Dane

A few hours later, Dane finally had a moment alone. The conviction that it was time to be proactive—to talk to people he'd rather avoid—was pressing hard. He cursed under his breath. Going to those people wasn't just a risk, it would open up old wounds. He'd be forced to step back into the place he'd been ten years ago.

​​

He shook his head. He'd been such a child. He'd thought it was impossible for someone raised like him to be naive, but those events had proven him wrong over and over again.

Unable to sit still, he paced his office, weighing the pros and cons of opening that particular can of worms. But the truth was, he couldn't see any way around it. If he avoided them, he only gave them control over when the confrontation happened.

Yet, there was a chance they'd find real evidence...

Sighing, Dane made a decision. And told no one about it.

*****

Dane had the driver park across the road at the Printer they used for marketing materials, and swore him to secrecy.

Then he got out of the car and walked into the Police Station.

Swinging the simple glass door open, the smell hit him—dirty linoleum, old wood, cigarette smoke, and body odor. The waiting room hadn't seen sunlight in years. And it looked like the clerks behind the counter hadn't either.

Dane walked quickly up to the window that reminded him of going to the bank and spoke to the flat-faced woman on the other side. "I need to speak with Detective Quinn," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't hear you."

Dane gritted his teeth. "Detective Quinn, please."

She frowned. "Is he expecting you?"

"No. But if you tell him Dane Daniels is here, he'll see me."

She looked skeptical but asked him to wait a moment and walked away from the desk.

Dane's shoulders tensed just being in this place. There were never pleasant memories associated with it—but now he was doubly concerned a member of the public would recognize him and think he was being arrested. So he stood as close to the window as possible, keeping his back to the rest of the room, and didn't look around.

It took her minutes to come back, but when she did, she looked worried. "Detective Quinn does want to see you, but he's taking a statement. He asked that you wait, please."

"How long?"

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"How. Long. The wait? How long will he be? I'm very busy."

She raised her eyebrows. "You can probably imagine that Detective Quinn is also, Mr. Daniels. I don't know how long he'll be. If you'd like to take a seat, when he's done he'll come find you, and then we'll both find out."

She tipped her head and rage spiraled through Dane's chest. But he forced himself to nod. "Thank you for that. But I was wondering if he'd suggested that I maybe wait for him in his office, or—"

"Dane?" a man's voice said behind him.

Dane went very still and the woman behind the window stared. But he knew he was trapped here, and there were people watching who didn't know who he was. He could see no way to avoid the conversation under the circumstances, so glanced over his shoulder to identify the voice.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or not when he saw the Chaplain he'd known since he was a teenager, Bert, smiling at him, his arms open as if he'd like a hug.

Ignoring the offered embrace, Dane turned to face him and said, "Bert," and tried to force a smile.

"How are you doing, Dane? It's been years."

Dane nodded. "Many, many years." He looked around the waiting room. "So, you're still here after all this time?"

Bert, now balding, threw his chunky head back and laughed. His thick belly jiggled with it. "No need to sound so scandalized, Dane. I love what I do. I've seen no reason to leave. God has plenty for me to do here." He clapped Dane on the shoulder. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see Harry," he muttered and Bert's face sobered.

"Ah. I see."

Dane caught his eye, warning him not to speak. But Bert had never been indiscreet. He nodded once, then looked at the service window behind Dane. "Are they helping you?"

"Sort of," Dane said through his teeth and turned to smile at the woman who was still standing there, not looking impressed. "Apparently Harry's busy, but he wants to speak with me when he's done. Whenever that will be."

Bert smiled wider, "Well, why don't you come sit in my office until he's ready?" Before Dane could answer Bert leaned around him. "Sue, you can let Harry know, right? Tell him Dane's in my room when he's ready?"

"Of course, Father," she said softly, head bowed like she was praying.

Bert winced. "I keep telling you, Sue, I don't have a title. I'm just Bert. I'm definitely not a Father."

"Of course," she said, nervously looking at the small cross that hung around his neck. Bert took a deep breath and shook his head, then tugged at Dane's sleeve, ushering him off to the STAFF ONLY door to their right.

A short walk down a narrow hallway and they were in a closet of a room that immediately made Dane feel claustrophobic, with a single desk, a single chair, and several filing cabinets lining the opposite wall.

The only window was about two feet wide, and high in the wall.

Dane swallowed, but decided it was better than sitting in the public area where he might be seen and his father was far more likely to hear about his visit. Chances it would be missed completely were pretty slim anyway, but he didn't want to take any chances he didn't have to.

Pulling the only chair—an old, cracked vinyl lounger—around to the side of the desk so he could see the door, Dane folded his long frame into the too-small chair and waited. Bert frowned when Dane moved the seat, but didn't comment. He shut the door, then walked around to sit on the other side of the desk and turned his chair to face Dane as he sighed. "Okay, you can quit with the fake manners now, Dane. What's going on? Why did you come?"

.

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