Love Inspired May 2015 #2 (51 page)

Rachel looked into the gym next door and shot Matt a perplexed look.

“He's not there,” she said, worry edging her tone.

Matt frowned and looked inside. Nathan was working on his back muscles, doing a dumbbell incline row—an exercise Matt was more than familiar with. With a grunt, the other man looked up inquiringly.

“Where did the boy go?” Matt asked.

“Went to get you, he said,” the man replied.

Matt glanced back at Rachel in the hallway, and they exchanged a worried look. Was it possible that Chris had been listening to their conversation in there? He inwardly grimaced. If the kid hated the idea of him kissing Rachel, then how upset would he be when Matt asked her to move with him?

“Did a little boy come through here?” he heard Rachel ask down the hall. There was a muffled reply, and Rachel came back toward him, her eyes clouded with worry. She shook her head in answer to his unspoken question.

“The only other way out was down the back stairs,” Matt said. “This way.”

He led the way to a narrow staircase and they jogged down the stairs to the hallway below.

“Chris?” Rachel called, raising her voice loud enough to carry. “Where are you?”

There was no reply, and he could sense Rachel's anxiety rising. She took a deep breath and headed off in the direction of the garage.

“Chris?”

Matt angled over to the reception area, and the receptionist looked up with a professional smile that faltered when she saw his face.

“Everything okay, DC?” she asked.

No, everything was not okay. Everything had managed to implode in the last fifteen minutes.

“Did a little boy come through here?” he asked brusquely.

She shook her head. “No. Is he missing?”

“I'm sure we'll find him.” His reassurance was meant for Rachel, not the receptionist. He'd been the one distracting her...asking for more. “If he comes this way, call me, okay?”

The receptionist nodded and rose from her desk, looking out the door that led outside. She shook her head to indicate that she didn't see anyone outside.

“I'll keep an eye out, sir.”

Matt met Rachel back in the hallway. She turned in a full circle, her dark eyes filled with worry.

“He's around somewhere,” Matt reassured her. “He couldn't have gone far, and he hasn't been past reception. I wouldn't worry too much.”

She nodded but didn't look any less concerned. Before he could say anything else, the piercing fire alarm whooped through the building. He put a hand out and pushed Rachel back against the wall, just as two firefighters, clad in boots and fire-retardant overalls, sprinted down the hall.

“But Chris—” she started.

“Stay back.” He didn't mean to bark at her, but the trucks would pull out in another forty-five seconds, and slowing the firefighters down simply wasn't an option. The trucks' sirens started up and wailed mournfully as they pulled out of the garage. Rachel looked up at Matt.

“Okay,” he said. “Let's take one more look around.”

Ten minutes later, Rachel's eyes filled with anxious tears.

“Where could he have gone?” she demanded. “You don't think he saw us—”

“I kissed you. It isn't against the law,” Matt said, shaking his head irritably.

He wasn't even hiding his feelings anymore, and if Chris had seen them, he'd feel personally responsible if the boy took off because of it. He knew that Chris was fragile right now. He wanted to protect the kid, not freak him out.

“Well, he's not here.” Her voice quavered. “I know he didn't go out through reception, but he's not in this building.”

Matt had to agree. “All right. Let's drive around the block and see if we can spot him.”

Matt led the way to his pickup, and they both hopped in. Matt took a moment to scan the street around them. A couple of cars cruised past, and a paperboy on a bike meandered down the side of the street, a bag slung across his body and a rolled newspaper in hand.

“Hey!” Matt called. The boy turned, cautiously curious.

“Did you see a little boy around here? About this tall—” he measured with his hand on the side of the truck “—wearing blue shorts and a red shirt. Blond hair.”

“No, sir.”

“Thanks.” Matt slammed the door shut. Obviously he wasn't good with kids if he didn't see this one coming. He'd been in there kissing the boy's mother, asking her to uproot her life—and Chris's—in order to move with him across the state. It all seemed ridiculously obvious now. What boy wouldn't take off under those circumstances?

“I'm sorry, Rachel,” he said, his voice low as he pulled out onto the street.

“It's not your fault,” she said with a sigh. “He knows better than to take off. Trust me, when I find him, there are going to be some consequences.”

Matt smiled wanly, but a sick feeling settled in his stomach. The kid was seven years old. It didn't matter if he knew better or not. Sometimes the consequences to a kid's dumb choice were worse than any parent could inflict in punishment.

Father, let us find him
, he prayed fervently. There was no way anything was going to happen to Chris on his watch.

“Does he know the way home from here?” Matt asked.

She shook her head. “I don't know. We could try.”

“Does he have a favorite place to go when he's upset?”

“Not yet. We haven't been here long enough.”

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed with a thumb. Punching the speakerphone button, he dropped the phone into his lap.

“Chief Taylor here.” Greg Taylor was chief of police and a personal friend.

“Greg, I've got a situation here,” Matt said. “A boy is missing. Seven years old, wearing blue shorts and a red T-shirt. He was last at the fire station and seems to have evaporated. Can you issue an Amber Alert?”

“You bet,” Greg replied, his tone turning terse and professional. “What's the boy's name?”

After a quick back-and-forth to give all the information, Matt hung up and looked over at Rachel. Her peaches-and-cream complexion had turned sallow and wan, and her lips were pressed together into a thin, frightened line.

“All the patrol cars will be watching for him, too,” Matt said. “He's not going to get far.”

Rachel nodded, scanning the road as they drove along.

“I've got an idea,” Matt said, pulling over to the side of the road and making a U-turn.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To the fire.”

“The one the trucks left for?” she asked, darting him a sharp look.

“He didn't leave through the front door, doesn't know any back exits and isn't in the firehouse. We've circled this block twice. It's remotely possible that he was in a truck.”

“
In
a truck?”

He shrugged. “If I were seven, that's the first place I'd explore. The fire trucks.”

She nodded and sagged against the seat. “Maybe. It's worth a try.”

Matt could only pray that he was right, and as the tires spun in the gravel at the side of the road, he cranked the steering wheel and gunned the motor.

Lord, please, let us find this kid before—
He couldn't finish that thought. God knew what he meant and knew where Chris was. That would have to be enough. His training was taking over now, and the sick flopping feeling in the pit of his stomach was covered by a professional calm.

“He must be terrified,” Rachel said, turning stricken eyes onto him.

“We'll find him.” His tone was curt, and he gave her a tight smile. “Hold on.”

He cranked the steering wheel again and spun around a corner. He knew the location of the fire well—an old house at the west end of town. The back way was faster—not for a full fire truck, perhaps, but definitely for a versatile pickup. He slapped the siren on as he came toward a four-way stop and sailed through without even touching the brake.

The smell of smoke tinged the air as they came closer, and when Matt pulled up onto a side road, he could already hear the pulsing thud of water from the massive hoses attached to the truck. Rachel was out of the truck before he even came to a complete stop. Slamming the truck into Park, he kicked open his door and was a few steps behind her as she ran up to the crew captain.

“Excuse me—”

“Ma'am, I need you to get back, please.”

The house was an old-fashioned, three-story mansion-style home from at least eighty years ago. The sad thing about these old places was that without proper updating, they were death traps, and this home had been deemed uninhabitable at least a decade ago. A new buyer had been in the process of renovating the place until recently, it seemed. A large town-provided garbage bin sat in the middle of the drive, old wood and scaffolding poking out like mangled limbs. Smoke poured out of broken windows, and from the inside, Matt could make out the sound of firefighters breaking down doors. They had to be sure they'd covered every room inside, just in case someone might be in there.

“Ron!” Matt barked, and the crew captain turned flinty eyes in Matt's direction.

“Sir? Something wrong?”

“Have you seen a boy around here? He's about this tall—” he measured in the air “—red shirt. Blue shorts. Blond hair.”

“A kid?” another firefighter called from his position at the truck with the hose connection. “I saw a boy who looked like that. He was upset. He saw a cat in the window.”

“Where is he now?” Rachel demanded.

The firefighter shook his head. “I told him to get back, and he did. I don't know where he is now.”

“I think I do,” Rachel breathed, and her gaze turned miserably toward the flaming house.

“Do you think he would?” Matt asked, his voice low.

In reply, she turned red-rimmed eyes onto him, her pale lips quivering.

Without another word, Matt broke into a run. His gear was in the back of his truck, where a deputy chief always kept it. In a matter of minutes, he was suited up.

“Ron, I'm going in. I think the kid might be inside.” Matt adjusted the visor over his face. Fifty pounds' worth of gear weighed his body down so that every move he made was intentional and he wasted no energy. The inside of his thick fire-retardant jacket was already heating up, his own body heat acting like a convection oven, and sweat sprang up along his spine and down his chest.

“I've got Turner doing a left-hand search,” Ron said. “You take the right, sir.”

“Will do.”

Matt jogged to the front door and looked back at Rachel, who stood motionless and pale, staring after him. A mother on the sidelines.

He shook off the pressing memories and stepped inside, mentally leaning back on his training to carry him through. Emotion was a great thing in life, but it hampered a man with a mission. This wasn't about Natalie. This was about Chris, and this was a different day.

The pounding thud of spraying water and firefighters' voices reverberated through the house. Inky darkness swallowed him up, and he reached up to turn on the light on his helmet. It snapped on, shooting a welcome beam of light ahead of him. Matt edged along the right-hand wall, his shoulder brushing gyp rock as he moved.

“Fire department!” he called as he came to the first doorway. “Chris? You in here? Anyone?”

Silence reflected back at him, and Matt moved into a room that appeared to be the living room, empty of furniture except for some painting scaffolds that he had to maneuver around. A pile of paint cans and drop cloths dominated one corner, and he felt through them, searching for the soft flesh of an arm or leg through the mounds of fabric. He scanned the floor, searching for any sign of Chris—a shoe, a hand...anything. As he exited the room, he picked up his pace. If Chris was in this house, there wasn't much time. Smoke killed faster than flames.

“Fire department!”

He moved into the next room—the kitchen. Cupboards rose like coffins and he flipped the first few open. They weren't big enough to hold a child, but he wasn't taking chances.

“Chris?” he called. “Are you in here? It's Matt. I'm going to help you.”

Silence. He keep his breathing as calm as possible. He only had thirty minutes of air on his back, and if he got excited, he had even less time before going out to grab a new air supply. Dark smoke swirled around him, and he swatted the cupboard doors open, then pulled open the fridge. It was empty.

Moving around the room, he came to the back stairs and headed on up. Turner was on his way down.

“Turner!” Matt called. “Anyone up there?”

“Empty, sir,” came the reply.

“I'm double-checking just in case.”

“Okay.”

Matt moved past the other big man on the narrow staircase, his heavy boots echoing through the house as he mounted the stairs. As he emerged on the second floor, he followed the right-hand wall again, moving into one bedroom after another. They were all empty, closets hanging open and dripping with water, scorch marks streaking up the walls. The last bedroom reverberated with the thud of water, and as he came inside, Gordon looked up and raised a hand in salute.

“That you, sir?” he asked.

“That's me,” Matt replied. “Looking for a kid.”

“No sign, sir.”

He didn't know if that was good news or bad news. A fire was a dangerous place to be, but a lost or abducted child was horrible, too. Matt headed out once more, but as he came into the smoky hallway, movement flashed in the corner of his eye. He stopped, images flashing through his mind of that blue shoe he'd seen in the Broxton Park school hallway... He pushed it back, willing his mind back to a state of calm.

Not here. Not now
,
he warned himself.

He looked around. He was in some sort of sitting room, also empty of furniture, but next to a window, an orange calico cat crouched in terror. He could only imagine that it was the cat that Chris had seen. He moved slowly toward the animal.