Page 70 of Ultimate Justice

“He’s made a lot of progress,” Marlie agreed, sighing. So have I. She had Noah and Evan to thank for that. “I’m going to miss him when he goes to his new foster family.” More than she ever expected. A lump grew in her throat, forcing her to swallow it down.

Gemma placed the cocktail dress’s matching pumps in a shoebox. “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the right family for him?”

No. She hadn’t. Taking care of Noah on this temporary basis had worked out fine, but being responsible for him full time…

The nausea that had rolled through her just over a week ago when she’d had the same thought about becoming Noah’s temporary legal guardian didn’t come. It was a vindicating, triumphant feeling. But was Evan also capable of making progress with his life? After what he’d confided to her, she worried he wasn’t. What if he never could?

“Hey, are you all right?” Tori asked.

She nodded, smiling in a way she didn’t feel but determined not to let her fears show. She had to prepare for that inevitability but hoped Evan would prove her wrong.

The way things were going, he was still on a dark, never-ending path that would lead to a solitary life.

One without her in it.

Chapter Twenty

A gust of cold air rocked the jetway as Evan, Brett, and HSI Special Agent Andrea Nunez waited for the Boeing 757’s door to open. Through the control booth windows, he glimpsed the darkening gray sky. Twinkling white lights indicated other aircraft inbound to Denver International Airport.

This wasn’t how he’d planned on spending the evening. Shooting pool with Marlie and Noah or teaching Noah to play piano had been on the agenda. Weird how things had changed in such a short time.

Aside from Blue, his nights were typically spent alone, working on his laptop. Now all he could think of was getting home to Marlie and Noah, which was exactly why he’d opted to relay his message through Deck. If he’d spoken with Marlie, he’d risk getting distracted. They weren’t even dating, and just thinking about her could twist his brain into knots.

The jetway operator waited for the flight attendant to unlock the door from the inside before pulling the exterior handle and swinging the door open. According to flight records, the Constantinos had first class tickets.

Courtesy of DMV and Homeland Security passport photos, Evan knew what his target looked like. That and he would probably remember the guy from when he’d cleaned his family’s pool. As passengers deplaned, he scanned their faces for the sixty-nine-year-old man with graying hair and brown eyes. Barely a minute passed before he spotted him. He looked the same, just older.

“Mr. Constantino?” He discreetly held up his badge. “I’m with the FBI. We’d like to speak with you.”

“The FBI?” Constantino’s brows drew together, looking like thick gray caterpillars. “What’s this about?”

Behind him, passengers continued lining up. This wasn’t a conversation he had any intention of having with a planeload of people eavesdropping.

“Artie.” Constantino’s wife grabbed at his arm. “I told you not to hide that ouzo in your bag. Now we’re going to have pay taxes and a fine for not declaring it.”

Brett snorted. Agent Nunez grinned.

Evan couldn’t care less if the man’s entire carry-on was packed with smuggled booze, but if that’s what it took to expedite getting him into an interview room, he’d go with it. “Let’s talk someplace privately.”

Five minutes later, Agent Nunez led them into a small room with a metal table and four chairs. Attached to the wall by the table was a heavy ring embedded in a stud behind the sheet rock. Hooked to the ring was a short chain for securing a suspect with handcuffs.

“Text me when you’re done here,” Nunez said as she closed the door.

Evan indicated Constantino and his wife should sit. He and Brett took chairs on the opposite side of the table.

“I’d like to see your passports.” He waited for the couple to produce the documents, then inspected them, verifying their IDs. He handed them to Brett.

Marianne Constantino leaned her forearms on the table. “Is this really about the bottles of ouzo?”

“No, ma’am. It’s not.” He searched their faces, watching their body language for signs of nervousness. “We’re investigating the disappearance of children all over Colorado.”

Mrs. Constantino’s brows shot to her hairline. “That’s terrible.”

“What does that have to do with us?” Like his wife, Constantino leaned forward.

“You used to own a pool cleaning company. Blue Waters. Correct?”

“Yes.” He sat back, his frown deepening. “What does that have to do with missing children?”