“Whoa. Well, hell, Boot.” Tucker didn’t know what to say. Boone had a complicated and heartbreaking history with fatherhood. This was a road he probably wouldn’t want to travel. “The Safe Haven law doesn’t work that way, does it? Where the mother picks a guardian?”
“No, but you know how closely I worked with Child Protective Services in Fort Worth. The social workers all know me. Know the history. They’re willing to let me make the call.”
“Who is the baby’s mom? How does she know you?”
“I don’t know. She provided a medical history, but she wouldn’t give her name. She gave them my name and told them I was a prosecutor.”
“That makes no sense. You left Fort Worth over five years ago.”
“I know.” Boone shrugged. “That’s all I got.”
“Wow.” Tucker rested his hand on Boone’s shoulder, a silent offer of comfort and support. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“No. Not yet. You know the baggage I have when it comes to kids.”
Tucker gave Boone’s shoulder a squeeze. “You’ll figure it out, man. You always do. You know we’ll have your back, Boone. Jackson and me. Un pour tous, tous pour un. We’re still the Three Musketeers, even if we’re all growing our families at the moment.”
“I haven’t said I’ll take the boy,” Boone snapped.
Tucker knew his cousin. He might fight against the inevitability, but the conclusion was forgone. Whether he’d admit to it or not, Boone had a baby on the way.
But now was not the time to press the point, so Tucker gave Boone’s shoulder a shove. “No, but I’m doing my best to keep my girl.”
Chapter Seventeen
Tucker didn’t sleep worth a damn and awoke the following morning with a niggling sense of unease that he chalked up to Boone’s situation. The two men had stayed up late into the night talking about the past events that had altered the course of Boone’s life, and the ramifications that decisions he made today would have upon his future.
Tucker wanted to talk to Gillian, not to share his cousin’s secrets because he wouldn’t do that, but because he simply wanted—needed—to hear her voice. He’d missed her last night. He’d wanted her in his tent cuddled up next to him in the sleeping bag.
The idea made him smirk. As if Gillian Thacker would ever go tent camping in Enchanted Canyon. She considered his top-of-the-line equipped Airstream to be roughing it.
He waited until her usual wake-up time to phone her, but the call went straight to voicemail. He tried her again after the morning hike he and Boone took up to the waterfalls. This time, too, it went to voicemail.
The niggle of unease grew to something bigger. It wasn’t like Gillian not to answer his calls or at least text him back. He sent her a text asking her to contact him, then returned his phone to his pocket and tried not to worry. When noon came and went without any word from her, he surrendered to his concern and called Bliss. Barbara answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Barbara. It’s Tucker McBride. I need to speak with Gillian about something, but she’s not answering her phone. Do you—”
“I know,” Barbara interrupted. “She didn’t come into work this morning either.”
Tucker’s mouth went dry, and he closed his eyes. Dammit, he’d known something was wrong! Why had he ignored his instincts?
Gillian’s mother continued, “I just left her place, and her car isn’t there. Honestly, I’m worried. I was just about to call her father. This isn’t like her.”
He shot his question like a bullet. “When did you last speak with her?”
“When we closed the shop the day before yesterday. Yesterday was my morning off and her afternoon off, so it’s not unusual that we didn’t speak.”
The anxiety in Barbara Thacker’s voice made him want to soothe her fears, so he said, “I spoke with Gillian yesterday morning, and everything was fine.”
“Well, that’s good to know. I’m wondering if she decided to go into Austin to shop. Maybe she had car trouble and didn’t make it back to town in time to go to work. But that doesn’t explain why she didn’t call or doesn’t answer her phone.”
No, it didn’t. Tucker sensed Boone’s questioning gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck and debated how to proceed. The first step would be to search Gillian’s house for clues. Barbara probably had a key, but he’d do a better job of it. He decided that for now, he would attempt to reassure her mother. “I’m sure she’s fine. She probably hasn’t realized her phone is dead. Have you checked her office? Maybe she decided to take the day off and left you a note.”
“No. I haven’t thought of that. I’ll go upstairs right now and look for one.”
“Let me know when you hear from her or find that note, would you, please?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you, Tucker.”
The moment he disconnected the call, he explained the situation to his cousin. “I’ve had a knot in my gut since I woke up this morning. Something’s wrong. I’m going to start by searching her house.”
“Want me to help?”
“Please.”
Under normal circumstances, the hike back to the truck and drive into town would have taken thirty-five minutes. Tucker asked Boone to drive so he could make some calls, and by the time they arrived at Gillian’s home just over twenty minutes later, he’d spoken to both Maisy and Caroline. Neither woman had heard from Gillian today.
Tucker vaulted from the passenger seat before Boone had the truck in park in Gillian’s driveway. He didn’t try to be stealthy. If someone saw him use his key, well, tough. He was ready to end this secrecy business anyway.
Right after he gave Gillian a severe lecture about scaring him half to death.
He opened the door calling, “Glory? Are you here?”
He wasn’t surprised that a quick walk-through revealed the house was empty. He took it as a good sign that Peaches wasn’t around either. If someone had abducted Gillian, they wouldn’t have taken the dog too.
“What can I do?” Boone asked.
“Look for anything obvious. I’ll concentrate on the subtleties.”
He started in the bathroom. Gillian wouldn’t take Peaches on a walk without wearing her makeup. No way she’d go somewhere overnight without it.
The case she’d filled with stuff when they went to Vegas and any time she stayed at his place sat in its usual spot. He spied no empty spaces in her precisely organized makeup drawer.
He’d look for her suitcase next, but he knew without a doubt that Gillian had not made a solo overnight shopping trip to Austin. His stomach made a slow, sick roll.
From the bedroom doorway, Boone spoke, “Think I have something, Tucker. This list was on the desk in her home office on top of a drugstore receipt dated yesterday morning at 8:48 a.m.”
She would have been on her way into work. That meant she’d come home before she’d gone missing. “Let me see the list.”
He took one glance and turned on his heel, headed for the closet. Sure enough, her backpack was gone. “What the hell, Gillian,” he murmured. To Boone, he asked, “No other notes? Nothing handwritten?”