like a felon, Grady hotfooted it to the house, practically leapt the steps leading up to the porch and skidded to a halt in front of the door, which needed a coat of white paint. He saw no bell, but a brass knocker with a cross-shaped base had been attached to the door at eye level and engraved with the words, As for me and my house, we shall serve the Lord.
Somehow Grady was not surprised to find this evidence that Paige Ellis was a believer. Dan and his family were Christians, active in their local church and given to praying about matters, as was his father, but Grady himself was something of a secret skeptic. He didn’t see any point in arguing about it, but he privately wondered if God even existed. If so, why would He let so many bad things happen, like his mother’s death and Paige Ellis’s son being abducted by her ex-husband?
With the dog still barking to beat the band, Grady reached for the knocker, but before his hand touched the cool metal, the door yanked open. There stood an old fellow with more balding head than sooty, graying hair. Slightly stooped and dressed in a plaid shirt, khakis, suspenders and laced boots, his potbellied weight supported on one side by a battered cane, he swept Grady with faded brown eyes recessed deeply behind a hooked nose that had been broken at least once. Apparently satisfied, he looked past Grady to yell at the dog.
“Shut up, Howler!”
To Grady’s relief, the aptly named dog seemed to swallow his last bark, then calmly padded toward the porch.
“Matthias Porter,” the old man said, stacking his gnarled hands atop the curved head of his cane. “Who’re you?”
Grady had at least four inches and fifty pounds on Porter, and that cane wasn’t for show, but the way the old fellow held himself told Grady that he was a scrapper and the self-appointed protector of this place. Grady put out his hand, aware of the dog moving toward the rug on one end of the porch.
“Grady Jones. I’m here to see—”
“Jones,” the older man interrupted, “you’re Paige’s attorney, ain’t you?”
Grady nodded. “Actually, my brother, Dan—”
Porter didn’t wait to hear about Dan or anything else. Backing up, he waved Grady into the house, saying, “I don’t shake. Too painful. Arthritis in my hands. And you’re letting in cold air.”
His ears still ringing from the dog’s howling, Grady stepped forward and found himself in a small living room. He took in at a glance the braided rag rug on the dull wood floor, the old-fashioned sofa covered in a worn quilt, the yellowed shade on the spotted brass lamp next to a broken-down recliner and a wood-burning stove that filled a corner between two doors. A shelving unit stood against one wall at an angle to the recliner and couch. In its center, surrounded by books and numerous photos of a young boy, sat a combination television-set-and-VCR.
Grady knew that the search for Paige Ellis’s son had been expensive. If the condition of this house and its furnishings were any indication, the search had required every spare cent that she could scrape together. Feeling out of place and too big for the space, Grady watched Matthias Porter hobble through a door and disappear into a hallway. He had no idea who Matthias Porter was, but it didn’t matter. Standing there like an overgrown houseplant, the handle of his briefcase gripped in one fist, he waited with a strange combination of dread and anticipation for Paige Ellis to show herself.
Paige looked up from the computer screen as Matthias entered the room, her fingers automatically typing out the words that continued to drone into her ears. The interruption was sufficiently unusual, however, to have her shutting off the recording a moment later.
Matthias had been a great comfort since he’d moved in nearly two years ago, and he never interrupted her work with anything trivial. Beneath his gruff, somewhat aloof exterior, he was really very sweet and considerate, not to mention protective. She tossed the headphones onto the desk.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dunno. But something’s up. You got company.”
“Who is it?”
The answer knocked her back down into her chair. “Jones.”
Her heart thudded heavily. Vaughn. This could only be about Vaughn. Why else would her attorney arrive here unannounced? “Lord, please let this be good news,” she prayed, gulping. She looked up at Matthias. “Did Dan Jones say why he’s here?”
Matthias shook his head. “Not Dan. Big fella. Says his name’s Grady.”
Grady Jones was Dan’s brother and law partner. She could see even less reason for his presence. As curious as she was shaken now, she stood up to her full five feet height and moved woodenly around the desk that occupied almost all of her tiny office.
The room was really nothing more than a screened-in back porch roughly converted with plywood, batts of insulation and plastic sheeting. When Matthias had moved in, she’d refused to even consider taking over Vaughn’s bedroom, so this had become her only option.
Paige tugged at the cardigan that she wore with jeans and a flannel shirt and led the way down the hall to the living room, smoothing her fine, yellow blond hair en route. The last cut had been a bit too short and shaggy for her taste, but the stylist had insisted that the wispy ends feathering about her triangular face made her chin look less sharp and brought out the soft green of her eyes. Since her large, tip-tilted eyes already dominated her slender face, Paige wasn’t so sure that was a good thing, but it was too late now to worry about it.
Matthias skirted the stove and went into the kitchen as Paige greeted Grady Jones, offering her hand.
“Mr. Jones.”
He backed up a step, before slowly reaching out to briefly close his large, square palm around her small hand. Her heart flip-flopped. She’d seen him often around the office in Fayetteville when consulting with Dan, but they’d rarely spoken. A big man with even, masculine features, he reminded her of a bear standing there in that expensive tan overcoat, a wary bear with electric-blue eyes.
“Can I take your coat?”
“Oh, uh, that’s all right,” he said, shucking the long, supple length of it and draping it over one arm.
“Won’t you have a seat then?” She gestured toward the sofa.
Nodding, he backed up to the couch and gingerly folded himself down onto it as if worried he might break the thing. For some reason she found that endearing. She perched next to him, crossing her ankles, and waited until he placed his briefcase at his feet and dropped his coat onto the cushion beside him.
“What’s going on?” she asked warily.
“First of all,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, “I want you to know that Dan would have come himself if possible.”
She swallowed and nodded her understanding, afraid to ask what was so important that her attorney’s partner and brother would come in his stead. Fortunately, Grady Jones didn’t keep her in suspense.
“It’s good news,” he stated flatly. “We’ve found your son.”
She heard the words, even understood that her prayers had finally been answered, but for so long she’d accepted disappointment after disappointment, while trusting that this day would eventually come. Now suddenly it had, and she sat there too stunned to shift
