Play Date (Play Makers Book 3) (39 page)

“Nope.” She said it before she even thought it. “Not Kyle. He knows the rules about strangers.”

“Even if the stranger tells him he saw a giant orange cat and can take him to it?”

She took a breath, then admitted, “I don’t know.” Then she asked the question she hadn’t wanted to ask, even though it was the professional thing to do. “Did you put out an Amber alert?”

“Yeah, about forty minutes ago.”

They stared at each other, then she murmured, “How can I help?”

“I’m glad you asked.” He was suddenly all business. “I want you to wrack your brain. Anything—however slight or seemingly innocent. We’ve got nothing.”

“I haven’t seen strangers hanging around the school, but I’ll think about it. I talk to Kyle a lot, so maybe . . .”

“Good. And we need to question the other children too.”

“I can do that for you,” she assured him.

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself.”

She drew back, horrified. “Absolutely not. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to rely on me.”

Mays stood and glared down at her. “Lynne Rayburn already agreed.”

Rachel stood too. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’m not even sure she has the authority.”

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to get in a pissing match. So I’m willing to be reasonable. We’ll give the parents a chance to say yay or nay. The school has their contact information. But time’s running out for Kyle, Ms. Gillette. I’m sure you don’t want to impede the investigation.”

“And I’m sure
you
don’t want to get kicked off the force. So stay away from my children until the parents have been consulted.” She eyed him in disgust. “Mrs. Rayburn didn’t give you permission at all, did she?”

“Her office is contacting the parents as we speak. But at some point, we need to be realistic.” He smiled grimly. “Threaten my job all you want. But believe me, Ken Abrams beat you to it. He’ll sue me into next week if I leave any stone unturned.”

“I’ll deal with Kyle’s father,” she promised. “Can you imagine anyone questioning
his
son without permission?”

Mays relaxed before her eyes. “Nice having you on the team, Gillette. I have some calls to make, but I’ll check back with you in ten minutes.”

“Can you stop by my room and tell Mrs. Rayburn I’ll be right there?” she asked, trying to sound brisk and professional. “I have a quick call to make, too.”

• • •

As soon as Mays was gone, she pulled out her cell and hit Bannerman’s number, praying he would answer.

When he didn’t—and why
should
he?—she burst into tears but didn’t disconnect. Instead she waited for voice mail, then told him between sobs, “Vince? I know you’re mad at me, but I need you. Please call me? Someone took one of my children—” A wrenching sob ripped through her chest and she threw down the phone in miserable frustration.

She wasn’t doing Kyle any good with these hysterics. She needed to get back to her other students. Needed to be strong and clear-eyed and professional.

But only for them. For herself, she didn’t care anymore. She just needed to curl up in a ball with Bannerman and Kyle.

Striding to the faculty restroom, she made herself presentable. Then she found her phone, put it on vibrate in case by some miracle he decided to listen to her message and return the call, and then hurried back to her classroom.

• • •

In less than twenty minutes the office had reached eighty percent of the parents and guardians. Five raced to the school to be with their children. Twelve e-signed consent forms, authorizing Rachel Gillette to take their place during questioning.

And so they set up a space in the lounge and brought the children in, one by one, for gluten-free, allergen-free cookies and juice.

She wasn’t a huge fan of Mays’s style, but he modified it willingly when she made suggestions, and they muddled through together.

The questions were disheartening. Had Kyle said anything about being unhappy? Had he mentioned a new friend who didn’t go to the school? An adult maybe?

And it didn’t stop with questions about Kyle. Mays asked each child about strangers in general, either at school, on the way there or back, or near their house. Anyone taking pictures of them? Offering them a kitty or puppy? A sick or injured kitty or puppy?

Rachel’s stomach turned during each and every interview, but hopefully the children’s didn’t. She did her best to assure them everything was fine, and when they asked about Kyle specifically, she always said the same thing:
He’s not feeling well but he’ll be better soon
.

Maybe it was true. Maybe not. But it didn’t matter. Either Kyle was sleeping soundly in some neighbor’s backyard, in which case, it really would be better soon. Or a stranger had him, in which case, he was terrified.

It broke her heart. Made her sick with empathy and love. But she wasn’t about to frighten the other children unless Mays had something more concrete to go on.

She was already numb when the Abrams parents—Ken and Nancy—arrived during a break in the interrogations. Rachel had returned to the classroom, where the children were positioned at easels, paintbrushes in hand. They always loved this, but today they barely went through the motions, and she knew she hadn’t protected them enough. A few of the parents who had come for the questioning had taken their children home, but most had stayed to help out and were doing their best to liven things up with bright colors, lively brush strokes, and confident patter.

She loved them almost as much as she loved their kids.

But when Ken Abrams burst into the room, his expression was murderous as he stormed up to Rachel. “Did you actually tell the cops they couldn’t question kids without permission? What the fuck?”

His wife grabbed him by the arm. “Ken! This isn’t helping.” To Rachel, she added through her tears, “We’re sorry. We’re just so scared.”

The children were staring with saucer-shaped eyes, so Rachel announced calmly, “Keep painting, everyone. I need to talk to Kyle’s parents. But remember what I said.” She looked over the crowd of worried faces. “It’s going to be fine.”

To Ken, she pleaded softly,
“Please
don’t scare them. They adore Kyle. We all do. And we’re questioning everyone, I promise.”

He flushed. “Sorry, I know you’re trying to help.”

Rachel caught the eye of one of the other fathers, who signaled he’d take over the class, so she steered the Abramses into the play yard. Then she hugged them, the dad first, but the mom more fervently. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Someone took him,” Nancy said tearfully. “He’s just so adorable. And he was all alone. If I saw a child in distress like that I’d take him too.”

“Stop it,” Ken murmured. “You make this creep sound like a saint.”

Nancy grabbed Rachel’s arm. “It’s possible, isn’t it? That it’s not some nut? It’s a kindhearted couple who can’t have children of their own.”

“It’s not a nut,” Rachel agreed. “I know that in my heart.”

They stood looking at each other. Rachel, bleary-eyed but professional. Nancy—a beautiful young attorney with a smile that mirrored Kyle’s. And Ken—brash and wiry, with eyes like daggers, but he too reminded her of Kyle, especially his ability to love like crazy. For Kyle, it had been love for a huge orange cat. For the dad? His wife and son were his whole world, and God help anyone who tried to interfere.

She knew she should just hug them again and then return to the classroom, but she had to ask, “Are you sure it was Mr. Whiskers?”

Ken nodded. “He was pretty smashed. But I’d know that tail anywhere.”

“Oh, right.” She choked on a fresh sob, remembering how that tail had been reduced to a stub in a previous brush with an SUV.

The mom sniffled. “He loved that silly cat.”

“We all did.” Rachel touched her shoulder. “The police will find him. It’s only been a few hours.”

“
Fourteen
hours,” the dad spat at her. “That’s the last time we saw him. And it’s been
four
fucking hours
since he wasn’t in his bed this morning. And Mays hasn’t even questioned all the goddamned kids.”

“We questioned all but three. And no one saw anything. That’s good news, isn’t it? No strangers lurking around. Not here, not at the stores, not near the homes. It’s not a pervert.”

“Child snatching is a crime of opportunity,” he told her, his eyes cold.

She gasped. “What does
that
mean?”

“It means, they don’t lurk. They prowl—widely throughout an area—until they see a kid walking alone. Then they grab him.”

His wife’s eyes flashed. “Stop saying that.”

Rachel turned away and covered her face with her hands. A crime of opportunity? It sounded so heartless. So calculated. Her nerves were already raw, but at least until now she had honestly believed there was hope.

But if some creep was prowling around, waiting to grab an innocent child . . .

“Rachel?” came a strong, confident voice from the classroom doorway.

A voice she loved more than anything.
Needed
more than anything.

She turned toward it, hungry for his strength, her knees buckling under her. “Vince?”

He reached her before she swayed, then hugged her close against his rock-hard chest, murmuring her name into her hair.

Chapter 16

“You’re here,” she whispered, sobbing in exhausted relief. “Thank you.
Thank
you.”

“Geezus, Rachel. Of course I’m here.”

She tried to steady her voice, but it still shook when she told him, “Someone took Kyle.”

“Damn.”

“She means Cargo Boy,” Alicia’s tiny voice informed him, and Rachel saw that a few of the children had followed the halfback onto the playground like their personal Pied Piper.

And why not? He radiated everything good in the world, didn’t he?

But Kyle’s father reacted with fury, shouting, “Why does everyone keep
calling
him that? His name is
Kyle,
goddamn it.”

His wife grabbed his hand pleadingly. “It’s because he wears those shorts. With the pockets. He always loved those.”

“Stop talking about him in the past tense!” Ken roared. Then he spun on Bannerman and spat contemptuously. “I know who
you
are. The big-shot NFL guy looking for a photo op. Well, look somewhere else, because this isn’t your personal playground.”

Bannerman—eight full inches taller and a million times broader and more muscular—looked back at him, completely unfazed.

“Alicia,” Rachel murmured. “Take the other children back inside. Please?”

The terrified child nodded, then she and the others scurried.

Bannerman turned back to Rachel and asked gently, “What happened?”

She stroked his jaw with her fingertips, knowing this would upset him. “We’re not sure. He was upset last night. Because his cat got hit by a car.”

“Whiskers? Aw . . .” The halfback’s face fell. “That sucks.”

“Kyle couldn’t accept it, so he sat outside and called him for hours. Then this morning, his b-bedroom window was open and he was gone. They’ve looked everywhere, Vince. But so far, no luck.”

He pulled her into another embrace, kissing the top of her head again. Then he asked curiously, “Did anyone check the petting zoo?”

“What?” She wriggled free and looked up at him, confused.

“He said he can hear the goat from his bedroom.”

“But he can’t. It’s too far.” She turned to Kyle’s mom. “Right?”

“It’s pretty far,” Nancy murmured. “Maybe two miles?”

“Sixteen blocks,” Bannerman corrected her. “Check out the map.”

Before anyone could react, he pulled his rental-car key from his pocket and slapped Kyle’s dad on the shoulder. “Come on, buddy, let’s check it out. I’ll drive.”

As Rachel and Nancy watched in disbelief, the halfback strode away with Ken on his heels like a devoted puppy.

“How did he know it’s sixteen blocks?” Nancy asked, her voice strangled with exhaustion.

Rachel wanted to explain about the pushpin map. How the halfback hadn’t just seen it as a charming project, but instead had absorbed it as a chart. A game plan. X’s and O’s, routes and relative positions. Probably with one glance, since he was the best.

But all she said was, “He’s pretty observant. But sixteen blocks is still a long way. Have you ever walked there from your house?”

“No. But he might have done it with my brother’s family. From
their
house.”

Rachel closed her eyes, picturing the map the way Bannerman had. “Uncle Alex is nine blocks away? So it’s possible?”

“I don’t know.” Nancy threw herself into Rachel’s arms. “I want my baby.”

“Oh, God, I know. I know.” She didn’t want to get her hopes up, at least not too much, so she squeezed her tight and reminded her, “The zoo’s been open since ten a.m. So someone would have seen him by now.”

“Oh, right.”

Detective Mays came bustling toward them. “Where did your husband go? He took off in a hurry.”

“They’re checking out a lead,” Nancy explained.

“Excuse me?”

Rachel sighed. “It’s a long shot, but we should have told you. They went to the petting zoo behind Mission Bay Discount Market. Kyle talks about it a lot.”

“What’s that? A couple of miles, at least? Not very likely.”

“It’s only sixteen blocks,” Rachel corrected him, then she sighed again. “But you’re right, not very likely. Plus, it’s been open for hours. So someone would have spotted him.”

Mays eyed her intently. “Should I send a squad car?”

She gulped. “Mr. Bannerman will let us know right away.”

“So I was right? That was Bam Bannerman?”

Nancy’s cell phone rang and she told them in a panic, “It’s Ken,” then answered with shaking hands. “Honey? Oh, thank God! Thank God, thank God.” She burst into sobs but kept the phone to her ear like a lifeline, murmuring words like “unconscious” and “bruises,” but still so dazed with relief, Rachel had to believe Kyle would be fine.

Thanks to Bannerman.

The mom listened for another few moments then told her husband she loved him and turned to Rachel and Mays. “They called 911 for an ambulance, but if you can get one there faster—”