by Kara Lennox
“Okay. But her bedtime is at eight. And she needs a bath first.”
“Understood.”
When John nodded to MacKenzie, she slid out of her chair and went to Travis. Travis leaned down and held out his arms. She went into them easily enough, and he gave her a good hug. “That one’s from your dad,” he whispered in her ear. “And this one’s from me.”
MacKenzie hugged him back, her tense little body relaxing in the embrace.
“Let’s go into the living room where it’s a little quieter.” He let her go and took her hand. Bea stood up from the table. “John, can you handle the kitchen cleanup? I need to pay some bills before bedtime.”
“Sure, honey.”
Bea followed Travis and MacKenzie into the living room and sat down at a small desk in the corner, switching on a reading light.
It was always like this. They never left him and MacKenzie completely alone. He wondered if they were worried about what he might do to her...or what she might tell him about what actually went on in that house.
“Hey, MacKenzie,” Travis said. “Do you want to have a tea party?” Eric had bought MacKenzie a beautiful, high-quality doll-size tea set for her birthday a couple of months earlier, and Travis had delivered it to her. The little girl had seemed delighted with her gift but hadn’t wanted to play with it. She’d sat with it in her lap, staring at the colorful dishes behind the clear plastic window in the box as if they were priceless artifacts at a museum.
MacKenzie nodded and ran to her room. After a couple of minutes she returned, looking stricken. “I can’t find it.”
“That’s okay—we can do it another day.” The last thing he wanted to do was upset her.
“But I put it in my closet. Now it’s not there.” She must have been pretty upset. She usually didn’t speak up this much.
“MacKenzie, honey,” Bea said. “You probably just forgot where you put it. Or someone might have moved it—you know how crazy things are in this house sometimes. Don’t worry. It’ll turn up.”
Bea sounded like the soul of concern, a loving, patient mother. But MacKenzie didn’t appear comforted. In fact, she shot her foster mother a brief, mutinous look, as if she wanted to argue but didn’t dare.
Okay, this went beyond disorganization. Travis understood that sometimes toys were shared or misplaced, but the tea set had been a special gift. A child ought to have some things that were hers alone.
Travis was beginning to think there was more going on here than just a little girl who misplaced her things. Eric insisted MacKenzie had plenty of good-quality clothes that fit well; he didn’t want her to be known as “that poor foster kid” at school. But right now, she was wearing a pair of faded green stretch pants that were too big and a striped T-shirt that was too small and frayed at the cuffs.
“MacKenzie, why don’t you show your uncle how you can write your letters?” Bea suggested.
“You’re writing now?” Travis asked, not having to fake being impressed. MacKenzie was a smart kid. She might be quiet and withdrawn at home, but she was doing well in school.
MacKenzie nodded. She opened a notebook that was on the coffee table, picked up a pencil and plopped down on the floor. Leaning over the paper, she laboriously drew some letters into the notebook and showed them to Travis.
“That spells ‘cat’!” Travis beamed. Before long, she would be reading and writing better than he could. “Can you spell ‘dog’?”
She nodded and printed the word for him, fastidiously working between the lines of the ruled paper.
“That is really good. Hey, do you want to read to me?”
She nodded, went to a crowded bookcase and pulled out a well-worn book of fairy tales. It was well beyond her reading level. She handed Travis the book and sat on the sofa.
Clearly she wanted Travis to read to her.
Reading wasn’t his strong suit, but for MacKenzie, he’d try. His voice was halting, and a couple of times, the kid actually helped him sound out a word and they figured it out together. She seemed to like helping him read.
“MacKenzie, it’s time for your bath,” Bea said after they’d been at it for about ten minutes. She looked apologetically at Travis. “With so many kids, and a small hot water heater, we have to stick to our schedule. I’m sure you understand.”
“Sure.” Travis gave MacKenzie another hug. “I’ll be back to visit next week at our regular time, okay?”
She nodded. “Uncle Trav, when’s Daddy getting out of jail?”
Unfortunately, there was no shielding MacKenzie from the truth of where her father was. Everyone knew, including her foster siblings. Travis had gone to great pains to emphasize that Eric hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was all a mistake they were trying to straighten out, and MacKenzie accepted that.
But every time he visited, she asked the same question.
“I don’t know, MacKenzie. Soon, I hope. I’m doing everything I can to help your dad. Meanwhile, he loves to get your letters. We’ll write him another one next time I come, okay? Maybe you can color a picture for him.”
She nodded. Last time she’d drawn a picture. She’d made stick figures portraying herself, her mommy and daddy and even the dog.
The dog had disappeared; during the chaos of the police investigating the crime scene, someone had left the gate open and it had run away. Eric had tried like hell to find it, even while mourning his wife, but poor little Pixie never came back. Everyone and everything MacKenzie had held dear had been taken from her.
As Travis made his way to his truck, a boy of about twelve fell into step beside him. “I know what happened to MacKenzie’s tea set.”
“Yeah?” The kid was MacKenzie’s foster brother. “You’re Wesley, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” He seemed surprised Travis would remember his name. “The Stovers sell MacKenzie’s stuff online. Any time any of us gets something good, the Stovers take it from us. And they say if we tell, the state will take us away.”
“So why are you telling?”
“’Cause I’m sick of this place. It’s not bad, as far as foster homes go. We get enough to eat. But I’m sick of all the lies. And MacKenzie—they’re mean to her. She’s a scared little kid, y’know? And they take advantage. I’m just sick of it. Check eBay if you don’t believe me.”
* * *
“WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me this before?” Missy Kelso, MacKenzie’s social worker, looked at Travis over the top of her large black glasses. “I assumed everything was fine at the Stover house. I mean, I know they have a lot of kids they’re responsible for, but the kids always seem relatively happy, they’re always clean, they have healthy food in the fridge...”
“Well, it hasn’t been like that when I’ve been there. MacKenzie’s father provides lots of clothes and toys for his daughter, which I’ve delivered on many occasions, but they seem to disappear. I’ve asked MacKenzie what happened to them, and she doesn’t know.”
The social worker shrugged. “Kids lose toys.”
“Not MacKenzie. She’s a very careful, meticulous child. She was always a little fashion plate—she wanted the bows in her hair just so. She would never willingly wear the faded, badly fitting clothes I’ve seen her in unless she had no choice. And they cut her hair off.”
“Long hair can be a chore to take care of.”
“There’s always a reason, always an excuse. But I’m telling you, things aren’t what they seem in that house. Maybe they know when you’re coming to visit somehow and...and spiff things up.”
“Why would they move to adopt MacKenzie if they didn’t love her?” Missy asked. “They’ll lose the money from the state that they receive for her care.”
“Because MacKenzie is rich. Or she will be. Her great-grandmother is loaded, and MacKenzie is her sole heir now that Tammy is gone. I’m te
lling you, I see dollar signs in the eyes of those people.”
“You’re not just...exaggerating because you want custody, are you?”
“Listen, Eric wanted me to take over the care of MacKenzie when he was arrested. But I’m a single guy and I work construction. I thought foster care was better—you know, two parents, a family atmosphere. I’m still convinced it could be. But not with those people.”
Missy stared at him awhile longer.
“I didn’t tell you all this before now because I wasn’t sure. And I didn’t think anyone would believe me because of my past.”
“Because you have a criminal record.”
He nodded.
“Lots of people have made mistakes. Relatively speaking, your brush with the law is minor. You haven’t had any trouble since then, have you?”
“No,” he said a little too quickly. But he realized she could discover the truth with one phone call. “Okay, that’s not the truth. I was arrested. Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Missy looked at him with alarm.
“Yes, but it was all a misunderstanding. They released me, no charges. Look, I’m not trying to get anything out of this. I just want what’s best for MacKenzie.”
“I do, too, Travis. Truly I do. If you had something more concrete—”
“They’re selling MacKenzie’s things online.”
“What?”
“One of the other foster kids said that whatever presents I bring to MacKenzie, the Stovers take them and sell them online. The clothes are expensive—designer stuff. The toys, too. They don’t care about her.”
“That’s a fairly serious charge. Do you have any proof?”
“No. But you could ask the boy—Wesley, his name is. He’s about twelve.”
“I will. Is there anything else—anything besides your suspicions?”
“Wesley also said the Stovers are mean to MacKenzie, that they take advantage of the fact she’s a scared little girl.”
“Could Wesley be jealous of MacKenzie?”
“I don’t think that’s it.” Travis struggled to keep his voice even, to not lose his temper. Missy was just being thorough. She was looking at all the angles. God only knew what the Stovers’ lawyers would try to claim. They would dig through Travis’s past and try to discredit him. And it wouldn’t be that difficult.
He needed facts.
“I’ll talk to him,” Missy said. “Alone. I have to admit, whenever I’m there, the parents hover. And they always herd the other kids outside or into another room, like they don’t want me to talk to them.”
Travis nodded. Maybe Missy would at least look into his complaint, even if she didn’t completely believe him.
“Why were you arrested? Do you mind my asking?”
Hell, yes, he minded. Because he didn’t have a satisfactory answer. But he needed to keep Missy on his side. “They thought I kidnapped someone,” he said with a laugh. “But when they talked to the supposed victim, she set them straight.”
“And they never filed charges?”
“No. They didn’t have any evidence.” So long as Elena didn’t have a change of heart, they never would.
Elena. He needed to talk to her. Maybe she’d cooled off toward Daniel by now. But he wanted to make sure his actions hadn’t resulted in some long-term condition. The problem was, he didn’t even know how to get in touch with her. She’d never given him her number, and why would she? Despite what her parents thought, he and Elena weren’t... Wait. Her parents. How many Elmer Marquezes could there be in Houston?
Once he was sitting behind the wheel of his truck in the parking lot outside Missy’s office, Travis took out his phone and called Information.
“Is that Elmer Marquez, M.D.?” the operator asked.
M.D.? As in doctor? “I’m looking for a home number. On Sandpiper Lane.”
“I’ll connect you.”
Elmer had never mentioned what he did for a living. Somehow, the subject never came up. But how had he gone from cane fields to being a doctor?
As the phone rang, Travis almost lost his nerve and hung up. He’d vowed he would stay out of Elena’s life. But he also wanted her to see reason. He couldn’t stand the thought that she might trash her career out of some misguided need to defend him.
Rosalie answered with a cheery “Hola!”
“Rosalie, it’s Travis Riggs.”
“Travis! How nice to hear from you.” She sounded as happy as if he were a long-lost son coming back from the dead.
“Yes, it’s nice to talk to you, too,” he said politely. “I’m sorry to bother you—”
“Oh, it’s no bother!”
“But I really need to get in touch with Elena and I wondered if you might have her cell phone number.”
“Of course I do. But why would you need that when Elena is sitting right here? I’ll put her on.”
Travis heard some muffled noises. Like maybe Elena and her mother were arguing? But in the end, Elena did take the phone. “Hey, Travis.”
“So, I guess you’re not at work.”
“No...I’m taking a leave of absence.”
A leave of absence. That didn’t sound good. “Elena, seriously, you aren’t going to quit your job, are you? I can’t have this on my conscience. There’s no room.”
“I don’t know. Daniel gave me his word, then broke it.”
“Because he was trying to protect you.”
“No. Because he was angry at you. His ego couldn’t allow him to let you go without being punished. So he lied to me. The SWAT team, that huge show of force—it was all to punish you, not to protect me.”
“It was a natural reaction to everything that had happened. Emotions were running high.” He couldn’t believe he was defending Daniel Logan, not after the heated words they’d exchanged. But what he told Elena was true. If he ever got his hands on the man who’d murdered Tammy and put Eric through hell, he wouldn’t have a good handle on his emotions, either.
“Daniel won’t allow his employees’ emotions to dictate their behavior. He’s always going on about how we have to keep our heads on straight no matter what is going on around us. Yet he doesn’t practice that himself.”
“He made a mistake.”
“He abused his power. I don’t like that. I’m giving myself some time to cool off, that’s all. I don’t know whether I’m going to quit or not.”
She sounded pretty upset. Her voice cracked when she spoke. The last thing he wanted to do was upset her further. “Okay. I get it. But I feel responsible. Maybe I didn’t physically hurt you, but it seems I messed things up.”
She actually laughed. “Think of it this way. You shook things up. It’s easy to get too comfortable, too complacent, if you never have to struggle. Maybe I am ready for a change.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And my parents are thrilled to have me living at home like the old days.”
Of course. Elena didn’t have her own place. Her job included room and board.
“Well, I wish you the best. Goodbye, Elena.” For about the fourth time.
“Did you talk to MacKenzie’s social worker about the Stovers?” she asked before he could disconnect.
“Yeah, just now. She was at least interested in what I had to say, but she said I need something more concrete than a feeling.”
“What would you need?”
“Proof that they’re selling MacKenzie’s toys and clothes—that would be useful.”
“I could help with that,” she said brightly. “Send me a list of everything you believe they might have sold.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Can I tell it to you, instead of writing it down?”
“Oh, right. You and computers don’t get along. Okay, tell me.”<
br />
“Zulily dress, pink and black stripes, size 6. Gap Kids jeans, size...”
“Wait a minute. You know this off the top of your head?”
“Yeah. I have a very good memory.” Since he seldom wrote anything down, he had to have a good memory.
“That’s impressive.”
He thought it would be a damn sight more impressive if he could type on a computer with some degree of proficiency.
It took about fifteen minutes for them to complete the list of clothes and toys MacKenzie had received since going to live with the Stovers.
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll get back to you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” A few minutes? What could she possibly do in that time?
He checked his watch. Damn, he really needed to get to work. He’d been neglecting the job he’d been hired to do. He had one thing going for him, and that was his professional reputation. He could at least try to preserve that. Hard to believe that yesterday he’d been ready to throw that all aside. He still would—if it would help Eric. But it wouldn’t.
When he got to the house in Bellaire, the first thing he thought about was Elena—the frenzied drive from River Oaks with Elena in his trunk, her throwing the wrench at his head, carrying her kicking and screaming in through the back door. He actually smiled—what a spitfire she was! Any other woman would have been cowering and crying over his harsh treatment of her, but she’d come up swinging.
Today he had a couple of crews working—a stonemason to repair the fireplace, some guys to polish the more minor scratches out of the hardwood floor. They were both there, two trucks, four guys, waiting for him to unlock the door. He hadn’t meant to make them wait—he’d pay for that, since the crews charged by the hour.
He screeched to a halt in the cul-de-sac and hopped out. “Sorry I’m late, guys.”
They didn’t seem bothered. The glass on the front door had been broken and patched with plywood. Had the police done that while hunting for Elena?
One more thing for him to repair.
He unlocked the front door and they all started dragging their equipment in. First tool to get plugged in was the radio, tuned to a Spanish-language station and set at top volume. Next came the power chisels and the drum sander, and all was right with the world. Travis went to work repairing the master bath sink.