02_The Hero Next Door by Irene Hannon Page B

times with Nathan. But if he was a thirteen-year-old kid wanting to disappear, he’d be hiding out near one of the two ferry wharfs.
    The streetlights, hazy orbs in the darkness, provided more atmosphere than illumination as he approached Steamboat Wharf, deserted at this hour on a Wednesday night. Fog was beginning to roll in, giving the scene an eerie feel. He’d start here, where the car ferry docked. If he didn’t have any luck, he’d check in at the station, then nose around the day ferry pier.
    Propping his bike beside a shuttered souvenir stand, J.C. set off along the wharf, searching the shadows for a rebellious kid who didn’t want to be found.
    Just as he’d so often done in vain for his brother.
    Hoping tonight he’d have better luck.
     
     
    She was going stir crazy.
    Pacing around the kitchen of The Devon Rose, Heather was sorry she’d agreed to wait at home on the off chance Brianmight return. She’d seen his defiant expression. Felt his hostility and anger.
    He wasn’t coming back on his own.
    And she couldn’t sit around for another two hours, doing nothing.
    Grabbing her keys and purse off the counter, she swung toward the door. But as she reached for the knob, the phone rang.
    A surge of adrenaline shot through her, and she dashed for the phone, yanking it out of its holder.
    “Yes?”
    “Heather, it’s J.C. I found him.”
    Every muscle in her body went limp, and she clutched the edge of the counter. “Is he all right?”
    “Yes. He’s huddled behind a Dumpster near the Hy-Line Cruises office. How do you want to handle this? He hasn’t seen me.”
    “I’ll come down. From what Susan’s said, I don’t think he’s favorably inclined toward the police. It might be better if I’m the one who confronts him.”
    “Okay. I’ll stick close until you get here. Why don’t you park near my bike, at the entrance to Straight Wharf, and walk down? I’ll watch for you.”
    “I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”
    As Heather dashed for her garage, then maneuvered her car through the great, gray, billowing waves of fog swirling through the narrow streets, she had no idea what she was going to say to Brian. Nothing she’d tried had made any impact. She doubted inspiration would strike this time when they were face-to-face.
    But she could hope.
    Parking beside J.C.’s bike, Heather plunged into the mist—and immediately realized she should have put on a slicker. Already dampness was seeping through the cotton of her shirt and jeans, sending a shiver rippling through her. By the time she got home, she’d be…
    “Heather…”
    The soft voice came from behind her, and she whirled around. “J.C.! Sorry. I must have walked right past you.”
    “You were moving at a pretty good clip. Brian’s up ahead.” He gestured in the direction of the ferry office and fell into step beside her.
    Another shiver coursed through her. This one due more to dread at the coming encounter than to air temperature.
    “Cold?”
    The man didn’t miss a thing.
    “Yes. Not to mention nervous.” She shook her head. “I’m striking out left and right with my nephew. And I’m running out of ideas.”
    He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “You could send him home.”
    As warmth—and the scent that was all J.C.—seeped into her pores and invaded her senses, she lost her train of thought and her step faltered. “I can’t…” The words rasped, and she stopped. Cleared her throat. Tried again. “I can’t take your jacket.”
    The protest came out halfhearted, and she knew it. Based on the quick grin he flashed her, J.C. did, too. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he urged her forward.
    “Too late. So why don’t you send him home if he’s becoming unmanageable?”
    Heather bit back another protest about the jacket. She doubted it would do any good. Besides, wearing it made her feel safe. Protected. As did J.C.’s firm, steady hand at her back. An illusion, she knew.