by Cassie Wild
I could see the strained look on the face of the kid running the cash register at the snack bar and knew he was counting down the seconds until the boisterous Sinclair clan left.
I couldn’t entirely blame him.
My six brothers and I could be a handful. My dad was quieter, a watcher, as he’d always been, but the one quiet voice among the masses didn’t make much of a difference.
As I chomped on a candy bar, Malcolm took the seat next to me and asked, “How’s the new job going?”
I’d recently started working for the police department, the same one where my father had recently retired from. I was at the same station house where Carl was a desk sergeant. Harker was also a cop, but he was at a different precinct. It was a small blessing, but I’d take whatever I could get.
Like being thankful that all my brothers hadn’t followed in Dad’s footsteps to become cops.
“It’s going.” Hitching up a shoulder in a shrug, I managed a smile. There was absolutely nothing exciting going on with the job right now, but I hadn’t become a cop for excitement.
But my goals were ones that took time and perseverance, just as it had taken time and perseverance to get through college a year early, to get into the police academy and graduate.
They didn’t take it easy on anybody there, and I hadn’t been looking for an easy way. Sometimes, I felt like they’d pushed me even harder because I was a Sinclair, and if so, that was just fine. I was a cop now, and I’d earned it, and I’d earn the next step too.
“You sound so ecstatic.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “This coming from the girl who’d rather be playing cops and robbers than with dolls? You dreamed of being a cop your whole life, and that’s the most you can say now that you’ve accomplished your dream?”
Making a face at him, I pointed out, “Becoming a cop was just part of the goal. It doesn’t end there. And it’s not like I’m not happy. I’ve never been one to dance a jig over something, so stop.”
“That would be a sight…you dancing a jig.” Malcolm’s eyes lit with laughter.
I went to flip him off.
The sound of a kid’s laughter rose over the noise made by my brothers, and I resisted the urge.
Barely.
Judging by the look in Malcolm’s eyes, he seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.
A few hours later, I cracked open a beer and took it with me to the shower. I had so much muck and grime and sweat on me, I felt like I could spend the rest of the evening in the shower and still not be entirely clean.
After a long, deep drink, I placed the beer on the small shelf and reached for the shampoo. Dirt and sweat washed away as I scrubbed at my short, bright red hair, sighing in relief at being clean.
Once my hair was squeaky clean and dripping into my eyes, I grabbed a sponge and bath gel, one of my few girlish indulgences. Surrounded by guys most of my life, I hadn’t even realized I liked girlish indulgences until a friend had taken me shopping for clothes not long after I graduated from college.
“Look, the tomboy thing works for you, but it’s okay to like some girl stuff too,” she’d said before thrusting a pot of lotion into my face. The scent of it was so good, I almost wanted to eat it.
She’d seduced me with bath and body stuff, then conned me into buying some clothes that actually played up the fact that I was female.
I mostly didn’t mind, and the scents, redolent in the air, were the main reason. How had I gone twenty-two years of my life without discovering some of the more fun aspects of being a girl?
I really didn’t know.
Of course, the person who would have most likely introduced me to all the girlie stuff died when I was six. My mother had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and by the time they found it, it had been too late. The doctors had tried, but it hadn’t worked. She’d been gone so fast.
I hardly even remembered her after sixteen years.
Maudlin now, I grabbed the beer and tipped it back, draining the rest of it as the water rinsed away the perfumed body wash. Even once the last of the suds were gone, I didn’t climb out.
I stood, hands braced against the wall, musing about my long-gone mother…and missing her.
Two
Nicco
The poor kid jumped at even the slightest sound.
I didn’t have to ask to understand what she was afraid of.
Our mutual father was her boogeyman, and Joelle Marks wasn’t yet convinced she was safe.
I wasn’t going to let that bastard screw her up any more than he already had, but it would take time for both of my recently discovered sisters to realize they could trust me.
Sisters.
What a mind trip that was.
Sure, I’d wondered if I might have a brother or sister out there, but I’d never let it go much beyond that idle curiosity. Now, I had to deal with the guilt of never looking. Maybe if I’d done some looking around, found out what kind of shitty father he was, I could have done something.
There were always ways to deal with the bullies of the world, and that included bullies like Gabriel Marks.
My father.
My lip curled even thinking of him, but I smoothed the sneer off my face and fixed it into a neutral expression.
Neither of them needed to know I was dealing with guilt or anger over everything that was going down. The anger would level out. The guilt…well, I had to suck that up and deal with it.
I’d have plenty of time to wonder about what-ifs and things that I could have maybe changed if I’d bothered to look Gabriel Marks up at any point in the past few years.
Now wasn’t that time.
“Nicco?”
At the sound of my mother’s voice, I looked up.
She had a glass of wine in her hand and offered it to me. “It’s been a crazy day. You could probably use this.”
I accepted it with a faint smile and nodded. “Thank you.”
After taking a drink of the pinot noir, I nodded toward the back patio where our guests were currently taking up residence. “How are they?” I asked my mother.
She’d just come in from outside. I’d watched as she carried out a plate of cookies, and I wasn’t surprised that the plate didn’t come back in. I also knew she’d have a few stashed away for me. I’d find them the next time I went into the kitchen.
“Coping.” She lifted a brow and studied me. “How are you?”
Instead of answering, I focused on the glass of wine in my hand.
My mother sighed and shook her head. “I imagine you’re feeling guilty that it came to this. You’re not to blame for any of this, Nicco.”
“I know that.” It was a rare lie I’d just told my mother, and judging by the way her voice firmed, she knew it too.
“Do you?” She touched her fingertips to my cheek and waited for me to look at her. “Then why are you standing here mentally castigating yourself instead of being out there with them?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it as each argument I could have offered fell apart almost as soon as it formed.
When I ended up offering no response, my mother cocked a brow at me, then shook her head. “There was nothing you could have done, Nicco. Maybe you could have gone and looked to see if you had family here in the past few years, true. But before that, you were a child yourself. You couldn’t have done anything. Perhaps I should blame myself for not wanting to know anything else about Gabriel?” She canted her head to the side as she met my eyes, a questioning look in her gaze. “Had I known he had daughters, could I have done anything? Would I have done anything, knowing it might come as a risk to you?”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, voice gruff. “It’s not your fault.”
“And it’s not yours, either. You helped when they came to you. That’s what we have to remember. And let’s remember one other thing – he is the one to blame in all of this. So, let’s keep the blame where it belongs.”
Shifting my gaze back to the patio doors, nearly blinded by the glare of
the sun, I asked, “Do you think he’ll come looking for us?”
“I can’t tell you what’s in his head, Nicco,” she answered honestly. “But I do know he’s not a foolish man. Too self-aware and too arrogant, but if he senses it better for his self-interest to let this go, that’s what he’ll do.” She patted me on the arm. “It won’t serve his interest to piss you off, now will it?”
“How are you all holding up?”
Eyes slid my way as I stepped outside.
The warm summer sun hit me square on the shoulders as I sat down in the only open seat, one right across from my youngest sister, Joelle. She looked exactly like what she was, a nervous young kid who’d just barely managed to avoid a nasty mess.
Her father had planned to sell her off to a marriage to an older man. Unthinkable, considering she was only sixteen, but I knew from my studies of my father’s people that arranged marriages still happened within the Roma peoples. Most of the more progressive clans wouldn’t force a girl as young as Joelle to marry unless she wanted to, but it didn’t look like progressive described my father’s clan.
Man, was I glad my mother had gotten us away from them.
And shit, was I pissed off that I had two sisters who’d been forced to grow up in that messed-up life.
They’d been planning to marry her off to a man in his early forties, and from what I’d gleaned from Suria and my mother, the man she would have married was a bastard of the highest order.
Suria, the oldest of the two sisters, had come to me for help.
I’d only found out a few days ago that I even had sisters.
But there had been no question of whether or not I’d help.
I had family. Family was supposed to be there for each other.
Joelle was munching on a cookie – one of my mother’s monstrous chocolate and peanut butter chip creations – and she paused long enough to offer a shrug. “Right now, I have a cookie, and that’s all that matters,” she said, feigning a distinct lack of concern.
But the shadows in her eyes, the tension in her shoulders belied the easiness of her words.
Suria gave her a worried look when Joelle wasn’t looking then shifted her gaze to me. She offered a tight smile. “The cookies are pretty excellent. Think your mother would share the recipe?”
“With the two of you? Absolutely.” I eyed the man sitting next to Suria. His name was Kian, and from what I knew of him, he was a decent enough sort. He made Suria smile, and he’d gone in to help get Joelle to safety. That counted for a lot in my book.
But that didn’t mean he’d get my mother’s chocolate and peanut butter chip cookie recipe. “I can’t speak for you though, man.”
Kian held up his hands. “I’d much rather sit back and enjoy the results myself. I burn more things than I successfully cook.”
“Oh…” I winced and shook my head. “Don’t let my mother hear that. She has a firm belief that all people should know how to cook the basics. If she hears you can’t, she’ll drag you into the kitchen by your ear.”
Suria laughed at that. Kian smirked. “She’d give up on me. My mom did.”
“Give up…not in my mom’s repertoire,” I told him, shaking my head. I focused on Suria once more, the smile fading from my face as we studied each other. “I’ve already told you this, but the two of you are welcome here as long as you need someplace to stay. It doesn’t matter if it’s a few days, a few months…a few years. This is Mom’s condo, but she’s already told me to let you know you’re welcome. I know she’s told you, but I want to reiterate. Just say the word.” I offered a faint smile. “I’d let you stay with me, but it would be cramped. There’s just the one bedroom, and even if I let you have the bed…well, it’s a studio apartment. We’d be miserable.”
Suria managed a wan smile but looked over at Kian. “We’re still kind of…processing.”
“Is it too much to hope that he’ll let it go?” Kian asked. “I’ll go to the cops. I told him I would, and I have no compunction about doing so. Joelle’s ready to tell the police anything she needs to if it will keep her from going back to him.”
“Good,” I said, nodding. “It may well come to that.” I slanted a look at her. “You are a minor, Joelle. That doesn’t exactly bend the law in your favor, but your dad screwed up big time, and that offers you some protection.”
“What if they don’t believe me?” she asked, her voice hesitant.
“It will be your word against his.” Leaning forward slightly, I pointed out, “But he’s been in trouble before. He doesn’t have the cleanest history with the law. That won’t play into his favor. Plus…it’s not just your word. It’s your sister’s too.”
“What do we need to do to protect her?” Suria asked.
“There are a few options,” I said, glad she’d asked. She was a sharp one, but I’d already figured that out. She was also brave and determined. “Joelle could try to apply for emancipated minor status, but I don’t know if that’s the ideal situation. You don’t work, do you, Joelle?”
“Not outside the clan, no.” She nibbled on the cookie, staring at nothing.
“Then that’s not as good of an option.” Shifting my attention to Suria, I said, “You could apply to be her guardian.”
“I don’t work outside the clan, either,” she said, her voice hesitant. “And it’s entirely likely I could be in trouble for some of the things I’ve done for them.”
“We’ll deal with that hurdle.” Taking a deep breath, I offered, “There’s always the next option. I can file for guardianship.”
Suria and Kian shared a look, then Suria looked at her little sister. “I…but…we live in LA.”
Nodding, I said, “I know. It’s not ideal. I could perhaps file for temporary guardianship, and you can get a job. Prove that you’re a responsible caretaker, then we try again, under your name.”
Joelle looked pale and tired, and I felt pity for her. “But none of this has to be decided tonight. You all – we all – have had one hell of a day. We’ve got time to work this out.”
Three
Ravenna
One thing that did seriously suck about my job – the hours. Unlike some people, I would have killed to have been put on second or even third shift.
I was so not a morning person, and when my alarm went off at the ass-crack of dawn, I hit it with a whimper, wishing I could stay in bed until it was a more reasonable hour. Another six or seven hours should do it.
But that wasn’t going to happen, so after hitting the snooze button twice, I rolled out of bed and hit the floor. Literally. I did forty push-ups, then went to my back and did double the number of sit-ups.
My brain was marginally more awake after I stumbled out of the bathroom a few minutes later, in search of caffeine and food. I’d shower after I’d taken care of those two crucial needs.
The coffeepot, on a timer, had already produced glorious coffee and I nipped a cup off before putting a bagel in the toaster. Coffee and a bagel with peanut butter – the breakfast of champions.
I poured a second cup of coffee before I was even finished with the bagel. The second cup went into the shower with me. Some people might think I had a caffeine problem. I didn’t see it as a problem.
Even though I’d told Malcolm the job was going the other day, I couldn’t help but feel a rush when I walked into the precinct. Malcolm hadn’t been exaggerating when he talked about how I’d been working for this my whole life.
I was nowhere near close to the end goal, but I was one step closer, and it mattered.
My partner was in the bullpen talking to a couple of other officers, and when he saw me, he waved me over. Milo Lorenzo was a decent cop, and I appreciated the fact that I’d been assigned to him when I was hired. He wasn’t overly ambitious and didn’t have pie in the sky dreams about shooting for homicide or anything else, really. He’d told me he was quite happy being a beat cop, and I could either follow in his footsteps, or he’d do the best he could with me, then boost up to the n
ext level once that time came.
I was still a new cop, and for now, I came with training wheels. Some of those training wheels had the name M. Lorenzo on them. I wasn’t resentful of the fact. I was a cop’s daughter and understood the chain of command, but man, did I want to be ready for that next level.
“About time to go get our assignments for the day,” Milo said, passing me a cup of coffee.
The first few weeks we’d worked together, he’d been quiet to the point of terseness, but we’d adjusted to each other and had an amicable enough working friendship.
I suspected he’d thought I use family connections to smooth my way. If only he knew that I wished fewer people knew of those family connections. I didn’t want my way smoothed.
“Look at that…she’s got you trained and fetching coffee,” one of the uniforms said with a smirk in my direction. “If I had a new cop working with me, she’d be the one fetching my coffee.”
“Maybe that’s why they don’t put new cops with you, Martin,” I replied, taking a tentative sip of the steaming brew. “They’re trying to kill that good ol’ boy system where the little lady is the one to fetch the coffee while the big, strong men sit around and talk business.”
A couple of the guys hooted.
But Shane Martin just stared at me over the rim of his own coffee cup. “Hey, if a system works…why fix it?”
I ignored the comment, refusing to let him draw me into one of his petty little messes. He loved to cause problems, then pass it off like somebody else was responsible.
When I didn’t rise to the bait, he opened his mouth to try again, but Milo cut between us. “Come on, red. Need to get in there for the morning briefing. See you losers later.”
Most of those losers trailed along after us, including Shane Martin, who took up the table behind me along with his partner, Lenny Higgins. The two of them muttered and whispered throughout most of the meeting, making it hard to pick up on everything that was being said, but I focused and tuned them out.