Love You More - Lisa Gardner [86]
Bobby had to circle the block a couple of times for parking. When no spots became available, he parked illegally behind Lyons’s cruiser. What was the point of being a cop if you couldn’t bend a few rules?
By the time D.D. and Bobby got out of the car, Lyons was standing on the front porch. The burly trooper wore faded jeans, a heavy flannel shirt, and an unwelcoming scowl.
“What?” he asked by way of greeting.
“Got a couple of questions,” D.D. said.
“Not at my house you don’t.”
D.D. eased back, let Bobby take the lead. He was a fellow state officer, not to mention better at playing good cop.
“Not intruding,” Bobby said immediately, tone placating. “We were at the Darby house,” he lied, “thought of a couple of things, and since you’re right around the corner …”
“I don’t bring work home.” Lyons’s ruddy face was still guarded, but not as hostile. “I got three kids. They don’t need to be hearing about Sophie. They’re freaked out enough as it is.”
“They know she’s missing,” D.D. spoke up. He shot her a look.
“Heard it on the radio when their mother was driving them to school. Amber Alerts.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Can’t avoid ’em. Guess that’s the whole point. But they know Sophie. They don’t understand what could’ve happened to her.” His voice grew rougher. “They don’t understand why their father, the super-cop, hasn’t brought her home yet.”
“Then we’re all on the same page,” Bobby said. He and D.D. had made it to the front stoop. “We want to find Sophie, bring her home.”
Lyons’s shoulders came down. He seemed to finally relent. After another moment, he opened the door, gestured them inside.
They entered into a small mudroom, wood-paneled walls covered in coats, ceramic-tiled floor overrun with boots. House was small, and it only took D.D. a minute to figure out who ran the roost, three young boys, ages five to nine, who rushed into the crowded space to greet the newcomers, talking over one another in their excitement, before their mother, a pretty thirty-something woman with shoulder-length brown curls, tracked them down, looking exasperated.
“Bedtime!” she informed the boys. “To your rooms. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve brushed your teeth and changed into pajamas!”
Three boys stared at her, didn’t budge a muscle.
“Last one to the top of the stairs is a rotten egg!” the oldest boy suddenly yelled, and the three roared off like rockets, piling over one another in their haste to get to the stairs first.
Their mother sighed.
Shane shook his head.
“This is my wife, Tina,” he offered, making the introduction. Tina shook their hands, smiling politely, but D.D. could read tension in the fine lines bracketing the woman’s mouth, the way she looked instinctively at her husband, as if for assurance.
“Sophie?” she whispered, the name hitching in her throat.
“No news,” Shane said softly, and he laid his hands on his wife’s shoulders in a gesture D.D. found genuinely touching. “Got some work to do here, okay? I know I said I’d put the boys to bed.…”
“It’s okay,” Tina said automatically.
“We’ll be in the front room.”
Tina nodded again. D.D. could feel her eyes on them as they followed Shane from the mudroom into the kitchen. She thought the woman still looked worried.
Off the kitchen was a small front room. Looked like it had once been a three-season porch that Lyons had finished off with windows, installing a small gas-burning stove for heat. The room was decorated Rugged Male, with a big-screen TV, two oversized brown recliners, and a plethora of sports memorabilia. The Man Cave, D.D. deduced, where the stressed-out state trooper could retreat to recover from his day.
She wondered if the wife had an equivalent Crafts Room or Day Spa, because personally, she was betting life with three boys topped