For Joy's Sake

In Hunter’s world, he and his staff dealt mainly with talent that could make it big, but hadn’t done so yet. Galas like Julie’s could be a chance at a big break. If the right person noticed them. Was impressed by them. Was in the audience at all...

Usually, with events of this size, there was at least one well-known agent or producer in the audience. He always saw to that. Kept the talent coming. Made the whole evening a win-win. And the level of his talent brought the producers and agents back.

All of it was in a day’s work for him.

Not that he expected Julie Fairbanks to know or care about any of that.

“So, what position would be best for them?” She actually met his gaze as she turned her head to look at him.

That was a first. Normally their eyes meeting, no matter how hard he tried to make it happen, turned into yet another near miss.

Blue. Her eyes were blue. He’d known that, of course. His were, too.

Blue and blue make blue. Crazy thought. From a crazy man. He needed to get a grip fast.

She’d asked a question. His mind struggled to recall it. Position. Right. She’d asked about position.

He had a flash of her on the couch in his study with her shirt unbuttoned...

No. What the hell was wrong with him? Hunter had never looked at a woman he was with and pictured her with her clothes off. Not unless he knew she wanted him to see her with her clothes off.

Some men did that. Lots of normal men did. Not him.

Just a rule he’d set for himself after a particularly heated fight between his parents, with his mother accusing his father of mentally undressing some woman at a party. His father had eventually become so riled, he’d admitted to having done that. Hunter, a kid at the time, had been completely sure his mother was wrong, but having heard his father’s admission, he’d made the rule for himself.

Julie turned those blue eyes on him a second time.

Position. Oh, yeah.

“I’m not sure there is a best position in a show like this one,” he said now, more serious than usual as he considered her question. Serious because he had to focus to stay on topic. “First is good since it guarantees you’ll be seen by everyone. But it’s so early in the evening that some folks might not have arrived. People are still eating. Chatting. Catching up. Generally just enjoying themselves. And not worried yet that the evening might end too soon.”

“Because the first acts are covered in the initial ticket price, no one needs to pay attention or push their buttons to stay. It won’t affect their wallets.”

“Exactly. It gets more intense, with more people actually watching the show as folks start to really pay attention. They have to decide whether the talent warrants another spend. Some will stay for the duration, just to donate, but a lot won’t. They’ll stay as long as they’re enjoying themselves.”

“So maybe, for the performers, it’s more about not getting the worst position,” Julie said. “Because if the talent that comes ahead of you isn’t good, you might not get to go on. And even if you do, there’ll be fewer people there watching.”

“The evening is wearing down at that point. People are usually quiet and watching the stage. Besides, any talent scouts in attendance are going to stay until the end.” At least Hunter’s did. Which was why his shows drew the level of talent they did, and why people paid so much money to attend one of his functions...

They’d reached the door that led backstage. Holding it for her to precede him, he told himself not to look at the perfectly shaped backside in the black jeans, or notice the way her wedged heels gave height to legs that had been crashing his thoughts for weeks now.

Still, as she turned toward him, waiting for him to follow, there was something...different about her. Like maybe she’d found the lightness in her step that he’d lost from his. Maybe she’d stolen it from him on Sunday. Yeah, maybe that was it.

Starting to feel a smile coming on, Hunter got to work.

CHAPTER SIX

JULIE HAD THE table set with fruit and fresh flowers, place mats and her favorite breakfast dishes before Colin and Chantel entered the breakfast room Friday morning. The family of three had a housekeeper who also did a lot of the cooking, but Julie had always reserved the right to prepare breakfast. When it had been just her and Colin, she’d needed the promise of time alone with her older brother to get her out of bed in the morning.

Needed to know that he’d know if she didn’t get up.

And since Chantel had come...it was just as important to start her day with her family together. Maybe more so. Much as she adored Colin, Julie found a greater understanding with the woman he’d married.

Plates of crepes were set down and, when they were empty, snatched back up as efficiently as she could manage without being rude. Ignoring the look between her brother and his wife—one that meant they were sharing silent thoughts about her—she was out the door before they were.

She’d been spending time with Joy for two days and was still the only one who could get any kind of response out of her. Lila and Sara wanted to give her a few hours alone with Joy that morning. She hadn’t told Colin or Chantel about the little girl yet. Not that she could say a whole lot anyway. But she hadn’t even mentioned that she was working directly, one-on-one, with a single child.

Reading to kids, doing puppet plays with them, having them paint and draw—her most common activities at the Stand—was fulfilling. Worthy expenditures of time.

And there was still that step back from personal intimacy. Allowing her to keep her private self safely tucked away inside.

It was how she wanted it.

And yet, here was Joy, who seemed to need her in a way no one else ever had. And she hadn’t been so eager to face a day since the night her beautiful, promising young world had crashed around her feet.

In jeans and a blue, button-down tapered shirt, she grabbed an art satchel out of the back seat of her BMW after she’d parked in the secured lot behind the Stand and headed inside the grounds. No one was sure what Joy might have seen the morning her aunt was beaten and her mother went missing.

No one knew what she’d seen before that, either.

Or experienced herself at the hands of her father. There’d been no outward signs of physical abuse—for which Julie was incredibly thankful.

But that didn’t mean the man hadn’t hit her. Only that he hadn’t done so with enough force to break bones. Or leave scars.

Sara and others were convinced that Joy’s silence was indicative of severe emotional trauma. But until the aunt could be questioned—other than the brief inquiry made by police as she was being loaded into an ambulance at the neighbor’s—Joy was the only one who could tell them what had happened.

And that was where Julie came in.

* * *

EDWARD CALLED, WANTING to meet for lunch again on Friday. And again, Hunter rearranged his schedule. Preparations for the two benefits he had going that night were running smoothly. He was half an hour ahead of schedule, as usual. There’d been some last-minute security issues and road closures with a 10K run he had set to kick off at six the next morning, but those were being handled. And Saturday night’s event to raise money for a political campaign was a roast. Other than arranging the venue, ordering food and drink, and taking care of the guest list and seating, his staff of three had little to do for that one.

He’d be attending the roast and had asked Julie to be his date for the evening. Or rather, had offered to take her so she could taste the desserts. He’d hired the same company to provide an after-dinner sweets table for her gala. She’d politely declined his invitation.

He’d originally thought he’d take Mandy—a first for him, mixing her pleasure relationship with business—but changed his mind. And was thinking of Julie again as he pulled into the posh resort where Edward had a room and saw the older man waiting for him at the valet post. Not an unusual occurrence if they were going out somewhere. They weren’t; Edward was just that badly in need of company.

His white shirt neatly pressed, his shined shoes pristine, the doctor held out a hand to Hunter as he stepped up to the curb. Edward had recently come back from the police station.

“If this was a stranger abduction, there’d be more chance that she’s already gone,” Edward told him, speaking of his beloved daughter as they sat on the patio of the resort’s Mexican eatery, the ocean restless in the distance. “But since she’s most likely with Shawn, they think there’s a good chance of finding her alive. Many abusers tend to become conciliatory, protective, even loving, after an attack. Our hope is Shawn is that type of abuser. If he lashes out when he’s drunk, we have a fairly good chance, too. As long as Cara can keep him away from the booze.”

Hunter shifted in his seat. He felt completely out of his element. And figured that if Edward’s daughter had been able to keep her husband away from whatever caused his heinous acts, she’d have prevented their current situation.

Watching the doctor rub at a nonexistent smudge on his water glass, Hunter felt for the guy. He didn’t expect great things of himself in the hero department. But for Edward, a man who’d dedicated himself to saving lives, being unable to save your own daughter had to be akin to burning in hell.

Remembering how frustrated and distraught his father would get when he lost a patient, Hunter looked out to sea.

He had to give his head a shake. The ocean had been a refuge for him back then, too, anytime his dad came home without the patience to deal with the sound of his mother’s voice. He’d go out to the beach. To surf. To lose the sound of his parents’ anger in the roar of the waves.

And then he’d go home, his usual cheery self, tell a joke, or if things were really bad, ask his dad to watch sports or go to the putting green. Soon all would be well again.

But this, a missing daughter...

“Is everyone positive that she didn’t go with him willingly?” Hunter asked. Maybe it was a horrible question to ask, except that it was a truth Edward had been living with for a decade. His daughter had forsaken family to be with a man who hurt her. So maybe the idea that her disappearance might have been voluntary wasn’t as alarming as the thought that his daughter was being held hostage by a maniac.

Nodding, Edward looked older than he had at the beginning of the week. Older than his fifty-two years. The lines around his eyes seemed more pronounced. “Among other things, she didn’t take her cell phone with her,” he said.

Hunter shifted again, wondering if a cool breeze would be along soon.

“But if they had to leave in a hurry, what with Mary’s...situation and all...”

He really wanted to come through for his dad and Betty. For Edward.

The older man’s smile was knowing. Sad. Almost as though he was giving up.

“They found her purse,” the doctor said. “Three hours north of here. It’d been thrown in a twenty-four-hour box-store trash can and was only found by accident. Her wallet was gone, but inside there was some ID cards, makeup, a handheld electronic reader with children’s books loaded and moist wipes. They’re going through it now.”

“Hopefully they’ll learn something...”

“Hopefully.” The doctor didn’t sound hopeful.

“It’s a start,” he continued. “More than they had before...”

Struggling to find anything in his repertoire for a situation such as this, Hunter dug deep. And still came up empty.

“I need a favor.” It was as though Edward had read his mind.

“Anything,” Hunter said, probably too eagerly. Anything he could do, he would do. They’d ordered but hadn’t been served yet. He could flag someone, get their food to go.

Or skip the meal altogether.

“I have a meeting this afternoon. An interview, more or less. I want you to come with me.”

“What kind of interview?”

“It’s with Joy’s counselor at the shelter. And some other staff. Apparently Joy hasn’t said a word since Mary got her to the neighbors that day. I want to see her...”

Edward’s voice broke. He visibly calmed himself, then said, “The people caring for her aren’t convinced it’s a good idea, particularly since she doesn’t know me. Or probably even know of me. At the same time, I’m family. And being with someone who loves her is vitally important at this point, too.”

He’d go. Of course he would. He just wasn’t sure what he could contribute...

“I have a tendency to come across as standoffish,” Edward said, looking him straight in the eye. “But you walk into a room and suddenly everyone feels comfortable.”

He wouldn’t go that far.

“This meeting is critical to me, Hunter. I can’t afford to have it go wrong. They aren’t going to risk that little girl’s emotional health—and I wouldn’t want them to—if everything doesn’t go perfectly. I know how much I love her. I know I can care for her. I just need a chance to get that chance.”

“When’s the meeting?”

“Four.”

Right in the middle of the time he’d allotted for the shower he’d planned to take before the evening’s round of party visits. Well, a washup and change would suffice.

“You want me to pick you up here?” It would take extra time. Meeting Edward at the shelter would work much better for him.

But this wasn’t about him.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

And he had an idea...one that was growing on him in leaps and bounds. “Then, afterward, assuming they need a while to discuss things and you don’t get to see Joy right away, you can come to work with me. I always have two tickets to every event, and one of tonight’s functions is to raise money for some technically advanced machine for the new hospital here in Santa Raquel. It’s taking place on hospital grounds. You’d fit right in...”

Finally, something truly helpful he could do.

Introduce Edward to his own kind.

That way, he wouldn’t feel quite so alone while he waited to learn his daughter’s fate.

And his own, too, Hunter supposed, when you considered that he could possibly become guardian to a seven-year-old child he’d never met.

“If I’m not spending the evening with my granddaughter, I’ll probably take you up on that offer, son,” Edward said.

Sounding just like Hunter’s dad.

So much so that Hunter relaxed.

He had this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AFTER A COUPLE of hours with Joy, followed by a board meeting in LA, Julie pulled back into the Stand’s parking lot just after two on Friday. Joy would be out of “school” for the day, and if she wanted to be with Julie, Julie wanted to be with her. According to Sara, they’d had to put Joy’s aunt in a medically induced coma—Julie wasn’t privy to the details—but it meant that Joy was alone.

A feeling Julie knew only too well. Shortly before the attack that had changed her life, she’d lost her own mother. And her father, too.

Memories of the debilitating fear that had taken over her life crept in even now, eleven years later. And she’d been nearly an adult at the time. Seventeen. Joy was only seven.

She’d coped by losing herself in the memories of her childhood. Expressing them through her drawing. And writing.

Amy, the little girl afraid of her own shadow, had been born during that time in Julie’s life. It was no wonder to Julie, and no mistake, in her view, that Joy clung to the fictional character. To the book.

She couldn’t stand in for Joy’s mother or aunt, but she could be a kind stranger who understood what she was going through during these first difficult days. And if there was a chance that she could help Joy tell someone what had happened the day her mother went missing... If there was any clue to her parents’ whereabouts that the child could possibly disclose, then she’d spend every moment she could trying to help Joy come out of her shell enough to communicate with them.

She’d had an idea and was feeling hopeful as she sat with the little girl in the same private room they’d been in that morning, a room in the school wing of the Stand’s main building. She’d set up two identical easels with a table in between. The table held pencils. Sitting at one easel, with Joy at the other, she started to draw freestyle. She invited Joy to do the same.

“This is how Amy came to be,” she told the little girl, her gaze on the page in front of her. She was drawing Amy. At The Lemonade Stand. Joy might not have figured that out yet. But Julie had faith that she would. “My mom was gone, too, and I was scared, and then Amy came into my head, like an imaginary friend, to play with me. Do you ever have imaginary friends?” she asked.

Kids had them. It was normal. Her minor in child development had taught her that much.

“Mine was a lot like me. I named her Amy. But I wanted her to be out here in the world, you know, so I could see her...”

Amy had been the way she remembered her younger self.

“So I drew her, just fooling around, and I started to feel better. So I drew her some more.”

The fictional face that was so familiar to her was taking perfect shape on the page. Usually Amy’s expressions were more serious; she was a little girl who had fears and learned that the only real thing she had to fear was being afraid. But today, Julie drew her differently. Today Amy’s eyes glowed with hope. There was going to be a grin on her face, too. Not the happy, secure, quiet smile she usually wore at the end of the books. But an ebullient, childish grin. Something she hoped Joy could remember feeling.

As she worked, she chatted. About Amy. Keeping her comments age-appropriate and one step removed. The grin was there on Amy’s face. But something wasn’t quite right. The chin maybe.

“Sometimes Amy thinks she’s the only one who knows stuff,” she said. “And sometimes she knows secrets that she’s afraid to tell because people who are bigger than her might get mad.”

After she’d been brutally raped, Julie had come home to Colin. He’d taken her to the hospital. They’d gone to the police. Her rapist was known to them. But he was the son of a powerful man, and in the end, she and Colin had agreed, understanding the consequences if they didn’t, to let the matter drop.

Amy had taken it all on.

No, the problem wasn’t the chin. She looked at the mouth again.

There was movement beside her. Joy had picked up a pencil.

Heart pounding, Julie left Amy’s face incomplete, moved down to the neck and shoulders, which she could draw without paying much attention. Dressing Amy in a T-shirt with butterflies, she watched Joy—also in a T-shirt with butterflies—out of the corner of her eye.

Afraid to do anything that might distract Joy, she continued to talk about Amy. About the reasons she liked butterflies—because of their soft wings and pretty colors, which was why Julie had always liked them.

Sara had said that she thought Joy was relating to Julie, or maybe to her childhood self, through Amy. She’d told Julie just to be herself.

Joy’s hand, gripping the black pencil, hovered over the page. Black was a color associated with anger. And fear.

But it was also good for outlining.

Julie steadied her own hand. Drew another long stroke. Analyzing Joy’s reactions wasn’t her job.

“Amy used to love chocolate ice cream best,” she said, fixated on that dark pencil in the girl’s hand, in spite of her admonitions to the contrary. “Now she kind of likes vanilla better sometimes.”

She was babbling. But kids liked ice cream. And she didn’t want to scare Joy off.

A circle was forming slowly on the page in front of the girl.

Julie fiddled with the collar of the T-shirt on her own page. Waiting to see what came next in Joy’s drawing.

Two dots, where eyes would go.

And then little broken lines straight down from them.

Julie didn’t need to be a psychiatrist to get that one. Just as Joy didn’t need to be an artist to draw an understandable depiction. Or use words to speak.

The precious little girl, whose father had most likely just abducted her mother, was crying inside.

* * *

LILA MCDANIELS, IN brown pants and jacket, with a top that was a darker shade, met Hunter and Edward in the small public lobby of The Lemonade Stand. Other than the nondescript, tiled room, the rest of the premises were accessible only by pass code or key.

“Edward.” The Stand’s managing director took the doctor’s hand briefly, released it and stepped back immediately. Hunter didn’t know if Edward noticed or not, but he didn’t think the reception boded well. “Hunter.” Lila turned her attention to him with a smile that, while not effusive, still held what seemed like genuine welcome.

What the hell?

“I’m so grateful to you for entertaining my plea,” Edward said, his tone about as far from standoffish as Hunter had heard. He crossed his hands one over the other in front of him and gave the older woman a smile.

She quickly turned to lead them toward a private door...

Shrugging off his impressions, putting them down to his own discomfort, he followed the other two back down the hall. The same hall they’d walked through when they’d come here a few days ago.

Edward’s granddaughter was now a resident at the Stand. Which made him more of a client than the total stranger he’d been the last time they’d visited. The man’s daughter was missing. His grandchild was traumatized. What did Hunter know about the nuances of any of that?

Figuring they were heading toward Lila’s office again, he was surprised when they stopped short before they reached it. They stood in front of an open door that looked like it led to some kind of small but nicely appointed conference room.

Not a lot of space for mingling, he noticed first. But the upholstered chairs at the long table were an attractive touch. Comfortable.

The beige color on the back wall offset the flowered prints. Not his personal taste, but for an event...

He’d set a dinner there if the room had been offered for his use. It would suit a small charity board consisting of members who all knew each other well—and didn’t intend to stay long.

Lila, with Edward standing at her side in the doorway, was introducing him and turned, stepping more completely into the room, so that Hunter could come forward, as well.

And actually see the two women sitting at the table.

He supposed the managing director continued to speak. He heard a voice. But he was no longer paying attention.

Julie Fairbanks was one of the women at that table.

Which confused the hell out of him.

* * *

HUNTER HAD AN hour to spare for Edward’s meeting. He wished he had all night. While he didn’t like feeling superfluous, particularly when he had so much to do, he walked into the conference room, took the seat next to Edward and stared at Julie Fairbanks.

Why was she there?

He tried the silent approach, trying to get her to look at him and read his mind. It failed.

“Dr. Mantle, I appreciate the urgency of your situation, but before we could even consider arranging a meeting between you and your granddaughter, we need to talk with you.”

The speaker, Sara Havens Edwin, as she’d been introduced, was a full-time counselor at the Stand. The introduction of Julie had included no title.

Edward nodded. “Of course.” His hands were folded on the table now, his attention fully on the blonde counselor. Lila, at the head of the table, had handed the meeting over to Sara.

For the most part, Hunter watched Julie. Was she a counselor, too? No one had ever said so. Surely Brett would’ve told him if she worked for him, when he’d asked about her on the golf course.

What had Brett said?

That she’d been hurt.

He’d assumed that meant she’d gone through a painful breakup.

She didn’t look in his direction. She watched Sara, with a glance or two at Edward as he answered basic questions about himself, including the fact that he’d taken a leave of absence from his practice.