He stowed his service piece and duty belt in his cruiser’s lockbox and slid into the seat. He had parked in the shade, so the car hadn’t heated up too bad. He eased the cruiser across the bump where it interrupted the sidewalk and pulled into Main.
The pedestrians bothered him. He’d noticed it before, in the weeks since he’d been home. He was okay with people walking when he was walking, and he was as relaxed as he ever was with other drivers when he was behind the wheel, but driving past pedestrians-getting flickering views of faces, backpacks, hands, shopping bags-made his shoulders bunch up around his ears and his scalp tighten.
He went through his litany of reminders. Relax your shoulders. Breathe. Don’t drive too slow. Don’t pull toward the center of the road. That was another thing he had a tendency to do-steer himself away from the sidewalks and parked cars. His brain knew nobody in Millers Kill was going to lob a grenade into his cruiser or blow up an abandoned vehicle at the side of the road. Unfortunately, his balls hadn’t gotten the update.
He grew easier as soon as he left the town center. Away from the small shopping district, the sidewalks emptied except for an occasional kid on a bike or a dog walker. The high school was at the east edge of town, as far as you could go before hitting the rolling farmlands of Cossayuharie. He took the looping drive past the admin building, around the sprawling one- and two-story complex, and parked in the lot nearest the athletic fields.
There were still a handful of minivans and SUVs waiting while the remaining members of the middle school cross-country teams dispersed: long-legged graceful girls talking and laughing; gawky boys, some a head shorter, shouting and bashing into each other.
Eric was surprised to see a familiar grape-Popsicle-colored Escort. Hadley Knox was leaning against her car, watching her little girl cartwheel clumsily through the shaggy grass at the edge of the bleachers. Unlike him, she’d taken the time to change into her civvies.
“Hey, Hadley.” He slammed his door shut and strolled over toward her. “What are you doing here?”
She twisted to look at him. “Eric. Hi.” She gestured toward the bleachers, where a clump of boys stood looking at somebody’s Game Boy. “Hudson’s starting on the track team.”
“The cross-country team?”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s all running around in circles to me.”
“He’s in middle school?”
“He’s eleven. Starting sixth grade this year.”
“God. I can’t believe it.”
“Yeah, well, I guess time flies when they ship you over to a desert and shoot things at you.”
He laughed. “It didn’t fly fast enough.”
“Your son’s on the team?”
“Yeah. This’ll be his third year. He qualified for all-state last season.” Anger twisted his voice. “And I missed it.” He tamped the heat down. Shrugged it off. “Oh well. He’s been putting in a lot of time training over the summer. I expect him to make state again this year.”
She looked past the bleachers to the center of the track, where Jacob and two other boys were vying to outdo each other in push-ups. “Training during the summer? That sounds pretty hard core for a kid who’s in, what-eighth grade?”
“It is. We’re looking ahead. Millers Kill High School has two traditional strengths, basketball and cross-country track and field.”
“That makes sense. Neither of those takes a lot of money.”
“You got it. Anyway, MKHS has fielded several kids who got running scholarships to college. That’s what we’re shooting for.”
“You’re kidding me.” Hadley’s eyes sharpened. “You can get scholarships for running?”
“Sure.”
“Huh.” She chewed her lower lip.
One of the other parents honked, and the Game Boy-playing group broke up. Hadley’s son pelted over and gave his mom a hug, despite the presence of other kids. He was short, dark-haired and dark-eyed like his mother, and Eric’s heart squeezed as the boy started babbling on about his practice, his arms unself-consciously wrapped around Hadley’s waist. When Eric had left for Iraq, Jake had been like that, still a little guy, still wanting to be his dad’s best bud.
“… so Coach says he needs an assistant and we should all ask our parents for a volunteer,” Hudson was saying.
“Not me.” Hadley shook the boy’s shoulders slightly. “Hudson, do you remember meeting Sergeant McCrea?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Hi, Sergeant McCrea.” The kid peered at him more closely. “Hey, aren’t you the one who was in the war?”
“That’s me.”
Hudson’s eyes brightened. “Cool! Didja shoot anybody?”
“Hudson!”
Eric laughed. “Sorry, no.”
“Our priest went to Iraq, but she just flew helicopters. I don’t think she even had a gun.”
“And you’re not going to ask her, either.” His mom shook him again and swatted at his rear. “Get your sister and get in the car.” She grimaced. “Sorry about that.”
Eric shook his head while Hudson thundered toward the bleachers. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a boy thing. They all think guns are cool.”
“I just don’t get it.” Hadley shuddered. “I hate guns.”
“You’re kind of in the wrong profession, then.”
“Don’t I know it.” She swiveled toward her kids, now roughhousing in the grass. “Into the car, you two!” She corralled them, and with a final “See you tomorrow!” she was off down the access road, along with most of the other vehicles.
“C’mon, Jacob!” Eric shouted. “Let’s go.” In contrast to Hudson Knox, Jake was taking his own sweet time, disappearing into the bleachers while Eric shifted from foot to foot. His stomach rumbled. Finally, Jake reappeared, water bottle in hand. He slouched toward his father.
“What the hell took you so long? The McIlverys are probably sitting down to eat by now.”
Instead of answering, Jake eyed the squad car with disapproval. “God, Dad. Did you have to drive that thing here? It’s so embarrassing.”
“You used to love riding in the cruiser.”
“I used to love Barney the Dinosaur, too.” Jake ran a hand through his hair, exposing pimples on his forehead. “I was talking to Iola Stillman.”
“Who’s Iola Stillman?”
“She’s on the high school team. They had practice before us.”
Eric, who was opening his door, paused. “She’s still here?”
“Yeah. Her dad’s supposed to pick her up. She forgot her phone, so she can’t call.”
Eric scanned the empty parking lot and the vacant school beyond it. The sun sinking into the western mountains. The only thing likely to show up here on a hot night in August was trouble. “I’m going to see if she needs a ride.”
“Dad! She’s Iola Stillman. She’s a sophomore. And you’re driving a cop car. She’s going to think I’m the biggest dweeb in the world. Dad! No!”
Eric strode off toward the bleachers. He rounded the corner and saw the girl, huddled in a tangle of bony knees and elbows. She started up when she saw him, then sank onto the bench again.
“Iola?” He stopped straight in front of her. The poor thing looked miserable. “I’m Eric McCrea, Jake’s dad. Jake says your father was supposed to pick you up? Do you know when?”
She looked down at her running shoes. “He was supposed to be here an hour and a half ago. I woulda left with one of my friends, but I was sure he was going to show.”
Eric tried to relax his fists. What the hell kind of father left his daughter all alone out here, with no phone and no other way home? Hadn’t the bastard ever heard of sexual assault? “You come with me and Jake,” he said. “We’ll take you home.”
“But what if my dad-”
“You can use my phone and let him know.” If it were up to him, Eric would let the son of a bitch make a run out here. Maybe finding his daughter gone would put the fear of God into him.