The other women chuckled under their breath, obviously trying to picture that.
“No.” She shook her head again slowly and tried to give him a warning look. He
really
didn’t need to keep prodding.
“Hmm . . . Could’a sworn—” He bit his fist.
He paused to think for a minute.
Bridget waved her hands in front of his face, trying to snap him out of it.
“Bones! My Baby!?!”
“Anyways,” he continued. “I called Caprice to take him until Joey gets back.”
Bridget stared up at him, disbelieving. She ran her fingers through her hair. There was anger reflected on her face. Anger that was different—even from the anger that she had toward Joey. If steam could come out of Bridget’s ears, Sondra bet it would.
“Caprice Stephens?” Bridget spit out the name. Then she forced a smile and softly pounded Bone’s chests with two fists. “Joey’s ex.” A hard chuckle escaped her lips.
“It’s okay. She don’t smoke.” Bones said, as if his explanation made complete logic. “She’s a nonsmoker.”
Bridget turned and headed down the alley even before Bone’s finished. She walked with quick steps, angry steps. She didn’t even care where she was going and kicked a pile of trash to the side.
“Do you need her address?” Bones called after her.
Bridget paused, and swung around with ferocity. Her hair flipped over her shoulder, and her face was scrunched up with anger. “No, I know where she lives!”
Allyson rushed after Bridget, and then Sondra followed with Izzy by her side.
Sondra turned to look back over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
She stepped carefully as she moved through the mess, and she could feel Bone’s eyes on them as he watched them go.
“You ladies should stay out of alleys, now. There are some unsavory types of fellers who hang out back here,” he called out with concern.
After all these years Sondra had never thought she’d find herself back in a place like this. It was a night of surprises and rediscovery, to be certain. She just hoped that next stop was to discover Phoenix . . . and now that they knew who had him they should have no problem finding the young boy. Right?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bridget stormed up the steps of the ramshackle house and pounded on the door. “Open this door, now!” The wood of the door was unyielding, and she pounded harder.
Pain shot through her knuckles. Pain pierced her heart. If anything happened to Phoenix, she didn’t know what she’d do—how she’d ever forgive herself. She shouldn’t have trusted Joey. This wasn’t the first time he’d disappointed her. He’d been so handsome and so charming when they’d first met. He’d listened as she’d told him about the trouble with her parents. How she never felt she’d ever live up to their standards. He told her he understood. He told her he loved her. And as soon as she found out she was pregnant he was gone—out of the picture.
He’d come back, of course, just long enough to get her hopes up. All she wanted was a happy family like Sean and Ally had. She didn’t want Phoenix to have to grow up without a mom and dad in the home, but now Joey had done this . . . had passed off his responsibility to someone else. And then Bones had passed off sweet Phoenix to Caprice—the person who Joey had started dating after her.
“Open up! Let me in!” Bridget shouted. Ally joined her, helping in the pounding. Sondra and Izzy stood a few steps behind them, providing backup she supposed.
Behind her the cabbie called out. “Hey!”
Bridget turned to see what he wanted.
“Hey, what’s going on, love?” The cabbie walked up to the end of the sidewalk. He stretched out his arms toward them. Behind him the taxi was still running. The light bar on the top of the taxi glowed—one of the few lights on the darkened street. The meter was still running too. “Would someone please . . . communicate with me?” He approached the steps of the house.
All four women stood with Bridget on the porch. Bridget was about to call back to him that they were just going to pick up Phoenix, and then they’d be out of there, but she heard the sound of footsteps and then the door squeaking open. She turned back around.
A disheveled-looking guy dressed in a black undershirt, wearing a worn ball cap opened the door. His eyes were blurry, looking like he had just woke up from a nap. Bridget recognized him immediately. It was Caprice’s new man, Hank.
He leaned against the doorjamb with one hand. “Hey, what’s your problem?”
Bridget crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Caprice?”
“She went out, man.” He shook his head.
Bridget bit her lower lip. The tension building within her had eased as they’d pulled up. Phoenix had seemed within arm’s reach, but now the agony came back in a wave.
“Went out where?” Her throat felt tight and she pushed the words out.
His eyes were only half-open. “She didn’t say. Who are you?”
Ally leaned forward. “We are here to pick up baby Phoenix, my nephew.”
“My son!” Bridget’s knees grew soft.
Hank wiped his nose and just stared at them, acting as if they were images on a television show he was watching. Bridget balled up her fists, about to come unglued.
“Ah, right, right, right. Your baby has been screaming his lungs out. Yeah.”
Bridget’s hard quickened its beat. “What, what do you mean? Why? Is he okay? What happened?”
Allyson leaned forward next to Bridget. Bridget found comfort in her nearness. “Where did she go?” Allyson demanded.
Hank’s eyes widened. “I told you, I don’t know.”
Bridget pointed at him. “Let me in there. Let me in . . .” She rushed him, fury raging within her. He was thin and didn’t look very steady on his feet. She was sure she could rush past him. Sure she could knock him down. She lowered her shoulder slightly, ready to plow him over.
Bridget tried to burst past him into the house.
“Let me in!” Hank was stronger than he looked, pushing her back with more force than she expected.
Allyson’s grip pulled her back gently. Bridget stumbled back, and she practically ran into Cabbie. He strode up like a Knight from the Roundtable, but instead of wearing a suit of armor he wore a dark blue polo shirt and his brown fedora hat.
Cabbie moved past Bridget with a determination she didn’t expect. “Let me handle this, girls. Let me handle this.” He approached and looked Hank up and down.
“Ha, ha, ha. You . . .” Cabbie jutted out his chin and stretched out his hands toward him. “Look at you. You pathetic primitive. You leech on society. You, that represents everything that’s wrong with the American economy.” He wagged his finger, emphasizing each word.
Hank looked down at himself, as if trying to figure out what those words meant.
Sondra looked at Bridget and lifted her eyebrows, as if she was also trying to figure out what this had to do with anything. Bridget just stood there, thankful to have him—someone—sticking up for her. And waiting to see how it was all going to play out.
Cabbie motioned to Hank again, continuing. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Listen closely. In three seconds you’re—”
Hank didn’t let him finish. Instead the door slammed shut.
Cabbie’s head jerked back in surprise.
Bridget didn’t know what to think, what to do. Did that just happen? Did Hank just have the nerve to slam the door on them?
The cabbie stepped back up to the door, knocking on it again with his knuckles. From behind him she saw that the back of his neck was red, and she assumed that his face was the same color.
“Hey open the door!” Cabbie called out. “I don’t like that.” He pounded harder. “Would you please open the door?”
Would you please?
She couldn’t help but snicker. He had to be British for sure. This was no fake accent to get a better tip. She tried to imagine what Bones would be saying, would be doing. He wouldn’t be saying, “Would you please.”
The words barely rolled out of Cabbie’s mouth when the door swung open and a punch came from nowhere. A sharp right hook, right to Cabbie’s nose.
The sound of fist on face was loud, and Cabbie’s head jerked back, and then he stumbled backward. All four of them rushed to him. Bridget grasped his back, trying to push him forward so he wouldn’t tumble, and realizing he smelled of Old Spice and gasoline.
The door slammed shut again, and she heard a lock clicking shut. They had no choice. They weren’t going to get any help from Hank. Bridget knew there was only one person who could help her now . . . Bones.
Hank had said Phoenix had been crying. He hardly ever cried. He was such a good baby. He was such a sweet baby . . . was he okay? Where had Caprice taken him? Did she have his car seat? Was he safe?
They turned and hurried to the taxi. “We need to go get Bones. We need to bring him here . . . he’s the only one who can help. Can we hurry?” Bridget pleaded, turning to the taxi driver. That’s when she saw it . . . blood on the hand that covered his nose.
The other women didn’t argue with Bridget. They didn’t offer any suggestions about what they should do. Fear furrowed their brows and tightened the muscles on their faces, and she was sure the same worry burdened their thoughts.
What had happened to baby Phoenix?
***
Allyson never thought she’d find herself here again, in the dark alley. Standing in something sticky and disgusting. Behind her she heard a man’s voice crying out. It was the cabbie. He’d parked the taxi at the end of the alley in their full view. Seeing that gave her a small sense of peace . . . at least she knew where to run to if anything happened.
Izzy had come to the rescue with the baby wipes that she found in her purse. Allyson looked back and saw her trying to dab the cabbie’s nose. She tried to pat his nose, but he jerked back.
“Ow!” he cried out. “Would you please stop?”
“Why are you being such a baby?” Izzy asked.
“I’m not!” Cabbie declared, whining.
Allyson turned back around to face the door.
Bridget approached the back door of the tattoo parlor, and Sondra stood just a few feet behind her. Allyson was a few steps behind Sondra, preparing herself not to jump when the mountain of muscle that was Bones swung open the back door again . . . at least she hoped that it was going to be Bones.
Bridget pounded on the door. “Bones help! Bones!”
The door swung open again. There was no shotgun in his hands this time, thank goodness. Allyson let out a sigh of relief. Instead, Bones wore a large scowl on his face.
“I thought I told y’all to stay out of the alleys.” He looked to them, and his eyes widened.
Bones eyed Bridget. His face scrunched up in worry. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”
Allyson rolled her eyes. The problem should be obvious— even to him. There was no baby in Bridget’s arms.
Bridget brushed her hair out of her face. It had been soft ringlets earlier tonight, but now it hung limp. Bridget’s shoulders, too, slumped in defeat. “Caprice isn’t there. There’s some guy named Hank. He said she took Phoenix and he won’t tell us where.”
Allyson waved a hand to the waiting taxi cab. “Then he assaulted our cab driver!” she said, still disbelieving it.
Sondra lifted a fist and mimicked the punch. “Right in the nose. Blood everywhere!”
Allyson turned to look at the cabbie, who was leaning back on his car where Izzy still dabbed his nose, then she turned back, waiting for Bone’s response.
But instead of responding to Bridget, Bones turned to Sondra.
“Lollapalooza?” he asked.
Allyson assumed it was the location of some type of wild, Rockfest like the other places he’d mentioned.
Sondra shook her head, adamant. “No.”
“Ozzfest?” He widened his eyes, as if hopeful.
“Never.” Her voice was firm.
Allyson could see the gears in Bone’s mind churning through his old memories.
“Live Aid?”
Sondra pushed out an open hand toward him. “Please stop.”
Bridget stepped forward and yanked on Bone’s jacket. “Can we PLEASE just pull the conversation back to my MISSING CHILD? I have no idea where he is. I’m so worried sick about it. I just don’t know where else to turn, so . . .”
Bridget looked so small next to Bones. So young. Like a child who needed caring for, not a mother on a desperate search.
Bridget swallowed a heavy breath and looked up at him, her eyes wide. Tears filled Allyson’s own gaze when she saw the tears welling up in Bridget’s.
“Why did you leave him, Bones?” Bridget’s words released in a shaky breath.
Allyson stood by Bridget’s side, trying not to blame herself. If she wouldn’t have scheduled this night, none of this would have happened. She’d be home with Sean, Phoenix, and her kids. Bridget would be making a paycheck to pay for her bills. And her friends . . . well, Izzy wouldn’t be dabbing the nose of some stranger with baby wipes and Sondra—her pastor’s wife— wouldn’t be standing next to her in some dark, stinky alley trying to seek help from a questionable biker/tattoo artist/Rockfest enthusiast.
If she’d just left things as they were none of this would have happened.
Why did she ever think that things could have changed for the better? Was it foolish to hope for something that obviously wasn’t within her grasp?
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A knock sounded at the door, and Hank let his eyes drift open. His stomach growled, and he moaned. The television blared, but he didn’t feel like moving. A banging came again, louder. First that stupid crying baby and now this . . . his second interruption of the night.
Can’t a man have peace in his own home?
Not that it was his home. It was Caprice’s . . . but still.
He lifted his head and his jaw dropped open. His mouth was dry and he needed a drink . . . yeah, a drink.
The pounding was louder—echoing off the walls, shaking the house—and he jumped. Maybe it was Caprice and she lost her keys. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Alright. Fine. I’m coming.” He tried to rouse himself and then moaned. He pushed himself up from the sofa that smelled like cigarettes and stumbled toward the door, stepping over junk that Caprice had left around. He didn’t know why she’d brought a baby here in the first place. He had little brothers and sisters and he knew kids just made a bigger mess.