“You have to give his money back,” Mother says, shoving the wad of bills Tyler left into my purse.

“Why me? You’re the one who hired him.” I’m running late already. “Thanks for watching Bree, but if I don’t get to my shift, I won’t make it to evening service.”

“You’re singing the special. Be early.”

“Exactly, which is why I don’t have time to hunt Tyler down.”

“Come on, we both know this is the best excuse for talking to him again. He was sorry about Bree’s tantrum, and I get the feeling he won’t be coming back. I tried to offer him another job—”

“Mom, really, it might be better if he doesn’t see Bree again.”

“I agree,” Mother says, surprising me. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t go out with him without Bree around. I can watch her anytime, you know.”

“Well, maybe. I really have to go.” I kiss her. “When Bree wakes up, don’t forget to brush her teeth. We skipped last night. Bye!”

Try as I might, I can’t get Tyler out of my mind. It’s not his fault Bree has such an obsession about him. He’s easy going, fun, with big, strong shoulders. And he needs the money. But where in this crowded city will I find him? It’s not like I can hang around at the shopping center hoping he’ll wander by.

I take the BART to the Embarcadero station, the place Tyler had his PTSD episode. Traffic’s light on Sunday. Powerwalking past several panhandlers, I emerge from the platform and look around. A man with a guitar sits on a crate in front of an open guitar case.

“Lady, sing you a carol? How about ‘Jingle Bell Rock?’”

I barely glance at the big black man, except he’s wearing a beaded necklace with a Chinese coin, just like the one Tyler had on last night. He looks vaguely familiar.

That’s it. He’s the guy who was interviewed after he stun gunned Tyler.

Walking back, I ask, “Sir, would you happen to know Tyler Manning?”

The man’s mouth breaks into a large smile as his eyes rove over me. Not that there’s much to see. I’m wearing jeans and an old sweatshirt, my cleaning job attire.

“Women ask me that all the time,” the man replies. He holds out his hand. “Sawyer McGee.”

I take his hand and give him a hefty shake. “Do you know Tyler or not?”

“Now, now, now.” Sawyer grins and wags a finger. “I can’t be giving out information without knowing who you are, what your place of business is, and three references, preferably from little old ladies you help cross the street or retired clergymen.”

“I don’t have time for this.” I’m pretty sure he’s a friend of Tyler’s, but if he’s going to ask me a hundred questions and butt his nose into my business, I’m out of here.

“Tyler never mentioned you were so rude.” The man’s melodious voice drifts behind me.

“Excuse me?” I snap my head around and head back his direction. “I asked you a simple question and you want to drag this into a social interaction. I’m going to be late for work as it is.”

He quirks his eyebrows as if trying to figure me out. “You’re Bree’s mom, aren’t you? The one who wore him out.”

“Yes, I am. And since you do know Tyler, kindly let him know I have his money.”

“Money, as in moolah?” Sawyer’s mouth widens and his eyes light. “I can give it to him.”

“No, can do. I have to work right now, but tell Tyler I’ll be outside of the Mogul Bank building at five when my shift ends.”

“You know, lady, I don’t have to tell him anything.” Sawyer strums a jangled chord. “You’re wasting my time. I’ve got songs to sing and bills to pay.”

Yeah, right. He wants a tip. I extract a five and drop it in his case. “You can sing ‘Santa I’ve Been Naughty’ for me. And Sawyer, I’m sorry for being rude. Please let Tyler know I’m looking for him.”

“Sure thing. Name?”

“Kelly.”

“Number?” He unlocks his cell phone. “I’ll text you when I give him the message. You can call me anytime, you know. You want Tyler, I’m your man.”

I don’t know what his game is, but he’s my only link to Tyler right now, and I’m not ready to give him up. Will I ever?

I type my number into Sawyer’s phone. “Call me when Tyler gets the message. I don’t want to wait around forever since it gets dark early this time of year.”

Tyler said goodbye to Dylan and Carina and headed for the BART station.

He had a job and a purpose. He’d get a salary to oversee the fundraising venues and line up speakers and events. In addition, Warspring would pay him a thousand dollars per speaking engagement and include traveling and lodging expenses. He’d even convinced Dylan that rock concerts were not conducive to gathering donations and suggested speaking to sports teams and business executives instead.

Sawyer was at his post, sipping a soda. “Hey, my man. Get big tips today?”

“Even better.” Tyler fist bumped him. “You’re looking at the new speaker for Warspring International. I’m going to be raising funds at charity banquets and special events.”

“Woohoo! That’s awesome. How much are they paying?”

“Enough for me to triple my contributions and get my own program going. Remember we talked about sports for Afghan teens?”

“Uh, yeah. They bought it? I thought blankets and food were more important.”

“That only feeds the body, not the soul. We need to give the youth healthy outlooks to life, optimism, and hope for the future. Sports is the answer.”

Sawyer clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m hearing you say that. Man, this is awesome.”

“Even better, I get extra tickets to the Donor’s Ball, and you’re coming. Maybe you can audition for the band or find a job. They’re also looking for an assistant for their finance director.”

Actually, Kelly could use the job, but he should offer Sawyer a first shot.

“Guitar I can play, but no spreadsheets for me.” Sawyer scratched his head. “But hey, that lady friend of yours was looking for you.”

“Kelly? She was here?” The day kept getting better and better.

“In the flesh. Looking hot and bothered. Kind of rude at first, all business. She wants you to meet her outside of the Mogul Bank building where she works. You know where it is?”

“Near Mission Street Plaza in the Financial District. What time did she say she got off from work?”

“Five. I told her you were desperate to see her, worshipping the ground she walked on, mooning over her and unable to sleep.”

“Shut it.” Tyler shoved his friend lightly to conceal the happiness bubbling inside of him. “How about you put your guitar away and have a drink on me? I got a sign-on bonus, and we still have a couple hours to kill.”

“Forget the drinks. Let’s go shopping. You got to look the part of Mr. Executive Speaker.”