Nic was too tired to argue. "Okay, baby. But you can't complain if I wake you up really early."
She helped her mother carry the serving dishes into the kitchen. It would all be packaged into Tupperware, which Daddy might tuck into late at night. Nic envied her father's ability to eat whatever he wanted in huge quantities and not gain an ounce. Spending her lunch hours in the gym and her weekends with a Thai boxing instructor was the only reason Nic's butt wasn't as big as the planet.
She was turning to go back to the dining room when Mama laid a hand on her arm. "There's something you need to know. Makayla was asking questions about her father today."
An icy finger slowly traced her spine. "What did you tell her?" "That we don't have contact with him. And that she has you and me and your father and brothers, and that should be enough." "It will have to be enough," Nic said. "Won't it?"
"I'll be praying for you to have wisdom," Mama said.
Nic bit her lip to stifle a retort. Ten years ago she had pleaded in desperation for God to help her, and what had He done? Nothing.
Hoping that Makayla would realize this was no time for asking difficult questions, Nic took her daughter and drove the two miles home.
The first thing she did after locking the front door was to unbuckle her holster and put her Glock in the gun safe. As an FBI agent, Nic carried her Glock to dinner, to the grocery store, and to her kid's third-grade play. The FBI required that agents be ready for duty at all times.
When Makayla was younger, the gun had fascinated her. Nic had told her that she could ask to see the gun as often as she wanted, but only in the house and only when the two of them were alone. And she was never, ever to touch it. Now Makayla took the gun for granted, no more remarkable than her mother's car keys.
In a daze of exhaustion, Nic helped Makayla pack up her things (including a stuffed bear named Fred that Makayla pretended she didn't really care if she brought with her or not), and then got ready for bed. Nic would have to get up at five to have time to drop Makayla off and still drive down to Clackamas County to observe the autopsy.
Two hours later, she was still turning restlessly. Questions ran through her mind. Why had Jim Fate been killed? How would she react if Makayla started questioning her? What would have become of her so daughter if Nic had died in the stairwell? And Leif--what was Nic going to do about him?
For some reason, Nic thought of Mrs. Lofland, the way her lips had moved in silent prayer for others, and she felt herself calm a fraction.
Chapter 14 Pierce Residence
Wednesday, February 8
Allison woke, but didn't open her eyes. She didn't feel rested at all. Why were her shoulders and hips so achy? Was she sick? And that faint breathing next to her--had Marshall gotten up and the cat sneaked in to steal his place?
Then she remembered. Remembered walking miles and miles with a toddler in her arms, trying to escape the terror of downtown. Her eyes flew open. And there was Estella, lying on her side facing Allison, watching her with huge, dark eyes.
When Allison opened her eyes, the little girl smiled.
As Allison reached out to hug her, she hesitated. This was not her child. Her own child was growing in her belly. This girl had her own mother someplace, a mother who must be frantic to find her. So Allison contented herself with brushing back her hair.
Something delicious scented the air. Pancakes. "Comida?" she ventured, remembering one of the words Marshall had used the night before. "Comida, Estella?"
She was rewarded with a small nod and another smile.
Leading Estella to the kitchen by one hand, Allison checked her phone with the other. There were texts from Nicole and Cassidy, saying they were okay and asking how she was. It was too complicated to explain what had happened, so she just texted them both back:
FINE. X0. TALK SOON.
In the kitchen, Marshall was pouring batter into the frying pan, with a stack of just-made pancakes on a plate next to him. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.
"How did you sleep?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Probably about as well as you did. I heard her crying for her mother in the middle of the night."
They both looked at Estella, who now seemed to have forgotten the terrors of the night. Children, Allison guessed, lived in the here and now.
She was just pouring Estella a cup of milk when the phone rang. Marshall answered it. Whatever he heard made his forehead wrinkle. Without thinking, Allison gripped Estella's shoulder, only becoming aware of it when the girl gave a frightened little squeak.
"It's a caseworker from Child Protective Services." He handed her the phone.
She swallowed, and then said, "This is Allison Pierce."