Page 27 of Operation Rescue
The kid looked at the dog, a bit nervously, but answered Blaine’s question.
“Nah, like I told his mom and I told the cops, haven’t seen Ethan and I don’t know where he is.”
Blaine studied the kid named Connor intently, gauging, assessing, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Wondering if being able to deduce that was some skill that could be learned, or if you had to be born with it. But all he could see was wariness, and a touch of antipathy. They’d found him down the street from the middle school where Ethan should be right now. For that matter, where the kid they were talking to should be right now. They’d already had a chat with the principal and a counselor Ethan had dealt with, which hadn’t produced much except what they already knew, that Ethan was not happy at home.
The boy was very wary, and Blaine explained again how they didn’t care that he was apparently cutting classes by being here at ten in the morning. They just wanted to know if he’d seen or talked to Ethan.
Just when Blaine had the feeling the kid was about to bolt, Cutter moved, taking a step forward. Rafe didn’t try to hold him back. He’d explained earlier that at home the dog was used to being off leash most of the time, because of the more rural surroundings and the simple fact that he was perfectly behaved unless told he could cut loose. But he tolerated the leash now because he knew they were working. Blaine had seen similar behavior in the MWDs he’d seen, so he accepted the assessment.
The boy they were talking to, that Erin had said was one of Ethan’s close friends, one she had already talked to twice, shot a glance at the man at the other end of that leash as Cutter nudged him with a gentle nose.
“It’s okay. He’d like you to pet him.”
The kid, a gangly redhead with freckles who looked as if he’d had a growth spurt he hadn’t quite learned how to handle yet, reached out and touched the dog’s head. Curious, Blaine watched the boy’s face. And knew instantly he had felt the same sort of soothing sensation he himself had felt when he’d stroked that dark, soft fur. He started to speak, to question the boy again, but stopped when Rafe put a restraining hand on his arm. He glanced at him, and saw him give a slight shake of his head.
He wasn’t about to ignore the advice of this particular brother-in-arms, so he waited. Silently. After a long moment the boy crouched down beside Cutter so his face was at level with those dark, amber-flecked eyes. The dog nudged his cheek with a cold, damp nose, and the boy smiled.
And then he looked up at Blaine. “You’re really Ethan’s dad?”
“I am.”
“He misses you.”
Blaine’s throat tightened until it was almost hard to breathe. “I miss him, too.”
Connor grimaced and looked away. “It’s his mom’s fault, isn’t it.”
It wasn’t a question, and Blaine was glad of that because he didn’t want to get into a “who’s to blame” debate, here and now or with Erin herself.
“Right now I don’t care whose fault it is,” he said. “All I care about is finding Ethan and making sure he’s all right.”
The boy fastened his gaze on the dog, kept stroking the dark fur, and after a moment said very quietly, “I don’t like his new friends.”
Blaine went still, knowing this could be important. He flicked a glance at Rafe, who nodded at him to pursue it. But how to do it without making the boy clam up all over again? He wanted to demand details, who these friends were and, more importantly, where they might be. But for some reason the question that came out was both simpler and more complex.
“Why?”
The words came out in a rush, as if once the dam had been breached there was no stopping the flood. “They’re mean. They pick on people who haven’t done anything to them. And they think they’re a big deal, because they’ve got a bunch of tats and dress like gangsters.”
“They ever really hurt anybody?”
The boy lifted a hand to his right eye in a seemingly unconscious movement. “Only if you try and fight back.”
“Like you did?” Blaine suggested quietly.
“Yeah,” Connor admitted. “I had a black eye forever, felt like.”
“Did Ethan ever fight them?” The boy flashed him a suspicious look, as if wondering why he’d asked that particular question. Which Blaine supposed was sort of an answer in itself. “He did, didn’t he?”
After a moment Connor nodded. Then, looking down at the toes of his scuffed sneakers, he said embarrassedly, “Only he won.”
Blaine couldn’t help the jolt of pride that went through him. Before the world had fallen apart on them, back when Ethan had turned ten, Blaine had started to teach him a bit about defending himself. Maybe he’d actually done some good, if Ethan had managed to best one of the wannabe gang members.
He crouched down beside Cutter, pretending he only wanted to pet the dog, too, when in fact he wanted to better see the boy’s face. But he did stroke that dark fur, and again that sense of calm washed over him.
“What did winning get him?” he asked quietly.
The boy’s mouth twisted. “He got to hang with them.” His eyes shot up to Blaine’s face then, as he said in a rather defiant tone, “I don’t think that’s any real prize.”
