“Down,” Pescoli ordered sternly. “Hush! Sit.” Nikita and Sturgis did as they were told, butts on the porch floorboards, tails unmoving, but Cisco, damn him, yipped and barked, his stiff little terrier legs propelling him around Wilde’s feet. Rather than scold the dog, Pescoli reached down and picked him up. “Sorry,” she said, crushingly disappointed.
“Ivy’s here?”
“Yes.”
“Is she ready to go?”
Pescoli was petting her little dog’s head, trying to keep her mind in the moment when all she could think about was Tucker and what had happened to him. “Go where?”
“Home. You said to come and pick her up and I’m here.”
“It’s not going to be that easy,” Pescoli said, and stepped back into the house as Santana, in stocking feet, whistled to the two larger dogs. They always barked their fool heads off at the sound of the bell, but last night, when everyone was sleeping, they hadn’t recognized that someone was sneaking into the house.
Her heart ached as they walked into the family room, Santana shutting the door and herding the big dogs, Alvarez, after introducing herself, leading Victor inside.
“What’s going on?” he asked, as he noticed the cops and forensic techs who were wrapping up examining the baby’s room.
“The Santanas’ baby is missing.”
“Missing?” he repeated, almost as if the idea were distasteful. “Missing?”
They’d stopped just inside the family room where he was unwrapping his scarf when he spied his daughter, now seated on the ottoman with Jeremy, burrowed close to him, his big arm over her shoulders. “Ivy,” he said, forcing a smile.
She whispered, “Hi,” but didn’t meet his eyes.
Nor did he step forward to close the gap between them. But when had he ever? He asked, “What happened to your hair? It’s . . . different.”
“New style,” she said with more than a little contempt in her voice. “Very cool and in.”
“If you say so.” He didn’t even catch her sarcasm.
Ivy shot a glance at Jeremy as if to say: See? This is what I have to put up with.
Victor pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket. “I came because your aunt said you were in some kind of trouble.”
“I didn’t do anything!” she burst out.
He held up both hands, palms out. “I didn’t accuse you of anything.”
“But they have,” she declared, her chin jutting forward as she tossed a hand at Santana and Regan. “They think I took their kid!”
“We didn’t say that,” Santana corrected tensely. “We were questioning everyone he
re at the house. And anyone else.” To Victor, he said, “We just want to find our son. If Ivy heard or saw anything she needs to let us know.”
“I’ve told you like a thousand times, I don’t know anything!” She was on her feet, her head swiveling back and forth as she looked from Santana to her father. “Jesus, I was up in Jeremy’s room with him. What more of an alibi do I need?”
Victor jerked as if slapped. “You sleep with him?” His gaze moved to Jeremy, who at least blushed as he climbed to his feet, towering over Ivy’s father by three or four inches.
“I care for Ivy,” said Jeremy.
“For the love of God, Regan, are you out of your mind? And, Ivy, what do you mean about an ‘alibi’? Why on earth would you need an alibi?”
“She has her own room here,” Regan said, though at the moment she didn’t care a whit about Ivy and Jeremy and their sleeping arrangements. All that mattered right now was her baby and his safe return.
Victor said, “But you said—”
“I know!” Regan snapped, her nerves shot. “She has her own room but she prefers to be with Jeremy so she sneaks over there with my son’s blessing.”