by Roni Loren
She kept the interrogation to herself, though, because she was still a stranger to the kid. He had no reason to trust or confide in her, and she would be leaving the project after today, so no bond was going to develop. There was nothing she could do. Instead, she went for the safe bet of small talk. “I think we’re pretty close to wrapping up for the day, if you want to find a stopping point.”
“I can stay late if Chef G needs me to. I don’t mind,” he said, voice gruff.
She glanced over at him. “He’d probably appreciate that on days he can stay late. But I have to go pick up a dog in a little while, and he’s going to help me out, so we’ll be leaving soon, too.”
Steven looked up, a line between his brows. “A dog?”
She watched him carefully, something in his tone making the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “Yes. I’m going to foster a dog that was shot in a robbery. I need some help transporting him, though, because he’s big and still recovering.”
Steven’s face turned ghostly pale, and his gaze darted away. His hands fumbled with the wrench as if it were suddenly covered in oil. “Right.”
Oh shit. Alarm bells went off in her head at Steven’s flustered movements, his change in expression. She could see the puzzle pieces falling together in his head, reality dawning.
“You okay?” she asked, her tone careful.
“What?” He stood abruptly, dropping the wrench and almost toppling over the bench he’d been working on. He wiped his hands on his shorts and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I think I need some water. I’m feeling… I’ll be right back.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Steven,” she said firmly but not too loudly, the voice she used on people who were nervous on the stand in court. “Wait.”
His hands gripped the back of the battered leather seat, his knuckles going bloodless. “Ms. Lindt, I—”
“You know who I am,” she said, her tone calm despite her pounding heart.
He looked away. “Well, yeah. Chef G introduced you weeks ago.”
“No, you met me on a dark Friday night before then.”
Steven sucked in a breath, and what little facade he’d been clinging to dissolved, his face tightening into something pained, frightened. His fingers flexed against the seat. “You know.”
Her shoulders sagged with resignation. “I do now.”
His head snapped up at that, his eyes widening. “Wait, I—”
She lifted a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t.”
He deflated, tears springing into his eyes. “Shit. I can’t… I’m sorry, Ms. Lindt. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
She swallowed hard, keeping her eyes on the boy. “What you did was extremely serious, Steven.”
“I know it was. God.” He grabbed the top of his skull, squeezing as if trying to block out the thoughts. “Please tell me the dog’s going to be okay. I’ve been… I haven’t been able to sleep thinking about it.”
She stepped closer to him, trying to create a sense of safety so he’d keep talking, but also making note of the emergency exit door behind her. If he freaked out, she was still far enough away to escape. “The dog is going to be fine. He’s been recovering at the vet’s office.”
Steven’s head sagged, and his fingers continued to flex against his skull. “I never meant to shoot the gun. I swear to you. It wasn’t supposed to happen like… I needed money, and my friend said it was the easiest way. Use the gun to scare someone and then grab a purse. I didn’t even know there was a bullet in the chamber. I never meant… God. I never saw the dog coming. I didn’t mean…”
“Steven.”
His attention snapped up, his frantic gaze jumping to hers. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded, his words rapid and panicked. “I’ll give you back whatever I took. I never meant to hurt anyone, I swear. I just…I needed money, and I got desperate. I have to get out of my house. If I can save enough to move in with my friend…”
“Get out of your house?” she asked, nodding toward his head injury. “If you’re in trouble at home, there are services in place to help you. People who can intervene.”
That jolted him out of his panic for a moment. His lip curled. “Yeah, right. Services. Not when your old man’s a cop.”
“Cops aren’t above the law.”
“Sure they aren’t. You know what happened last year when I told the nurse my dad broke my rib? Some nice lady came over, and he sweet-talked her right out the door, telling her about his troubled son who’d stolen his motorcycle and had gotten himself hurt driving under the influence. He even showed her pills he said he’d found in my room. Pills, by the way, that were his. He told her he was handling it.” Steven’s face twisted in angry disgust. “And he did.
“As payment for reporting him, a few days later, he raided my room while I was at school and took everything but a drawer of my clothes and dumped it off at Goodwill. Things I’d bought with my own money. Photos of my mom and other things I’d kept to remember her. My laptop. Even the blankets on my bed. Told me that the only reason I had food to eat and clothes on my back was because of him, and I better keep my mouth shut or I could live on the streets.”
All the air left Rebecca’s lungs.
Steven’s jaw flexed, his eyes shiny even though he was obviously trying to be tough. “The only good thing to come out of that whole situation was that they put me here in this program.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “If you tell, that goes away, too. I don’t get another shot. They’ll throw me in juvenile detention.”
Her stomach knotted, the sweat on her skin going clammy. “Steven, I…”
“Please,” he begged. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do. I’ll work off the debt. I can do yard work, cut your grass, wash your car, cook your meals. I’m pretty good at fixing things if you need that. Whatever you want. Just please, please give me one more chance. I promise I’m not the guy you saw that night. That night scared the shit out of me. I could’ve killed someone.” He wet his lips. “You. I could’ve killed you. And you’re this nice person who gave us this bus and who Chef G likes, and I could’ve messed that all up.” Tears escaped now, tracking lines over his dirt-streaked cheeks. “Please tell me there’s something I can do.”
Rebecca pressed her hand to her breastbone, her brain and her heart in a screaming match. There really was no choice here, right? She had to report it. That was the only course of action. She had no idea if all the things Steven was saying were true. He could be putting on a show to get out of it. Armed robbery wasn’t some petty crime. He could do it again. Could kill someone the next time.
But the fears wouldn’t crystallize in her head. Her black-and-white world had gone hazy gray. Every part of her instincts was telling her that this kid was being honest. That he’d made a huge mistake but wasn’t an inherently evil person. He regretted what he’d done. He had a terrible situation at home that had driven him to desperate measures. His father was a cop who authorities were going to be more prone to believe.
She took a deep breath, trying to grab hold of the storm of thoughts swirling in her mind. “How did you get the bruise on your head?”
He looked down and swiped at the escaped tears with the heels of his hands. “I tried that recipe I told Chef G about last week. I was cooking while my dad was sleeping off a night shift because he doesn’t like me doing the chef thing. He says it wastes money using all those ingredients and that only a sissy would want to be a chef. But I burned the meal, stunk up the kitchen, and set off the smoke alarm. It woke my dad up. When I tried to explain what had happened, he shoved me and I banged my head on the corner of a cabinet.”
“Christ.” Rebecca let out a shaky exhale. How the hell was she going to call the cops on this kid and report the robbery? Juvenile detention might be safer than his current home, but it wasn’t going to be good. If the kid had any shot at making somethi
ng of himself, being locked up would just make it that much harder. However, she also couldn’t stand by and do nothing. If nothing else, she had a duty to report the abuse. She rubbed the spot between her brows.
“Please, Ms. Lindt.”
“We have to report your father again, and you have to tell the investigators the truth,” she said finally. “If you need a lawyer to help you through that process, to advocate for you, I could help. You should document the incidents that have happened in the past, build up your case. Take a photo of today’s bruise. Try to think of anyone who’s ever witnessed him treating you abusively or maybe heard him yelling at you so we can get a statement from them. I assure you, your dad won’t be able to sweet-talk past me. He may be a cop, but he’s not invincible.”
Steven blinked, his lips parting. “Wait, you want to help me?”
The question fell between them like a heavy stone. She could barely believe she’d made the offer herself. What was she doing? This wasn’t her area of expertise or her job. But her answer came more easily than she expected, the rightness of it feeling solid in her gut. “I do. But,” she said, eyeing him and using her no-bullshit tone, “I’d need an agreement from you that you will take this chance like the lifeline it is. What you’re going through is awful and needs to be fixed, but it does not excuse what you did. An animal was injured. You could’ve killed me or someone else. Whatever happens with your dad, it’s not going to be easy. It may involve foster care. But there will be no more breaking laws. No more guns. You will give me back everything you stole from me. And when this is all done, you will volunteer somewhere—an animal shelter or food bank, something to give back and make amends.”
He nodded, his expression still stunned. “Of course. Anything. I swear.”
She stepped closer, her posture formal, and put her hand out. “I am making you a great deal, Steven. I need you to shake on it and keep your word.”
He swallowed hard, eyeing her hand, but then he put his hand out, taking hers. He gave it a firm shake. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And I’m going to have to report what you told me about your dad.”
He winced. “When?”
“Right now. I can call, and they can interview you here.”
His eyes went wide. “No. Please. Not here.”
“Why? We can keep you safe here and—”
He shook his head. “I don’t want anyone here to know. The kids here actually like me, treat me like I’m just another guy. Last time CPS was called, it was humiliating when they came to school. I had to hear all these gross comments about how my dad was probably touching me and stuff. I ended up in so many fistfights over it that I nearly got expelled. I don’t want the kids here thinking that stuff about me.”
“Steven, they won’t—”
“Just give me a few hours. Until seven tonight. My dad’s working middle shifts this week. I can get home before he’s off work, get my stuff and the money I stashed out of there, and go to my friend’s house. I promise I’ll tell the social workers anything they want to know, but please not here. I need this place to stay the same.”
“I—”
“Hey there, overachievers,” Wes said, startling Rebecca as he poked his head into the bus. “Stop working so hard. It’s snack time.”
Steven quickly dropped Rebecca’s hand, and Rebecca forced a smile Wes’s way, hoping the thick tension in the air didn’t betray her. “Sounds good.”
But Wes was far too observant. His gaze met hers, his eyebrows lifting and questions hovering there.
She shook her head slightly, hoping he wouldn’t prod. “Lead the way, chef.”
Steven sent her one last pleading glance, and she was hit with a bone-deep reminder of that boy so long ago. Not the scary version of Trevor. Not the warped-beyond-repair killer. The boy he’d been before. The lost one. The depressed one. The one who’d trusted her with his vulnerability, only to have Rebecca crush it in her hands.
Her stomach rolled.
Steven was asking for a small reprieve. To give him just a few hours so he could save face in front of the only group he felt a part of. He wanted to have at least one safe space where he was just another kid, someone who was liked, accepted. A place where he was the kid who could cook his butt off and riff on recipes, not the kid who was humiliated on a daily basis by his father and peers at school. Not the criminal.
She had to afford him that. She’d seen what humiliation could do to a person, how it could kill off the good parts inside someone. So she nodded, agreeing against her better judgment to grant him a few hours. His face sagged in relief, his eyes full of gratitude. He turned for the door, sealing the deal. She followed Steven out, trying to keep her expression casual, but her head was tangling with worries and what-ifs, vines knotting around her thoughts.
Wes helped her down the bus’s steps and waited until Steven was out of earshot. “Everything okay?”
She cleared her throat. “It’s fine.”
“Why were you two shaking hands?”
She glanced at Wes, his expression one of curiosity, not suspicion. Now was not the time. “Nothing important. Just telling him what a good job he did in there.”
“Oh,” Wes said, his smile reappearing. “Great.”
Yeah, great.
Everything was just peachy.
Her stomach sank a little deeper.
What the hell had she just agreed to?
chapter
TWENTY-THREE
“He’s gone from dopey and pitiful to resident howler,” Marco said, leading Wes and Rebecca to the back of the clinic. “The other dogs let him lead the chorus each night. I can hear him all the way upstairs. So I have to say, I’m glad he’s better, but I’m not sad to see him go.”
“Oh, fantastic,” Rebecca said, a hint of worry beneath her playful tone. “My neighbors are going to love me when I bring home a howler. How am I supposed to make sure he doesn’t do that?”
“Read him a bedtime story, and bring him a warm cup of milk,” Wes suggested.
“Shut it, chef.”
Wes laughed, amused by Rebecca’s nervous Nellie routine. She was acting like she was on the way to pick up a baby instead of a dog. “Don’t stress, Bec. Knight’s used to being wild and free. I’d howl, too, if I were locked up in a cage and had to stare at Marco’s ugly mug all day.”
Marco flipped him off without breaking stride.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine once you give him some room to run around,” Wes said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze. “He just wants his new mommy.”
Rebecca shot him a narrow-eyed look. “I’m not his new mommy. This is temporary. I am fostering him.”
“Uh-huh.”
She huffed. “Why does everyone do that when I point that fact out?”
“Because you’re secretly a softie. And a softie’s kryptonite is sweet, fluffy, sad-eyed animals.”
She rolled her eyes. “Marco, tell him that people foster pets all the time and are able to let them go when they find a permanent home.”
Marco glanced back. “Of course they do.”
“See?” she said petulantly.
Wes bent his head close to Rebecca’s ear. “Yes, but my brother doesn’t know you like I know you. I’ve seen sides of you he hasn’t. Very private sides.”
She pursed her lips and flicked her hand in Marco’s direction, her cheeks darkening. “Hush. Your brother is right there.”
Wes chuckled under his breath. He’d been talking about seeing the side she’d shown with the kids this afternoon. But he loved that the mere hint of something sexual could send her mind into that place and make her flushed and flustered.
Since his talk with Marco the week before, Wes had backed away from Rebecca a little bit, had given her some space—both to give her a chance to focus on her work and to give him a chance to prove to himsel
f that he wasn’t obsessed like Marco had accused.
He and Rebecca had seen each other once over the weekend and they’d talked on the phone a few times, but he’d dialed down the intensity. Nothing catastrophic had happened. He was a big boy. He could handle it just being a fling. He’d accept it when it was time to move on from each other. He had come to terms with the situation.
At least he thought he had.
But seeing her with his students today had stirred up more than he’d expected. The way she took the kids seriously and talked to them like adults, the genuine kindness she showed them, the easy laugh she rewarded them with when they were goofing off to get her attention. All of it had made him think things he shouldn’t. Feel things he shouldn’t.
And he was beginning to forget why he shouldn’t feel them.
“Here he is,” Marco said, breaking Wes from his ruminating.
A forlorn howl started up, ringing through the kennel and riling up the other animals.
Rebecca burst into a laugh, her hand going to her mouth. “Oh my God, that is the saddest, most obnoxious sound I’ve ever heard. He sounds so heartbroken.”
“He’s quite dramatic,” Marco said with an affectionate smirk.
“Aww, don’t cry, Knight,” Wes announced. “Your new mom is here!”
“Stop.” Rebecca smacked Wes’s arm, earning a lifted brow from his brother. A brow that seemed to say, So you’re still doing this?
Wes gave him a back-off look.
Rebecca crouched next to the kennel, oblivious to the silent argument between the brothers. “Hey there, cutie pie. You ready to go home? Huh? You ready?”
Wes bit his lip at the baby-talk tone Rebecca used and tried not to laugh. He would’ve bet money she wasn’t capable of such behavior, but the tough lawyer dissolved into a pile of mushy words at the sight of the happy dog.