongue caught a smudge of pink frosting on her lower lip. “A genuine Hey Cupcake! I’ve been craving one of these since I saw that Airstream trailer. And this—” she glanced at the hills and water again—“is wonderful. Austin is so different from San Antonio, all these lakes and greenbelts and parks.” She shook her head. “It’s funny; people always think of Texas as flat and dry. I sure did. Not that it’s the Sierra mountains, but there’s some fairly rugged terrain here.” She reached for her coffee. “Which I’m sure you’ve seen on searches.”

“Yes.”
So much for who I am apart from search and rescue.
He chewed the last bite of his chocolate cookie. “Swift water, canyons, vast tracts of cedar, and—” Wes grimaced—“cactus. Up close and far too personal. But a fair amount of our callouts involve urban searches for missing children and adults. Door to door and in parks.” He frowned. “I volunteer with Travis County Search and Rescue, too. They’re a much bigger organization, very involved in the search for Sunni Sprague. Her car was abandoned not far from Zilker Park.”

“Zilker?” Kate’s eyes widened. “I live within walking distance of there.”

“Right.” Wes kicked himself.
Cupcakes and crime. Smooth, Tanner.
“We searched it several times. Hasty search, K9, grid . . . nothing. Then searched up and down Barton Creek, Shoal Creek Greenbelt, and along the adjacent Colorado.”

“Do you think there really is new information coming on her case?”

“Maybe.” Wes thought of his visit to Gabe this morning and how convinced his friend was that a search for evidence would begin soon. “But tips from inmates are notoriously misleading. I heard this one’s secondhand, from a guy with a serious drug history.”

Kate folded her cupcake paper into a square. “I’ll bet my staff will trample themselves to volunteer if there
is
a search. You heard them at the debriefing.”

“Yes.” He knew he should probably stop there. “A few of them joined in when she first went missing. But if there’s anything to uncover now, it would be—”

“Remains,” Kate said, wincing. “Oh, horrible. Still, I suppose even that would provide some closure.”

“Yes,” Wes agreed, thinking once again that
closure
was such a poor word. Finding his mother’s body after that long year hadn’t really brought a close to the pain of losing her.
Or the questions I still have.
“Finding someone alive is what we all hope for. Locating a body or identifiable remains is at least something. A find. But when you search and search and there’s nothing—” he shook his head—“it’s like leaving someone lost.”

“Did you know Sunni?”

“A little. She was on duty when Dylan broke his wrist last year; she stayed over into the next shift to sit with him while it got casted. I talked with her a few times when I followed ambulances in.” He shrugged. “I didn’t know her that well. But it was still a shock when she went missing. Everyone felt it.”

“I could see that from the first day I was hired. Impossible shoes to fill.”

Wes thought of the debriefing. Kate choosing to sit apart from
her team. “You haven’t been there long. Give it time.” He regretted the platitude even before she frowned.

“Unfortunately I don’t have that luxury.” Kate flicked the cupcake wrapper with her fingertip. “My performance review is coming up. I can hear the Munchkins chanting, ‘Ding-dong, the witch is—’” She grimaced. “Considering what we just talked about, I suppose that remark proves I’m a poor choice for emergency department director.” She summoned a rueful smile that did nothing to dispel the hurt in her beautiful eyes.

“C’mon,” Wes said, standing. He held out his hand. “People are dancing. Help me pretend I know how.”

-  +  -

Before Kate could think of an excuse, she was in Wes’s arms. Confirming something that until this moment she hadn’t realized she’d wondered about:
We fit perfectly.
His height, her lack of it, didn’t matter at all. Slow-strumming guitar, light-strung deck, night air. And one of Wes’s hands against her back, the other holding hers. They were close enough that Kate could smell the soap-fresh scent of his skin, feel the solid muscles of his shoulder under her palm. And that warmth . . . The earlier unexpected tingle multiplied a hundred times.

“How am I doing?” he asked, dipping his head closer. “I get far more practice with drill rigs, water pipes, and windmills.” His chuckle warmed her ear. “Bad enough to be sore from riding without the risk of stepped-on toes.”

“So far so good,” Kate managed to say as he drew her closer.
Way too good.
She tried not to think about the last time she’d danced. What a fool she’d been and how badly it had all ended. Right now she needed to think that this dance, this man, could be different.
She wanted the slate wiped clean, if only for tonight. She wanted to believe in honest blue eyes, in the magic of a pink cupcake, and—

“Careful there,” Wes said, guiding her a little sideways on the darkened deck. “Raccoon.”

“What?” She stepped away from him, warmth replaced by confusion. A woman dancing next to them squealed. Kate stared down at the deck. “Where?”

“There.” Wes pointed, raising his voice as a dog on the pet-friendly deck began to bark. “Under the table now. I think he has your cupcake paper.”

“Really?” Kate shook her head and then laughed out loud. Magical cupcakes? Tingling insanity was more like it. When Wes slid his arm from her waist, she’d be rational again. The raccoon had disappeared into the darkness; the dance was over.

“Grab your purse,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s getting crowded here. I know where we can walk along the lake.”

Walk? It was the right time to say something about ending the evening, needing to work on the department budget before tomorrow, check on her cat. Still . . . “I suppose that’s part of the whole thing. Lakes . . . ‘Got Water?’”

“Absolutely.” Wes’s smile crinkled his eyes. “Family crest.”

So . . .
Roady cat wouldn’t be home. The paperwork could wait. Kate wanted to pretend just a little longer. Believe things could be this simple, warm . . . safe. Tomorrow’s reality would always be there, eager to steal happiness as fast as that raccoon grabbed her cupcake paper.

“Okay,” she said, smiling at him. “Let’s go for a walk.”

-  +  -

Lauren cradled the phone, tucking her knees up under her fleece bathrobe. “You didn’t meet the family for brunch either?”

“Forgot.” Jessica’s tone was 180 degrees from yesterday, slow and sluggish. “I needed sleep. Like that Rip van Winkle guy. Except twenty years isn’t long enough. And—” she yawned—“impossible with all the noise in this apartment complex. Someone always running up and down the stairs, moving furniture, playing music too loud.”

Careful.
“Maybe,” Lauren suggested, twisting a length of her shower-damp hair, “that would be easier at Mom and Dad’s. No neighbors coming and going or—”

“No.”

Lauren knew to back off. If things sounded worse, she’d have to consider calling Eli. Like it or not, he usually knew what was going on in Jess’s life.

Lauren fought a familiar, uncomfortable confusion. Talking to Eli Landry was the last thing she wanted.

No. The last thing Lauren wanted was for her sister to have serious problems.
Please, Lord, don’t let that be true. . . .

“Gotta go,” Jessica told her.

“Okay. Text me tomorrow from school?” Lauren held her breath.

“Sure. Fine.”

“I love you.”

“Mm-hmm . . .”

Lauren disconnected, held the phone to her chest, weighing actions she could take. And the problems each could cause. Take a day off work, drive to Houston. Risk that her sister would use the intrusion as an excuse to disappear again? Not good. Maybe—

The phone buzzed against her chest.
Thank you, God.
But it wasn’t Jess. She didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” Lauren asked tentatively.

“Hello, Lauren. Barrett Lyon—sorry to disturb you.”

“Is there some problem?”

“A concern, perhaps. I wanted to run it by you.”

Lauren didn’t like the sound of this.

“I’ve had the opportunity to view the hospital security tapes,” he explained. “The police retrieved them the day of the Baby Doe incident. You were aware of that?”

“I heard about it.”
What on earth?

“You had coffee with Kate Callison before your shift that day.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sure. We do that a lot.” Lauren’s stomach went queasy.

“Before you sat down with her, do you remember seeing her in conversation with anyone?”

“No.” Lauren’s memory tumbled, her caution increasing. “It was still dark. What’s this about?”

“A police question, which naturally causes me some concern as well. The security tape shows Kate talking with someone outside the doors to the emergency department. A young woman.”

“They think . . . ?” She bit off the thought. Prayed he hadn’t heard.

“Think what?”

“Nothing.”

She heard him sigh. “Lauren, I need to know. Did Kate tell you she might have spoken to the mother who abandoned Baby Doe?”

-  +  -

“Seven,” Wes said, answering Kate’s question as they walked the shoreline trail. “Seven Highland Lakes, reservoirs formed by dams along the Colorado River. Starting eighty-some miles north of here. Lake Buchanan, Inks, LBJ, Marble Falls . . .” He chuckled. “Sorry. Nothing as dry as an engineer tour guide. Don’t let me bore you.”

“Not bored.” Kate stepped off the trail to walk closer to the water. The scant moonlight danced over her dark hair in shades as blue as her sweater.

“Look,” Wes said, catching up with her at the water’s edge, “I didn’t mean to sound like I was blowing you off earlier when we were talking about you taking over as director. I’m sorry if I did. You’re seriously concerned about that performance review?”

“I wish I weren’t. But I stepped into trouble with both feet from the very first day I started at Austin Grace. One of the nurses backed over someone in the parking lot, I had to suspend another for drugs, there’s been all those awful Waiting for Compassion letters in the paper . . . and now this incident with the baby. I don’t know how I’m ever supposed to win the support of my staff if I’m constantly joined at the hip to the legal department.” She sighed. “I hate it.”

“I’m not too impressed with lawyers myself.” Wes frowned, picked up a rock, and hurled it toward the water. “There was a high-profile murder case in Dallas last spring. The body was found after a long search.” He shook his head, remembering. “A defense attorney tore one of the search-and-rescue volunteers apart on the witness stand. Accused him of destroying evidence and tried to convince the jury that he joined the search to gain some sort of personal glory. It wasn’t my team, but that sort of thing filters down.” Wes chucked a second rock. “People don’t realize the time, effort, and expense members go through to become volunteers. Extensive training, time away from their families. Money out of their pockets with no compensation. All of that because they care about their communities. They step up, do something to help. And then get ambushed by some attack-dog attorney.”

Kate sighed. “Now I’m really not looking forward to meeting with Barrett Lyon again.”

“No worries. His job is to protect the hospital.”

“Plenty of worries,” Kate corrected. “He represents the hospital first and foremost. Individual employees not so much.” Anxiety flickered across her face. “A lot depends on what the police discover in the investigation.” Her shoulders sagged. “I wish it could all go away. I’m . . . so tired.”

Wes wanted to put his arms around her but made himself stay back. He was amazed she’d shared this much; no way was he going to risk looking like he was trying to rescue this dedicated and competent woman. Her worries were professional, not personal.