The heavy feeling in his chest dissipated, and when he opened his eyes, the room felt more normal. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Are you diabetic or something?” Marty asked. “My cousin was, and we always gave him juice when he got a little spacey.” At least that explained Marty’s actions.
“No. It’s not that. It was a damned panic attack, and I haven’t had one in years.” He took a deep breath and another gulp of juice. “When I was seven, I got separated from my parents in the grocery store. So I went to wait by the car because I couldn’t find them. A man saw me alone in the parking lot, grabbed me, and put me in his car. He told me he would hurt my mom and dad if I did anything, so I sat there as he drove.”
Grant hadn’t told anyone this story since he was a kid. It was one of those things that he kept locked away. But it seemed that was no longer possible. “I was frightened and I didn’t know what to do. So I waited until he stopped, and then he got me out of the car. He told me to be quiet and that he wanted me to take off my pants. My grandma had told me that only a bad man would do that, so when he crouched down to get close to me, I kicked him in the nuts really hard, because that was what Grandma told me to do. He fell forward, and I kicked him again and then ran away as fast as I could. There was a house, and I ran there. I told them what happened, and they called the police and my mom and dad for me. Mama made sure I knew her phone number.” He released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Mama and Daddy came and got me, and the police caught the man.”
“What happened to him?” Marty asked gently. “Did he get punished?”
“Yes. There were witnesses to him taking me, and when the police found him, he was still on the ground. Mom told me years later that I ruptured his balls and that he wasn’t all man after that.” At least he was able to smile. “God, I haven’t told anyone that in so long.” And he had no idea why he had told Marty, other than the fact that he probably needed to get it off his chest.
“Do they know at work?” Marty asked.
Grant shook his head. “It was in Kansas when Dad was stationed there. We moved away not long after that.” It felt like a lifetime ago, and in a way it was.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Marty said. “This sort of thing is yours to tell and no one else’s.
“Thanks. I’m glad you were here.” He wanted to die of embarrassment. He was a cop, someone who was paid to help others and to handle dangerous situations, and yet he had a panic attack after visiting a six-year-old boy. It was rather pathetic.
“Stop,” Marty said from across the table. “I can almost see you berating yourself. It’s not necessary and it’s counterproductive. You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to you back then, and it was a traumatic experience, especially given your current profession where you are fully aware of the ramifications. You may not have been then, but you are now, and that’s getting all mixed up in your head.”
Damn, he had Grant pegged to a tee, and under normal circumstances that would freak him out a little. But it didn’t with Marty, and he sort of wondered why. He knew he was a classic commitment-phobe. He didn’t tend to let a lot of people get close to him. So his usual operation would be to back away. But he didn’t want to at the moment. “I haven’t thought about what happened to me in years, until this happened.”
“Yeah. But it hit you when you were with Bobby, and it took you by surprise. It’s understandable, and I’m willing to bet that it won’t happen again.”
Grant intended to make sure it didn’t. The last thing he wanted was for the guys at the station to see him break down like that. There were certain expectations when you were a police officer, and one of them was to stay cool under pressure, because the lives of the other officers depended on it. The last thing anyone wanted was to have to rely on someone they didn’t trust or who they thought would wither under the stress. “It can’t happen.”
Marty shrugged his shoulders and continued watching him. “Like I said, it isn’t likely because you’re aware of it now. You’ll be ready for it, and it won’t be able to sneak up on you now. That’s the thing about old horrors—they lie dormant until you’re tired or vulnerable, and then they sneak through the cracks and try to overwhelm you.” He tapped the bottle, and Grant drank the rest of the juice.
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Grant said as his police officer curiosity kicked in. “There’s a story there.”
Marty’s lips curled into an enigmatic smile. “Maybe.”
“I told you mine, so you tell me yours.” Grant actually found himself smiling a little as the heaviness inside him truly lifted away. He had told someone what happened to him, revealing one of his darkest secrets, and Marty had been supportive and helped him.
“Don’t you need to get back to the station?” Marty asked, and Grant checked the time. He really did need to return, but his curiosity was piqued.
“Yes, I do. So maybe you can tell me your story over a beer, another time?”
Marty seemed rather surprised. “Yeah. Um, sure. Well, the beer part, anyway. The storytelling, that’s still up in the air.” Marty handed him a business card from his wallet. “You can call me if you want.” The touch of indecision in his voice made Grant wonder. Marty had been strong and even steamrolled over him when they had been looking for Bobby. Not many people would do that with a police officer. That took courage and conviction, and yet Marty seemed almost insecure and shy now. In a way it was cute, but like other things with this man, it pinged his brain and made him want to know more.
Chapter 3
AFTER HEleft the hospital cafeteria, Marty honestly didn’t expect to hear from Grant again. He’d driven home expecting that Grant, given what he had told him about his childhood abduction, would simply keep his distance. But it seemed that wasn’t the case, because he had called him the following day and asked him for a beer at Whiskey Rebellion downtown. Marty had almost been too surprised to answer, but managed to make his mouth work and accept. Here he was, dressed nicely in black jeans and a light blue shirt, walking downtown to the lounge inside the Comfort Suites. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, but they had a good bar with people who knew how to make amazing cocktails.
He took a seat and smiled when the bartender greeted him, ordered an old-fashioned, and found himself glancing at the door every now and then. After a while, Marty checked the time and was starting to wonder if he had mixed up the day or gotten the time wrong. But after checking Grant’s text, he had the right day and time, so he figured he’d finish his cocktail and chalk this one up to bad luck.
He took the last of his drink and was about to ask for his bill when Grant hurried inside. “Sorry. I got delayed at the station, and then I had to take Dexter home.” He sat on the next stool and ordered a Yuengling draft. “How are you? Sorry I made you wait.” He flashed a smile, and Marty’s annoyance evaporated.
“It’s okay. But don’t do it again.”
“I know. Making people wait is rude. But I have a good excuse.” He waited for the beer. “We found some traces of theperson who took Bobby. Not a lot, but we did find something. We sent what we have to the lab, but that’s going to take some time to get the results. Still, it’s a huge break in the case. We can check it through the databases….”
“Basically, if you have a suspect, you’ll have something to check against? That’s a step forward.” He ordered a second drink, his limit. “I checked with the neighbors, put the word out asking if anyone saw anything, but no one seems to have.”
“We asked as well,” Grant said. “Went door to door.”
“I know. But sometimes folks remember things, or they’ll say things on the neighborhood chat that might be interesting. But so far no one has said anything.” He cradled his empty glass in his hands. “I know the people where I live, and they rarely miss anything. Someone saw something, but for whatever reason, they’re scared to say anything.”
