He felt the blood drain from his face, forgot that six single fathers were sitting in a semicircle around him at the Hardware and Muffins store in Princeton, each of them part of a Wednesday-night school for hapless fathers. “What did you say?”
“Heather’s planning to run away…if she hasn’t already.”
He leaped to his feet, never thinking to ask how she knew his daughter, or even where she would get such a ludicrous idea. They’d slept together once, on a sultry, late-summer evening when he’d been drowning his woes in a bottle of whiskey. She’d been like a breath of fresh air that night, a balm to his bruised soul.
But he didn’t recall mentioning his family.
“She can’t run away! I just saw her thirty minutes ago. At home. I haven’t been gone long enough.” Fear and disbelief battered him at once. Was there no end to the nightmares a parent could suffer? Horrible thoughts crossed his mind of what could happen to his little girl out on the streets. Never mind that the Princeton suburb they lived in was touted as one of the safest places in New Jersey. A young girl could make poor choices. Hell, she could slip on the ice and be buried under a foot of snow in less than an hour.
Darcie automatically reached out and placed a hand on Flynn’s arm. She saw his skin pale with genuine distress, and like always, she responded to that distress. She shouldn’t. God knows she’d gotten herself in plenty of trouble with her soft heart—a prime case in point was that night five months ago in a Philadelphia hotel room.
But darn it all, this man needed help.
When Heather O’Grady had called the runaway hot line where Darcie volunteered, Darcie had nearly had a stroke. She’d told herself every morning for the last three months that she should and would contact Flynn O’Grady. And every morning she’d chickened out.
His daughter, in a wild twist of fate, had settled the dilemma—and presented a whole new one. One that nearly ripped Darcie’s heart in two.
“Where did she go?” Flynn asked. “Did she say where she was going? What did she say?” The questions were fired one right after the other. “Is she still at home?”
“I doubt it,” Darcie said, hating the crestfallen look on his face.
“I’ve got to find her, call the cops…”
She shouldn’t get involved, should turn this case over to someone else. But that mushy heart of hers was already crying out its intentions. Not only were those intentions going to be dangerous, they were likely going to cause her great heartache. She’d felt the chemistry moments ago—right before she’d dropped her bombshell. In just a split second of eye contact, she felt him draw her in with those watch-out-woman bedroom eyes and knew he’d been remembering their night together. And her body had reacted to that sexual pull in a giddy flutter of hormones…in an exquisite, bittersweet wash of remembrance.
She wanted to just stand there and stare, to soak up every nuance of his GQ model looks, his scent, the way the white shirt rode his broad shoulders and the silk tie hung from his neck, the way the belt circled his trim waist, his pants draping and kissing his lean hips…
Well, honestly, Darcie, just stop it!
She reached for his arm again, stopping him from charging out of the store.
“I know a little about the way the police department works, and you’re not going to make headway at this early stage of the game.”
“Early? She’s thirteen years old and she just said she was going to run away!” He pinned her with a look. “And why did she tell you? How do you know my daughter?”
“I volunteer for a runaway hot line here in town.” Her hand tightened on his arm. He looked like he was going to pass out. She eased up against him, bolstered him with her body.
Oh, no, she nearly groaned. Bad move. The feel of his warm body pressed against her sent her hormones right off the charts. He needed her help. Not her fantasies.
The way he was looking at her made her squirm. Flynn O’Grady was a sexy mixture of worry, confusion and questions. She understood his worry, sympathized with his confusion and feared his questions.
“Are you okay?” she asked, easing a fraction of an inch away, still watching him in case he did indeed faint.
“No, I’m not. I’ve got to find my daughter.” He shoved his arms through his coat as he headed for the door. Then he stopped as though he’d forgotten something vital.
“The baby,” he muttered, and changed direction, striding toward Ruth Naomi Steadwell, the owner of Hardware and Muffins. The Daddy Club participants gave him room. Panic and determination radiated from him. He hitched a diaper bag over his shoulder, scooped Mary Beth into his arms and gave Ruth Naomi a distracted thank-you.
Darcie watched all this, her emotions reeling once more. She’d known he had children. If you wanted to learn anything about anybody, Ula Mae Simmons—one of the KoffeeKlatch regulars—would happily tell you. Still, seeing him with one-year-old Mary Beth in his arms jolted her.
Reining in the emotions, she barely stopped herself from shaking her head. He was like a bull charging blindly. His heart and intentions were in the right place, but he was very likely going to screw up royally. She didn’t want to see that happen.
Darcie stepped in his path. “Flynn, wait.”
He seemed confused, surprised that she was there. “Do you know where my daughter is? Where I can look?”
“I have an idea.”
“Then tell me.”
Now this was the tricky part. She couldn’t quite hold his gaze. “Um…I can’t.”
His chocolate eyes went from delicious warmth to black fire in an instant. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
“What the hot line personnel talk about with the kids is confidential.”
“Conf—” His expression incredulous, he didn’t seem able to finish the word.
And Darcie didn’t seem able to think—an odd occurrence given that she was normally a sharp, witty woman. Her cheeks felt overheated and her heart pounded as though someone had injected her with an ampoule of adrenaline.
Oh, no. She recognized this feeling. It had been happening to her with some regularity in the past four months and it meant that she was very close to experiencing one of those weird spells.
And the very last thing she wanted to do was crumple into a heap at Flynn O’Grady’s feet.
Whirling, she made a beeline for the rest room.
Flynn watched as Darcie Moretti disappeared through an inner sanctuary where men normally didn’t trod. It took him a full moment to realize that she’d bailed on him. Again!
This wasn’t acceptable. The clock was ticking. His daughter was in the process of running away to God only knew where.
And the woman who held the answers had apparently thought to escape him by hiding out in the ladies’ rest room.
Well, by damn, she’d underestimated him. He was a man on a thin string. A harried father. No gender sign on a pressboard swinging door would stop him.
Hitching Mary Beth higher on his hip, he slammed his hand against the door and pushed it open. From behind him, he heard approving noises from The Daddy Club guys, and an indrawn breath or two from the older patrons watching from the designer coffee bar in the back of the hardware store.
He ignored it all, allowed the door to swing closed behind him, sealing them away from prying eyes and ears. He focused his attention on the startled, freckle-faced