the door from the locker room and went into the hallway. He did a slow turn, as if Bree would magically appear out of thin air.
Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he went down the hall but Walt wasn’t in his office. Neil turned and went back toward the ice, found the older man sharpening skates behind the rental counter.
“Have you seen my daughter?” he asked over the loud whine of the sharpener.
Walt lifted the skate off the blade. “What’s that?”
“My daughter,” Neil repeated, impatience giving his voice an edge. “Have you seen her?”
“She returned her skates ten...fifteen minutes ago.”
That long ago?
“I...I can’t find her,” Neil admitted, feeling like a failure. Like the worst father ever.
“Did you check the playground?”
Right. That made sense. The ice rink was located at the park along with a pool, playground, tennis courts, a few baseball and soccer fields. She probably got bored and went outside to play. Or to wait for him in the car. No big deal. No reason to be worried.
He burst through the double doors of the arena, ignored the robins on the grass he’d scared into flight. His pulse pounding in his ears, he jogged over to his car but she wasn’t there. Though there was no way she could get inside the car—at least not without jimmying open the lock—he cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his face to the passenger side window. Just in case.
Empty.
He threw his bag onto the ground. Walking toward the playground, he scanned the area for his daughter’s dark hair, a glimpse of her bright pink clothes. Nothing. Nor was she by the fence watching the people in the pool.
He’d just keep looking. He’d find her soon enough.
Unless she had left the park.
His hands curled into fists and he picked up his pace. Damn it. What the hell had she been thinking? She knew better than to take off without telling him where she was going, without getting his permission. He’d never disciplined her before, never had reason to, but so help him, when he found her, he was going to lay into her but good.
After he made sure she really was okay.
What if she’s not okay?
Passing the park’s side entrance he ground his back teeth together. She was fine. She had to be. She was smart. Resourceful. She walked to the park all the time by herself....
He slammed to a stop. Of course. She probably just went home.
He pulled out his phone but his hands were unsteady and he bobbled it, almost dropping it before finally pressing the button for Maddie’s house phone. While the line rang, he rolled his head from side to side, used techniques he’d learned to calm his breathing, settle his heart rate and gather his focus before taking a penalty shot. He inhaled for the count of five, held it, then exhaled for five more seconds.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang.
When the answering machine picked up, he hung up and started jogging down the sidewalk. He passed the tennis courts, an empty ball field. Stopping on the wooden bridge, he stabbed both hands through his hair. He had to call Maddie. Tell her what had happened. Maybe they could organize some sort of search.... No, he should call the cops first, he realized, taking out his phone again. They could put out one of those APB things—
The sound of laughter had him freezing. Familiar laughter.
His daughter’s laughter.
He shut his eyes against the relief that flowed through him, that weakened his knees. His phone clenched in his hand, his thumb still pressing the number 9, he walked to the other side of the bridge, followed the sound to the small baseball field. Spotted Bree in the dugout. Healthy. Safe. Whole.
But not alone.
A man, an older man—sixty-five, maybe seventy—with a slight build, pressed khakis, glasses and a bald head, sat next to her. Too close.
Fury heated Neil’s blood, rage built, turned his vision red and tightened his muscles. He fought it all, refused to let his emotions rule him.
“Breanne.” Her name came out as sharp and stinging as the snap of a whip. Guess he wasn’t completely in control after all. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
Bree startled then shrank back, her eyes huge in her pale face. She looked scared. Guilty. And so small and vulnerable next to the old man, her only means of escape blocked by him, bile rose in Neil’s throat.
“Come out here,” Neil told her. When she didn’t move fast