Come the Night. Susan Krinard

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      “Hello, Tobias,” he said, his own voice less than steady.

      “Toby, sir. If you don’t mind.”

      Art cleared his throat. “I guess you aren’t surprised to see him,” he said. “I didn’t know you had any children.”

      Ross couldn’t think of a single good way to answer that question. “How much has he told you?”

      “Just that he’s come all the way from England to see you. Looks like he came alone.”

      “I did,” Toby said, lifting his chin. He eyed Art warily. “Am I under arrest?”

      Laughter caught in Ross’s throat. “What have you been telling him, Art?”

      “Nothing.” He gave Ross a direct look that suggested he had more to say on that subject. “I made a few calls. No record of a kid by his name on any ship’s manifest.”

      Warbrick had said he’d stowed away. Suddenly feeling far older than his thirty-one years, Ross crouched to the boy’s level.

       My son.

      He took himself firmly in hand. The only way he was going to be able to deal with this mess was by treating it like any other case. Leave everything personal out of it.

      “Tobias—” he began.

      “Toby,” the boy said, meeting his gaze.

      “Toby. I’m going to ask you some questions, and I expect you to answer them honestly.”

      “Of course, Father.”

      Funny how much of a punch such a common word could pack.

      “Did you really travel on a ship from England by yourself?” he asked.

      “I wasn’t any trouble. No one knew I was there.”

      “But you didn’t tell anyone you’d left home.”

      Toby gazed down at his badly scuffed shoes. “No,” he said quietly.

      “How long have you been in New York?”

      Toby brushed at his soiled short pants, which Ross guessed he’d been wearing for several days, if not longer. “Just a few days,” he said. He mover closer to Ross and lowered his voice. “I think someone was after me,” he said, “so I hid until they went away.”

      “Who was after you?”

      “I thought they might be gangsters, but I don’t really have anything worth stealing.”

      Ross glanced at the battered suitcase standing beside the table. It might have held a couple of changes of clothing and a few other necessities, but not much else. “I don’t think it was gangsters, Toby. But if you thought you were in danger, you should have come straight to the police.”

      “Maybe it was the police,” Toby whispered, rolling his eyes in Art’s direction. “I had to come here because it was the only way I knew how to find you.” Unexpectedly, he grinned, the expression transforming his features the same way Gillian’s smiles had always done. “I knew you’d come for me.”

      Ross straightened, reminding himself not to swear in front of a kid. “Okay,” he said. “I need to talk to Art for a few minutes. Can you wait here a little longer?”

      “Of course, Father.”

      With a wince, Ross turned for the door. Art went with him.

      “You didn’t know about him, did you?” Art said as soon as they were in the corridor.

      There wasn’t any way to avoid answering, and Ross didn’t see the point in lying. “Not until this morning,” he admitted.

      Art nodded sympathetically. “The War?”

      “Something like that.”

      Mercifully, Art didn’t pursue that line of questioning. “Did Warbrick come to see you?” he asked.

      “You talked to him?”

      “Yeah. He came in first thing this morning, asking to speak to the Chief. I got stuck with him.” Art’s lip curled in contempt. “He demanded that we inform him if a certain kid turned up. Said the boy had run away and might come to the station.”

      “Did he tell you why?”

      “It came out after he asked where you lived. Except he claimed the kid mistakenly thought you were his father, and made noises about going higher up if we didn’t do exactly as he said.” Art snorted. “Damned Limey, thinks he can lord it over us.”

      “He showed up at my place with the same story,” Ross said. “I threw him out.”

      Speculation brimmed in Art’s eyes. He controlled it. “I wasn’t much in the mood to kowtow to Warbrick, so when the kid turned up, I called you instead of him.”

      “Thanks, Art. I owe you one.”

      Art shrugged. “I can always play dumb if the higher-ups come after me,” he said. “Only a couple of uniforms know he’s here, so you can…” He hesitated. “You are going to take him, aren’t you?”

      Ross saw the chasm opening up before him. He knew he could walk away, find out where Ethan Warbrick was staying and send Tobias to him, just as Mrs. Delvaux wanted.

      But it wasn’t that easy. Ross couldn’t look away from the cold hard evidence of the boy’s parentage. Gillian’s son.

      His son.

      “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take him.”

      Art’s relief was obvious. “Right. It might be a good idea to go out the back door.”

      Ross nodded, and then an unpleasant thought occurred to him. “He doesn’t know…you didn’t tell him…”

      “No. As far as he knows, you still work here.”

      “That’s another one I owe you.”

      Art shifted his weight. “Do you, uh…if you need a little cash, I’d be glad to—”

      “Thanks, but I’m fine,” Ross said, more sharply than he’d intended. “The kid won’t starve before he gets back to England.”

      Their eyes met, and Ross realized what he’d just said. He’d already assumed he was sending Toby back to his mother.

       And what else are you supposed to do with him?

      “I gotta get back to work,” Art said. “Take care, Ross.”

      They shook hands. Art strode away, his thoughts probably on whatever case he was working on now. The way Ross’s would have been not so long ago.

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