Best Forgotten, a fic for Brandy (pt. 4 of ?)

[chazper]

Sigh. It's lonely here in OC fic-writing land. So little company makes it hard to get inspired.

Okay, whine over. And you know the disclaimers, right? Characters (well, the main ones anyway) not mine, no profit made, etc., etc. So here's part 4 of my increasingly AU fic. Happy--or rather, unhappy--reading.

Best Forgotten, Part 4

Patrick Grady bore an eerie resemblance to Caleb Nichol.

Sandy had noticed it when he first met his father-in-law’s chief of security. Tall and imperious, his mouth chronically poised on the edge of a sneer, he sliced through a room with icy authority, exactly the way Caleb always did. They both conveyed an attitude of smug superiority.

They both prompted an instant prickle of distaste in Sandy too.

Their similarity to each other struck him even more when he opened the front door and saw the men standing next to each other on his threshold.

“Cal,” Sandy observed dryly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

Gesturing for Grady to follow, Caleb strode inside. He gave a curt nod to Seth who was bouncing impatiently behind his father and firing off questions even before Sandy finished speaking.

“So do you have any leads? Ryan didn’t just take off, did he? Does this have anything to do with Trey, ‘cause I bet--”

“Seth, please--” Caleb interjected, “allow us to sit down at least.”

“Why? Why do we have to sit down? Did you find out something bad?”

Ignoring his grandson’s interrogation, Caleb turned to Sandy. “I wanted to know how your search for the boy was going,” he claimed blandly. “And since in this instance Grady is working for you, he wouldn’t share his findings with me.”

Sandy’s brows bristled. “Ryan,” he said grimly.

“Excuse me?”

“‘The boy’ we’re looking for? His name is Ryan.”

Caleb inclined his head. “Of course,” he conceded. “Ryan.” His lips pursed around the name, as if the sound of it curdled in his mouth. He was about to add something else when Kirsten rushed into the room.

“Dad!” She stopped, clearly surprised. “You’re here?’

“Of course. I canceled a board meeting to be with you, Kiki. After all, my family comes first.”

He moved to greet her, his arms outstretched, his eyes anticipating gratitude, but all Kirsten did was murmur a distracted, “Oh.” Her perfunctory kiss barely glanced off Caleb’s cheek before she wheeled around to confront Grady. “Have you found any sign of Ryan?” she asked. “Do you know if he’s all right?”

“Kiki, sweetheart, relax,” Caleb reproved. “Let’s all get settled first, shall we?” Taking Kirsten’s arm, he ushered her to the sofa and sat down next to her, holding her hand on his lap. He left Sandy to perch awkwardly on the armrest beside her with Seth, too jittery to sit, jouncing behind them. “Now then, Grady.” Tapping the coffee table, as if calling a business meeting to order, Caleb gestured his security chief to begin. “Let’s hear your report.”

Across the coffee table, Grady flipped open a leather binder.

“First of all,” he said, “from what I’ve learned, your foster son is fine, Mr. Cohen.”

“Awesome!” Seth whooped, thumping the back of the couch. “Ryan’s okay? That’s awesome news, right?”

“Yes it is, sweetie.” Kirsten smiled up at Seth. Then she sank against Sandy’s side. “Thank God,” she breathed.

Unlike the faces of his wife and son, Sandy’s expression registered no relief. “Fine?” he probed. “What does that mean, fine?” He peered sharply at Grady, even as he slipped a supportive arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Have you found Ryan? Spoken to him?”

“Not yet,” Grady admitted. “But there’s no reason to think anything has happened to him. My investigation uncovered no evidence that this is anything but a standard teenage runaway case. It seems that--”

“Whoa, wait, what?” Seth blurted. “But how about that bizarre world un-Atwood style note? Ryan couldn’t have written it. We told you, he doesn’t talk like that. Did you check it out?”

Grady glanced up, his gray eyes glinting irritation. “Of course I ‘checked out’ the note,” he replied. “I had it examined by experts, including psychologists. They assure me that an individual’s writing and speech patterns can vary considerably. Apparently it’s common for taciturn people-especially teenagers-to express themselves more fluently when they write. That’s particularly true when they’re under stress or unusual pressure. Stress would also account for Ryan being messier than usual.””

A deep furrow appeared between Sandy’s brows, but he said nothing. He just rubbed Kirsten’s arm as Seth leaned over the back of the couch, unleashing a barrage of objections.

“Okay, yeah, but what stress exactly? Because if you mean problems with Marissa, there’s been nothing but drama between her and Ryan since they met. That’s like, the whole basis for their relationship. He’s used to it. And if you mean Grandpa threatening to tell mom and dad about Gabrielle paying him a booty call--”

Caleb stiffened. “Seth!” he snapped, glaring at his grandson.

“Sorry, Grandpa, but that’s what it was. Anyway, well, yeah, I can see Ryan worrying that they’d be upset, and getting all “I fu-I screwed-up” broody about the whole thing. But not stressed, not the way you mean. After all, it’s not like they would have thrown him out because of it.” Seth poked his father’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t would you, Dad?”

Sandy patted his son’s hand. “Of course not, Seth. Ryan is a member of this family. Besides, we’ve certainly been through worse than an ill-advised . . .” He paused, glancing wryly at his father-in-law. “Assignation,” he concluded.

Caleb’s mouth thinned. “Perhaps the-perhaps Ryan didn’t realize that you would be so forgiving,” he suggested tightly. “He might have considered his transgression a little more serious than you seem to, Sanford. At least, in regard to my daughter’s opinion of him.”

Beside him, Kirsten’s face clouded and she shook her head uncertainly. “No,” she said. “Ryan would have known that I’d be disappointed by his behavior but enough to . . . no, no he couldn’t have thought that. Could he, Sandy?”

“No, honey.” Sandy pulled her closer, his voice warm and assuring. “And even if he did, Ryan wouldn’t just leave. He’d own up to his actions. Remember after the model home fire? He knew that he could wind up in juvie again, but he still came back to face us and take responsibility.”

Seth thumped the sofa triumphantly. “True!” he crowed. “And I mean, compared to burning down a million-dollar property, no offense Grandpa, but stealing your arm-candy girlfriend-of-the-month is kind of a nothing crime. So all that expert psychobabble about stress changing Ryan’s behavior? It doesn’t make sense. I still say he didn’t write that note, at least not on his own. Look, Grady, did you at least check it for fingerprints?”

“That was the first thing I did.”

“And you found Ryan’s brother’s, right?” Seth prompted. “Or, okay, maybe not Trey’s, unless he broke out of jail, but somebody connected to him. Or Ryan’s mom. Somebody who was making Ryan leave. His mom’s boyfriend maybe, or--”

Grady held up a hand, halting Seth’s torrent of words. His tone was clipped and dismissive “We found exactly what I expected,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper out of his binder. “Here’s the report, Mr. Cohen. I trust the original note was already returned to you?”

“Yes, it was.

“Well, as you can see, Ryan’s fingerprints were on the note, along with prints belonging to all of you, since you all handled the paper too. That’s all.”

Kirsten reached over to squeeze Sandy’s knee. “I suppose that’s a relief,” she murmured. “But if nobody else was involved, I still don’t understand why--”

“Are you sure?” Seth demanded, drowning out his mother’s soft voice. “I mean, weren’t there even any, what do they call them, on cop shows-partials or anything? ‘Cause I don’t see any way Ryan would have--”

Grady’s jaw clenched and his gaze flitted briefly to Caleb. Sandy followed the exchange, his own eyes narrowing. The crease between his brows deepened.

“There were no partials,” Grady said. “As I told you, all the evidence indicates that Ryan himself--”

“Fine,” Sandy interrupted. He kept one arm around Kirsten’s shoulders, but his other hand closed into a fist, his knuckles white and rigid. “Forget the note. What we really want to know is, where is Ryan now?”

Grady turned to another page of his notes. “At this point, I can’t answer that exactly, Mr. Cohen,” he hedged. “But I have been able to track some of his movements. Right now, he appears to be headed southeast, probably towards Texas.”

“Texas? Like Austin? Like where he planned to go last time?” Seth prompted, at the same time that Sandy asked, “How do you know that? Has someone seen Ryan?”

Leaning back in his chair, Grady tented his fingertips. “He has been spotted, yes,” he said blandly. “Mr. Cohen, Mrs. Cohen, I’m afraid that you might find this rather upsetting.”

Kirsten paled and her nails dug into her father’s palm. He winced. “Kiki,” he remonstrated, but she ignored him. All her attention was focused on Grady.

“Why? Is Ryan hurt?” she demanded. “You told us he was fine. Did something happen to him?”

“It’s not that, Mrs. Cohen.”

She exhaled a relieved breath, then immediately tensed again as Sandy asked grimly “What then?”

In response, Grady pulled a sheet of paper from his files and offered it to them. Behind his parents, Seth gripped the back of the sofa, leaning over so that he could read too.

“What is this? It’s in Spanish,” he protested. Painfully, he sounded out the first line. “Mexicali Jefatura de Policía-Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have taken four years of French. Dad?”

“It’s a copy of a police report the day Ryan disappeared,” Sandy explained grimly.

Grady nodded. He crossed his legs, looking oddly relaxed. “Exactly. As you can see, Mr. Cohen, this details a drug bust in Mexicali on Sunday. Two of the suspects who were arrested identify your foster son as a buyer who managed to get away during the raid. I suspect that Ryan used the money he stole from your desk to make the purchase.”

Seth spun from behind the couch, almost grabbing the paper out of his father’s hands. “What? Ryan running drugs? No,” he said flatly. “No way. Dad? Mom? You guys don’t believe this right?”

“I don’t know, Seth. I don’t want to but . . .” Kirsten’s voice drifted off, and her eyes were bleak when she raised them to her son.

“Come on,” he pleaded, “you know there has to be some kind of mistake. Ryan wouldn’t do this. Tell her, Dad.”

Sandy didn’t answer. Instead he glanced keenly at Caleb who shrugged in response, his eyebrows arching a silent “I told you so” even as he patted Kirsten’s hand and murmured commiserations.

“I’m so sorry, Kiki,” he said. “This must be hard for you to hear. I know you hoped that the boy could overcome his criminal tendencies. For your sake, I wanted that too. But considering his family and his background, well I suspect it was only a matter of time until--”

Sandy did interrupt then. “What else, Grady?” he demanded curtly. “Did your investigation turn up anything other information?”

Unruffled by Sandy’s brusque tone, Grady pulled another printout from his folder. “Yes it did,” he replied. “In order to make his escape, Ryan apparently hijacked a car-the victim ID’ed him from a photo lineup-and then headed southeast. Police found the vehicle abandoned this morning outside Artesia, New Mexico. I located motorists who spotted a hitchhiker matching Ryan’s description in the same area. He was on the highway headed toward Texas, but that’s as far as I’ve been able to trace him.” Grady snapped his binder closed. Setting it on the coffee table, he leaned back and casually tugged his cuffs back into place. Of course I’ll continue to look,” he said. “That is--” He paused, inclining his head toward Kirsten. “If you still want the investigation to continue.”

“Hell yeah, we do!” Seth exclaimed. “You’ve got to keep looking and--”

“Mrs. Cohen?”

Kirsten blinked, startled.

“Do you want me to continue the search for Ryan?”

For a moment, Kirsten appeared stunned, unsure of the question. She licked her lips, twisting her rings unconsciously before she pulled away from her father and sat up straight. “Yes,” she replied, her eyes clear, her tone firm and decisive. “Of course we do. We want you to find Ryan and bring him home.”

Caleb stiffened. He tried to reclaim her hand, but Kirsten had folded it into Sandy’s, and he was holding it securely as they both stood up. Caleb rose too, towering over both of them.

“After what you just heard?” he objected. “Kiki, you’re not thinking clearly. I understand that Sanford sees this boy as some kind of personal rescue project, but you have to face facts: Ryan has been nothing but trouble since he came here. Even if you do find him and bring him back, he’ll have to face criminal charges. Imagine what that will do to this family-to Seth. The gossip, the rumors, the guilt-by-association: is that what you want for your son? Ryan is out of your life now. Don’t you think it would be better just to let the boy go?”

Seth’s mouth opened in protest, but before he could say anything, his mother answered.

“No,” she said tersely. “I don’t.”

Pulling her closer, Sandy brushed her hair with a quick kiss. Despite the concern still etched between his eyes, his lips curved proudly when he faced his father-in-law. “You heard your daughter, Cal. We made a commitment to Ryan. No matter how bad this looks, we are not giving up on him now. There has to be some explanation, and we intend to find out what that is. But first, we just want to find Ryan.”

“Yes!” Seth bounded over to join his parents. “What he said, Grandpa.”

Ignoring his grandson and son-in-law, Caleb focused a laser stare on Kirsten. “Sweetheart, be reasonable,” he urged. Automatically, he used the tone that had convinced her to stay in Newport after her mother’s death, to abandon her dream of opening an art gallery and join his company. “I know you . . . grew attached to the boy, but clearly he is not the--”

“Stop it, Dad!” Kirsten said sharply. “Please! Just stop. I don’t want to argue with you. I just--” She fumbled with the collar of her blouse, her lips trembling. “I just want some tea,” she murmured. Pulling away from Sandy, she started toward the kitchen. At the doorway she paused and looked back over her shoulder. “You’re not taking Grady off the case, are you Dad?”

The line of Caleb’s jaw tightened, but he mustered a grudging half-smile. “No,” he said. “I’ll have him continue the search, since that’s what you want.”

Sighing faintly, Kirsten nodded. “Thank you,” she said, and disappeared down the hallway.

“So,” Seth demanded eagerly, “what’s next, Grady? Do you head for Texas? Or maybe check out those drug dealers who implicated Ryan because that? Is so bogus. It’s got to be a set-up. The carjacking too. I still think all this must have something to do with Trey. Maybe you should talk to him. Or Dad could do that while you talk to the police in Mexico--”

“Mr. Nichol?” Grady prompted.

Caleb shrugged dismissively. He smoothed his lapels, ready to leave. “You’re working for the Cohens,” he replied. “Whatever they want you to do.”

“We want you to locate Ryan,” Sandy said. “Follow any leads necessary.” He tapped the police reports he held into a neat pile. “And I’d like to keep these, if you don’t mind. I assume you have other copies.”

Grady hesitated for an instant, his eyes shifting to Caleb. Then he nodded. “Of course,” he said evenly. He buttoned his jacket and picked up his binder. “I’ll start in New Mexico, see if I can find out who gave Ryan a ride.”

“And you’ll keep in touch.” It was an order, not a request.

“Of course, Mr. Cohen,” Grady promised. “As soon as I have any information.”

The doorbell rang suddenly, startling them. A moment later, Rosa entered.

“Mr. Cohen? There’s a Charlie Kepler here to see you,” she announced. “Should I say you are busy?”

“No,” Sandy told her. “We’re done here. Show Charlie to my study. I’ll be right there.”

Rose started to leave, but she stopped at the doorway. She turned around, her face worried, her voice hesitant. “Por favor, Mr. Cohen? I wonder . . . is there any news yet about Ryan?”

Sandy shook his head. Sighing softly, Rosa crossed herself and breathed a brief prayer. “For his safety,” she explained.

“Thank you, Rosa.”

Sandy smiled, a little sadly, and she retreated. He watched her go in silence. Then he wheeled around to face his father-in-law. “Cal, Grady,” he said brusquely, “I assume you can show yourselves out,” he said. Standing to one side, he gave them room to pass. His posture was impatient, and he gripped the police reports in one hand, barely nodding a goodbye to the men as they left. As soon as they were gone, he turned to his son. “Seth, why don’t you check on your mother? I think she could use some company right now.”

“But Dad, we should talk about Ryan--”

“Later. I need to meet with Charlie right now.”

“But those police reports don’t make any sense. You know they don’t. Ryan must be in trouble, Dad! We’ve got to find him. Who the hell is this Charlie person anyway?”

Sandy raked a hand through his rumpled hair. “An investigator for the PD office,” he explained. “I have to take this meeting, son. Charley is working on an important case for me.”

“More important than Ryan?” Seth demanded bitterly.

“Of course not.” For a moment, Sandy rapped his knuckles against his thigh, his eyes narrowed in deliberation. Then he shook his head grimly. “Please son,” he said. “This shouldn’t take long. Right now, just go to your mother. Make sure she’s all right. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

Seth sagged, defeated. “Okay, but when you’re done--”

“When I’m done, we’ll see if we can figure out what’s going on here.” Seth hesitated and Sandy reached over to knead his shoulder. “I promise. Just give me ten minutes.”

“Yeah. Sure. Ten minutes.”

His shoulders slumped in resignation, Seth slowly trudged to the kitchen. He found Kirsten standing at the window, staring sightlessly outside, oblivious to the whistling tea kettle at the stove. Seth listened to it whine for a moment. Then he turned off the burner.

“I think your water is ready, Mom,” he reported. “I mean, at least whatever isn’t boiled dry. So what do you want?” Opening the cupboard, he peered inside. “Let’s see, we have Chamomile, Peppermint Zest, English Breakfast, Earl Gray, Orange Spice, Darjeeling -what would you like? Mom?” He waved a handful of teabags in Kirsten’s face, rousing her. “Pick a flavor, any flavor.”

“Oh. That one I suppose.” Kirsten pointed randomly at the Orange Spice. Turning around, she watched Seth prepare the drink and then sat down at the counter, cupping the steaming mug between her palms. “Seth,” she said slowly, “those things he’s supposed to have done-stealing, dealing drugs, carjacking-you don’t think Ryan could really--?”

“No,” Seth declared. He plopped down next to his mother. “No, and also did I mention no? It’s got to be some kind of mistake or, I don’t know, frame-up or, or, a mistake. Or hell, maybe Ryan has an evil twin. Come on, Mom, you don’t believe he would do any of that, do you?”

Kirsten picked up her cup and put it down again. “Not the Ryan we know,” she murmured. “But those official reports, the eye witnesses? I just . . . I can’t make sense of any of this. Maybe your father can--” She glanced around the kitchen, registering Sandy’s absence for the first time. “Where is your father?” she asked.

Seth grimaced. “In his study,” he replied. “Meeting with somebody about a case for the PD office.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. My feelings exactly.” Seth pushed the teabags around on the counter for a minute, making kaleidoscopic patterns out of the colored packages. Then he peered up, eyes bright with inspiration. “Hey, maybe I should take them something to drink. Let’s see, what flavor might speed up a pointless meeting? Hmm . . . Peppermint Zest. That sounds caffeine-y enough to do it--”

“Seth, sweetie, if your dad is busy--”

Seth pulled a tray out of the cupboard, plunked two cups onto it and filled them with hot water. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed. “Or he should be. Helping us find Ryan. I just want to, you know, remind him that we’re waiting.” Dropping teabags carelessly into the cups, he grabbed two spoons and a handful of sugar packets, picked up the tray and headed out of the kitchen. “Be right back, Mom,” he called over his shoulder.

The door to Sandy’s study was closed when Seth arrived. Balancing the tray awkwardly on one hand, he started to knock, changed his mind, and began to turn the knob instead. Fragments of conversation drifted out at him as the door inched open.

“ . . . want to compare Grady’s reports with yours,” he heard his father say. “Maybe you’ve turned up something he missed.”

“He saw the same note I did?” a female voice mused. “And this is what he told you about it?”

“Yes. Based on fingerprints and psychological analysis, Grady is positive that Ryan did write it.”

“Really? Well, Sandy” the woman drawled. “That? Is a very curious conclusion.”

Even from a distance, Seth could hear the note of derision in her voice. He couldn’t stand it any longer. Opening the door swiftly, he sidled into the room. With uncharacteristic quiet, he sank into a chair and tried to make himself invisible.

It didn’t work.

Sandy wheeled around from his desk. “Seth!” he said sharply. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going to stay with your mother.”

“Yeah, and I thought you said this meeting was about a case for the PD office. But it’s not. It’s about Ryan. Come on, Dad. He’s my best friend-might-as-well-be brother. I have a right to know. What’s going on?”

Sighing heavily, Sandy studied his son. Then he appeared to make a decision. He gestured to the woman next to him, a thin, thirty-something redhead in blue jeans and a battered brown leather jacket. “Charlie,” he said, “this is my son Seth. The eavesdropper. Seth, this is Charline Kepler. She is an investigator for the PD office, but you’re right: she’s working on Ryan’s case right now. I hired her to help us track him down.”

“Why? We’ve already got . . .” Slow realization dawned on Seth’s face. “Wait--You don’t trust Grandpa’s guy to tell us the truth, do you?”

“Seth, I did not say that.”

“Nope.” Seth’s head bobbed decisively. “I did. That Grady guy has this whole Lex Luthor vibe going on. And okay, I’m mixing comic book genres here, but he makes my Spidey-sense tingle. A lot.”

Sandy bit his lip, stifling both a rueful smile and his own suspicions. “I just thought it would be good to have another P.I. looking for Ryan,” he insisted.

“Uh-huh, right” Seth muttered, unconvinced. “But I’m guessing Mom doesn’t know about this?”

“Not yet,” Sandy admitted. Reaching up restively, he pushed back his unkempt hair. It promptly flopped over his forehead again. “I wanted to find out what Charlie had to say first. Seth, please, this won’t take long. Could you just wait with your mother until we’re done?”

“Uh-uh, no, no way.” Seth set the tray down on the floor, shoving it aside with his foot. Tea sloshed out of the mugs, but he ignored it. “I want to find out what she has to say too.” He looked eagerly at Charlie. “You were talking about the note, right?”

Charlie didn’t answer immediately. She glanced from Seth to his father, and then down at the paper in her hand. “Sandy?” she prompted.

Frowning, Sandy hesitated for a long moment. Then he nodded. “Go ahead,” he told Charlie. “You were saying--”

“My investigation doesn’t agree with Grady’s,” she reported. “In the first place, there is no evidence that Ryan ever handled this.” Setting the folded note on Sandy’s desk, Charlie swept her messy bangs back carelessly. “His fingerprints don’t show up on it anywhere.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Charlie cocked her head. “Sandy, do I ever give you information that I can’t back one hundred percent?” she chided. “Of course I’m sure. Ryan’s fingerprints are not on this paper.”

Seth shot out of his seat, his expression both triumphant and terrified. “I knew it, Dad! ”

Frowning at something he read in Charlie’s eyes, Sandy waved his son silent. “So somebody else did write the note?”

“I can’t say that for sure,” Charlie admitted. “You and Seth and Kirsten handled the paper so much that it’s impossible to identify all the smudged prints underneath. I can tell you that I’ve looked through Ryan’s desk. I found a letter that he started to someone named Theresa. He stopped after a couple sentences, but those few? They sounded nothing like the ones in this note. Neither does an unfinished letter that he wrote to his brother. The style, the phrasing, the syntax in this note-it’s definitely not Ryan’s. And another thing-he supposedly stole several thousand dollars from your desk drawer, right Sandy? Well, Ryan’s prints weren’t on your desk. In fact, they were nowhere in your study--”

“See!” Seth exclaimed. “Just like I thought--Ryan never stole from us.”

“Here’s the thing though,” Charlie warned, tamping down his enthusiasm. “The room was pretty much spotless when I searched it. Has somebody--?”

“Rosa,” Sandy groaned. “She must have cleaned in here after Ryan disappeared. I didn’t think to stop her.” Shaking his head, he sank heavily into his desk chair. “So we still don’t know anything for sure.”

Charlie’s thick bracelets rattled as she flipped her notebook closed. “Not for sure, no. My gut feeling though, Sandy? Your boy did not simply run away. I don’t believe he stole anything from you either. Something else went on here.”

Sandy nodded grimly. “I was afraid of that. Look, Charlie, Cal’s investigator gave me these today.”

Charlie’s brows rose as she scanned the sheets. “Police reports . . . from Mexico?” She tapped one finger against her chin. “Interesting.”

“One names Ryan as a buyer who escaped just before a drug bust nabbed his dealers; the other ID’s him as the person who carjacked a van and then ditched it in New Mexico. I want you to check them out, Charlie.”

“Oh I will,” Charlie promised. She shoved the reports into an overstuffed messenger bag. “But I’ve got to tell you, Sandy. Nothing I’ve found indicates that Ryan headed toward Mexico. In fact, nothing I’ve found points us in any direction at all. If Ryan simply ran away, he would have been on foot when he left. He would have had to hitch a ride, catch a bus, or get a cab to take him out of Newport. No matter what, he’s a kid, alone, in this neighborhood, in the middle of the night, where there's a guard at the gate and security sensors every three feet; somebody would have noticed him. But nobody did. There are only two other options: one, Ryan stole a car-unlikely, since no stolen vehicles were reported anywhere in the area. Or, two--”

“He was taken away from here in somebody else’s car,” Sandy concluded grimly.

Seth paled. “Dad?” he whispered. He moved closer to his father. Sandy draped a consoling arm around his shoulders, pulling him close, letting the contact comfort them both.

“I don’t want you to panic. Ryan could have gone willingly,” Charlie reminded them. “Remember, we don’t know anything for sure yet. Except . . . well, Sandy, I’ll check out these police reports that you gave me. But judging by the false information you got about the note, I’d be surprised if they’re genuine. Tell me, about your father-in-law: was he in favor of you taking Ryan into your family?”

Sandy shook his head. His eyes had turned gray, clouded with apprehension. “We didn’t tell him when we did it,” he recalled. “But no, he wasn’t happy when he found out.”

“And he really, really wasn’t happy when his trophy girlfriend decided that she’d rather get her mack on with Ryan than with him,” Seth added. “You know, I think Grandpa kind of hates him now.”

Charlie hefted her bag onto her shoulder. “That fits,” she observed, as she untangled an errant strand of hair from the strap. “I’d say it’s pretty clear that your father-in-law does not want you looking for Ryan and he’s using his investigator to discourage the search by feeding you misleading evidence. I’ll check out a few things, see if I can’t get us headed in the right direction.”

“Thanks . . . Charlie, wait,” Sandy said abruptly, stopping her just before she reached the door. Stepping away from Seth, he lowered his voice so that his son could hear the conversation. “I’d like you to do something else for me too.”

“Sure. Name it.”

“Would you . . .” Sandy hesitated. He glanced back at Seth who was staring at him suspiciously. Then he took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his tone was firm and decisive. “Put a tail on Grady. And one on my father-in-law. Check out their whereabouts over the last couple days.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed, glinting green. “No problem,” she replied, just there was a soft knock on the office door and it swung open, almost bumping into her.

“Sandy,” Kirsten said. “I was wondering if Seth was still-oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I warned you that he would be combative,” Dr. Keller hissed. He peered through the observation window, watching Ryan struggle vainly with the restraints. “You are never to ignore my instructions, Nurse. Is that understood?”

Lucy looked inside the room too, her dark eyes troubled. “Of course, Doctor. But Ry-Brandon was cooperative the whole time I was with him.” Lucy chose not to mention that Ryan initially grabbed her hand, claiming instead, “He only became agitated when I told him that our clinic was in Mexico. He believed he was still in California--”

“And did he still insist that he’s Ryan Atwood? Brandon never emerged at all?”

“No,” Lucy admitted. She shook her head, sighing sadly. “He sounds so lucid, so sure that he is Ryan. There is no trace of any other identity. It breaks my heart.”

Dr. Keller frowned, his forehead etched sharply with disapproval. “You sound as if you’re becoming emotionally invested in this boy. That is unacceptable. I expect my staff to retain a professional distance from the patients here. If you can’t do that--”

“But no! I can, I promise you, Doctor,” Lucy said instantly. Her nails dug into the files she carried, but she managed a smile. “I quite understand that we cannot afford to become involved. I would do nothing to compromise Brandon’s care.”

“Good. Because you would also compromise your position here.” Dr. Keller’s phone rang. He glanced at it impatiently, then snatched Ryan’s records from Lucy and waved a dismissive hand at her. “I will interview Brandon myself as soon as I take this. You have other duties, I believe?”

Lucy started to reply, thought better of it and nodded instead. She started to retreat down the hall when she heard Dr. Keller say heartily, “Mr. Nichol, I was going to call you as soon as I checked on your charge--”

Picking up a random chart from the desk, Lucy lingered where she was, eyes fixed sightlessly on the clipboard, straining to hear the conversation. She wasn’t sure why it mattered, but she felt instinctively that it did.

“No, no improvement yet . . . No, I’m afraid the drugs have not worked at all. He is still fighting us, still demanding to see Mr. Cohen . . . Naturally not. I understand how upsetting that would be for your family . . . I would have to do a few more tests, but yes, I do believe he would be an ideal candidate for my new treatment.” As he spoke, Dr. Keller’s voice grew more animated and his words began to race, tumbling over each other with excitement. “You do understand that it’s still experimental, don’t you? There are risks, possible side effects. I cannot guarantee . . . Thank you, I appreciate your confidence . . . As soon as that? Well, of course I can have my team prepped, but you understand that I will need your signature on the release forms . . . All right then. I’ll see you here the day after tomorrow . . . I’ll make sure he’s ready.”

Snapping his phone shut, Dr. Keller stared at it for a long moment, a satisfied smile on his face. Then he abruptly put the cell away. As Lucy watched, he made a quick notation on Ryan’s file, wheeled around, unlocked the door to his room, and disappeared inside.

"Brandon," she heard him say curtly--just that before the heavy door closed again, locking her out.

TBC