Gabe leaned back in his wheelchair. “So where do you think she’s gone?”
“Baker’s, I assume. But I’ve been by his place twice, and I can’t get anyone to answer the door.”
Adding a bow to the gift she’d been wrapping, Hannah pushed it aside and finally gave him her full attention. “Maybe no one’s home.”
“Stu Baker is a freak,” Ken responded. “He rarely leaves the house. Unless it’s to go to the bar.”
Hannah sank into a chair. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but Ken thought his mother was more beautiful than most women who were perfectly made up. She had a natural glow about her, an easy smile. He used to hate being compared to her—everyone said they looked so much alike—but ever since he’d grown up, he felt a great deal of pride when someone told him they resembled each other.
“So what do you want to do?” his mother asked.
“I want to find her so I can tell her I have another job for her. I want to take her to Boise and know she’s safe.”
Gabe scowled. “I don’t understand why you feel so responsible for this woman, Kenny. You offered to help her—you did help her—and now she’s moved on.”
“I’m not taking responsibility for her. I just… I don’t want her to be with Baker. He’s not in it to help her.”
“Then why is he in it?” his mother asked.
“To use her, and the thought of that turns my stomach.”
Both his parents stared at him.
“She’s not that type,” he explained, trying to counter the level of emotion with which he’d responded. “She won’t sleep with him if she has a choice, but…I’m afraid he won’t give her one. So, you see? She could be in danger.”
Gabe and his mother exchanged a knowing look. “That’s what I thought,” his stepfather said.
Ken looked from one to the other. “What?”
“You’ve got it bad.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That fear gnawing at your gut?”
“That has nothing to do with…with what you’re inferring,” Ken snapped.
His stepfather smiled. “It doesn’t?”
“No!” he said. But then he remembered how it had felt to touch Cierra in the Jacuzzi and how panic-stricken he’d been since finding her gone. “I feel guilty that Brent made her think I didn’t want her around,” he said, but he knew Gabe wasn’t buying his denials. Neither was his mother.
“Sure you do,” Hannah said with a laugh. Then she stood. “Come on. Let’s head back to Stu’s. I’ll go to the door this time. It won’t be as intimidating to open up to a woman. I’m less likely to break his face for stealing my girl.”
“Stop it,” Ken grumbled, but he couldn’t deny that he felt relief at the prospect of finally being able to talk to Cierra.
FROM WHERE HE SAT, parked down the road and out of direct view of the windows, Ken watched his mother approach Baker’s door. She knocked, waited, knocked again. Then she turned to face them and shrugged as if to say she wasn’t having any luck.
A third knock brought no better result. Finally, she started back.
“Shit,” Ken grumbled, and got out before she could reach the Land Rover.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he stalked toward her.
“I’m going in.”
She tried to bar his path. “You can’t do that! You could go to jail for breaking and entering.”
“Then I’ll go to jail.”
“Gabe?” she called, glancing past him to her husband.
Gabe had opened his car door when Ken got out. “Let him go,” he advised. “Maybe he’s right about this girl’s safety.”
“I’m worried about his safety,” she muttered, but stepped out of the way, “Be careful,” she added.
“I’ll be fine,” he told her. “Stay with Gabe.”
Fortunately, she seemed to understand that he didn’t need anything more to worry about and did as he asked.
Stu Baker’s house looked as empty as it had on his previous visits. The only thing different was the tire tracks. Two lines cut through the snow on the drive—evidence that he’d left last night and possibly today.
Ken didn’t bother with the front door. That was a waste of time. Instead, he went around to the back and checked every window. He was hoping to see inside, to get some idea of whether or not Cierra was there, but the windows were covered so completely they might as well have been blacked out.
With its low-ceiling and tacked-on look, the room at the back was more like a shed or a storage area. But this door was warped and far flimsier than the one in front. Ken felt he’d have a greater chance of forcing it open.
Lowering his shoulder, he rammed it, and wasn’t too surprised when the lock popped. He’d spent years in football perfecting his ability to hit. He was good at it. But it hurt a lot less with pads.
“Baker!” He stood in the open doorway, rubbing his shoulder.
No response.
“Hey, Baker?” He’d been right about the room. It had a dirt floor, black plastic covering the windows and smelled like a cellar. Maybe there was a door to a cellar in here somewhere but, if so, Ken couldn’t see it. Stacks of magazines and newspapers, empty soda bottles and beer cans, old clothing, cat hair and God knew what else covered the floor and various, worn-out furniture.
“Cierra?” Wading through the mess, Ken headed for the next room. An accordion-style partition led into the regular part of the house. When he opened it and peered through, he could see light in the front and moved toward it—until he heard a noise from one of the side rooms he’d already passed. Whirling around, he dodged a blow that probably would’ve cracked his skull.
As he feinted to his left, the lamp Baker held came down on a wooden chair, shattering the glass middle section. “What are you doing in my house?” he screamed. “What do you want from me? How dare you come in here without permission!”
As Baker raised the lamp again, Ken prepared to take further evasive action. “I’m looking for Cierra. Did she come here?”
“No! Get out!”
Hoping to forestall another swing, or give himself more room to maneuver, Ken backed up. But he wasn’t leaving, not until he had Cierra. “I’m talking about Cierra Romero. The woman from Guatemala you were expecting. She left my cabin this morning. I think she was on her way here.”