“In today’s society, when a man chooses to be a drifter, he learns to be real wary of law officers. Sort of like your kids.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Anything that goes wrong, it’s the new guy people point fingers at. Cops don’t like people like me. There’s good reasons for that, I’ll grant you, but it’s the lifestyle I’ve chosen.”
“Why?”
Sam shrugged. The easy lies tasted bitter in his mouth. For some reason, it was hard to lie to Marly. “Owning a spread takes money. I don’t have any, but I like what I do.”
“You could save to buy a place.”
He thought about all his hard-earned money, sitting in several judicious investments, as well as his bank account. For just an instant, he wondered what it would have been like if he had done that very thing. He shrugged the thought aside.
“On what you pay? I don’t think so.” His grin came easily.
She studied him intently, as if she saw beneath his teasing words.
“I like my life,” he continued. “It suits me. I get to see as much of the country as I want, with no one to nag at me except an occasional boss.”
“How do you feel about kids?”
“As a species?”
“I’m serious, Sam.”
“I can see that.”
He could see other things, too—and he liked what he saw. She probably wouldn’t care for his thoughts, but she was a pretty woman. There was too much character in her face for classic beauty, but she had flawless skin, especially for a woman who must work outside much of the time.
Marly leaned forward. “I’ll come to the point. Our counselor quit last week. I haven’t been able to find anyone else willing to spend the summer on a working horse farm. Carter can’t do it all. I watched you with the boys today. They seem to respect you.”
“I’m bigger than they are. They’d be foolish not to.”
The fingers of her right hand drummed the desk. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you like children?”
Sam debated his answer, not sure he wanted to follow the direction this was heading. He needed to talk to the kid at the first opportunity, find out what he’d seen that night, and then disappear before someone recognized him. “I never gave it much thought one way or another. Kids are just people on a smaller scale.”
A flicker of a smile came and went. “You handle them well, although I didn’t like the way you pulled that knife earlier.”
“There’s a better way?”
She glared at him. “You know what I mean.”
“No, ma’am, I’m not sure I do.” Hc liked that she didn’t back down from him. Her hazel eyes sparkled with challenge.
“These are inner-city kids. They see enough of that sort of thing on the streets. It’s one of the reasons they’re here—to be taught there’s another way to live.”
“My actions got their attention.”
“Yes, I know—”
“Seemed to me the situation was gettin’ out of hand.” A lot like this conversation, he thought.
“The point is, I need someone to supervise the boys until I can find a replacement for the counselor.”
“Me?”
“It pays more.”
Right to the chase. Sam tilted his head, stalling for time as he weighed his options. “How much more?”
She named a figure. “Plus, you’ll have your own bedroom, here inside the main house. You’ll take your meals with the boys, and I already have lesson plans to work from.”
Though she hid it well, her desperation pricked his conscience. Marly Kramer was a good woman. It didn’t take a genius to see she was facing a lot of problems. He didn’t want to add to them, but he knew he would. He wouldn’t be here any longer than it took to get the information he needed.
“What sort of lesson plans?”
Marly reached for a pile of papers in the bin on the corner of the desk. “The counselor who left worked out a daily lesson plan for their entire stay.”
“Whoa, wait a minute. You expect me to teach?” He wouldn’t even be here a couple of days from now.
“No. Not at all. Well, not exactly.”
“What, exactly?” His friends had always told him he had “sucker” emblazoned on his forehead.
“Just ranch stuff. How to ride, saddle a horse, that sort of thing.”
He’d be a fool to turn her down. She was handing him a golden opportunity to get to the boy. The kid hadn’t spoken up outside, but it was just a matter of time, now that he knew who Sam was. “Let me see these lesson plans.”
She handed over a thick sheaf of papers. Sam brushed her hand as he took them, surprised again by his reaction to the touch of her skin. She pulled away quickly and swiped at her bangs. There were smudges of soot across her forehead and down one cheek that made him want to smile. Instead, Sam pulled his attention back to the papers in his hand.
“You gotta be kidding,” he said after a moment. “I’m surprised this guy didn’t write down times for potty breaks. Or aren’t the boys supposed to have any?” Sam flicked through the pages without waiting for a response. “The person who wrote this crap obviously had a lot of time on his hands. Bet the boys loved him.”
Marly shifted uncomfortably. “Well—”
“Never mind. I can imagine.”
“You don’t have to follow everything. I just thought this would give you a guide.”
Sam cocked his head. “I don’t think NASA has guidelines this tight.”
Her chin lifted, and her lips tightened.
“Will you take the job, Sam? At least temporarily? These kids need to see that something exists besides life in D.C.”
He could have argued with her about what the kids needed, but what was the point? “Court-assigned?”
She lowered her eyes to study the desk blotter. She was afraid he wouldn’t take the job, he realized.
“Yes. They’ve all been in trouble, but nothing serious. There’s a panel that picks them—Judge Kirkland, Officer Porterfield, and two social workers. They decide which kids could benefit from a program like ours.”
Porterfield
The name sent a siren screaming through his head. Pieces of the puzzle slid neatly into place. Why hadn’t he made the connection? He’d known about Bill’s involvement in a program for troubled youths. Yet even when Sam learned the kid had been sent away, he hadn’t put it together. If Bill was the dirty cop…
Sam wanted to explode with rage. It was Bill who had told them about the theft of the evidence. Bill, who’d sat in the bar that night and heard Sam state his destination. What could have been simpler than to follow Sam to the gym, break into his locker and exchange guns?
A simple frame. Use Sam’s gun to murder the man whose testimony would convict Bill, plant some physical evidence in Sam’s apartment, and voilà, off the hook and no one the wiser. Sam had made it all the neater by happening by at exactly the right moment and obligingly getting shot in the process.
Amazing, the risks Porterfield had taken. A lot of cops used that gym. He might have been seen at Sam’s locker. Or, if Sam hadn’t been so preoccupied, he might have noticed the gun switch right away, when he put on his holster that night.
Good old Bill of the endless diets. Hard to picture him as a dirty cop, let alone a murderer.
Sam’s fingers balled into fists. Bill couldn’t have guessed his patsy would skip, or that Sam would come up with the identity of the kid. And he wouldn’t have, without help. The captain, who always played by the rules, friendship notwithstanding, had reluctantly given him that piece of information, mistakenly thinking it wouldn’t matter.
“I’ve got a lead on the boy,” George had told him gruffly.
Joe had stared at his friend in disbelief.
“Two brothers were picked up not far from the scene that night. The younger boy is the right age, and maybe, just maybe, he’s your witness.”
“Give me a name, George.”
“Don’t worr
y, I’ll check him out.”
“I want his name.”
George had frowned and shook his head. “I know you’re frustrated, but let me be sure he’s the right one first. Then we’ll turn this over to the investigators.”
“What do you think I’m going to do, go chasing him down myself? These headaches are so bad I can still barely see straight.”
George had clapped a hand on his shoulder in sympathy, his face speaking of the sleepless nights he was putting in on his friend’s behalf. “I know. I’m sorry. I wish I could do more to help.”
“The name?”
George had given him the name.
Bill probably thought he was safe. Certainly he thought the kid was out of reach. No one else, except George Brent and Sam, knew who the kid was. Only Bill had known where he was.
Until Sam had gotten lucky.
Now, Sam could barely contain the energy that surged through him. Bill should have remembered Sam’s reputation for tenacity. He’d picked the wrong man to frame.
It was tough to stay slouched in the chair and focused on the current conversation. He forced his fingers to unclench. “You said you want references?” he asked Marly.
“Naturally.” Soft, liquid eyes fringed by thick lashes regarded him steadily. Lines of strain were etched below and at the corners of her eyes. Lines that reminded Sam he wasn’t the only one with problems. He just had to remember that his were the ones that counted.
A small body erupted through the open doorway without warning.
“Emma says you’d better come. Zeke’s beatin’ the crap outta Chris.”
Chapter Three
Sam was on his feet before his muscles could protest. He followed Jerome down the hall and up the stairs, aware of Marly on his heels. The other boys were clustered outside the bedroom, watching the combatants.
Blood dripped from one nose, while the other boy sported the start of a black eye. Sam grabbed the back of the nearest shirt and pulled, while Marly pinned the other boy’s arms to his sides.
“The fight’s over,” Marly told them decisively. Fortunately, both were more than ready to quit. She looked at the four faces in the doorway. “Finish washing up and go downstairs.”
Sam released his captive and motioned to the nearest bed. “Sit,” he commanded. “You’re Zeke?”
“Yeah.” The sable-haired youngster wiped futilely at his bloody nose. “But he started it.”
“Did not. You said—”
“I don’t care.” Sam didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t have to. He knew exactly which tone to adopt to silence them. “You two want to expend all that energy beatin’ each other to a pulp, that’s your business.”
He heard the sound of Marly’s indrawn breath as she stepped out of the bathroom with a wet washcloth. He took it from her without looking up. “Thanks.”
Sam spotted Emma hovering in the doorway uncertainly.
“Emma, we could use some ice for Chris’s eye.”
Emma disappeared.
“Okay, guys, let me tell you how this is gonna work from now on.” As he talked, he took one of Zeke’s grungy fingers and pressed it and the cloth up against the narrow band of skin and cartilage between the nostrils. “Push against that spot. Yeah. Like that. Tilt your head a little, now. Good. Now then, you guys want to fight, that’s fine with me, but we’ll do it by the rules.”
“Rules? What rules? There’s no rules in fighting.”
“There is around here. You want to learn how to fight, I’ll teach you.”
“Sam!”
He didn’t look at Marly.
“But you have to do it my way.”
“What’s your way? Sissy gloves and a ring?” Zeke demanded with a sneer.
“Nope. I’ve never boxed, so I don’t know much about it. Besides, boxing’s a sport. Fighting isn’t.”
“So what’s your way?”
Emma bustled in, holding two towel-wrapped bundles of ice.
“Thanks, Emma. Put this on your eye,” he told Chris.
“Ow! It’s cold!”
“Takes the swelling down. It’s easier to fight if you can see out of both eyes.”
“Sam…” Marly protested again.
This time he did look at her, and he had the strangest urge to kiss those prim lips. He turned back to his young charge, pulled away the washcloth and positioned the other makeshift ice pack.
“Did you say dinner was almost ready, Emma? The boys and I need to have a little chat first, but I don’t want to miss whatever it is you’re cooking down there. The smells are close to heaven.”
Emma was startled into a grin. Her plump face was surprisingly pretty when she smiled. “Three minutes,” she told him.
“Good. Marly, would you take the other boys…?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Okay. You want to learn how to fight, too?”
Zeke snickered.
“Oh, I know how to fight,” she told him, hands on her trim hips. “I just don’t use my fists.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “I like the sounds of that.”
She looked pointedly at the kids. “Only because you don’t know any better.”
He tipped his head in acknowledgment and turned back to the boys. “You two need to get washed up for supper.”
“But don’t you care who started it?” Zeke demanded.
“Nope. I ended it. Remember that. Rule number one—it doesn’t matter who starts a fight, only who walks away the winner. In this case, it’s me. You both lost. Got it?”
He stared them down. Two heads bobbed unwillingly. “Then let’s get in the bathroom and get this bleeding stopped.”
“I need to talk to you,” Marly told him.
“Can it wait until after dinner, boss? We’ve only got two minutes, according to Emma, and it’ll take both of them to get these two presentable. I’ll meet you downstairs. Bathroom in here?”
He was amazed she let him get away with it. He could feel her gaze on him as he strode toward the bathroom after the two kids. Fortunately, the nosebleed was almost stopped. Chris tried to leave after he washed his hands and face, but Sam set him smartly down on the toilet seat. The boy watched him wanly from his one good eye, the makeshift ice pack covering the other one.
“All right, Zeke. Go change your shirt and then head downstairs. I want to talk to Chris for a minute.”
Zeke smirked.
“But he started it,” Chris protested.
“I told you I don’t care about that. I want to talk to you about something else. Get a move on, Zeke.”
Dismay plastered Chris’s face as Zeke left for his own room. “We need to talk,” Sam told Chris.
“About what?” Apprehension pitched his voice up an octave.
“You were there, that night.” Alarm spread across the small face. He knew exactly what night Sam was referring to. “I almost shot you.”
Chris turned away, breathing hard. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
Sam hunkered down to be on a more equal footing with him, but Chris wouldn’t look at him. “I need your help, Chris. I’m in big trouble.”
The small mouth pinched in silence. The kid was scared to death.
“Look, you don’t have to come forward and testify or anything. All I need is a name. A description. I never got a good look at the guy, but you were there. You saw who pulled the trigger.”
Chris gave a ragged shake of his head. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, man.”
“Chris, they’re going to set me down for murder if you don’t help me.”
“I didn’t see nothin’!” Chris blurted out. He scooted off the seat and backed away when Sam would have touched him. The boy wasn’t just scared, he was terrified.
“Chris, I’m not going to hurt you.”
His eyes all but rolled in fear. “We’re late for dinner. Marly won’t like it.” The words came out high and shrill. The small body quaked. Sam flexed his fingers and s
tood. He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy.
“All right. We’ll talk about it later. Let’s go.”
Chris scampered past him and tore out of the room. Sam followed more slowly, swallowing his tension. Time was his enemy, yet that was what he needed to win the boy’s trust.
Downstairs, Emma stood in the doorway, holding a large platter. Everyone else was already seated, and they looked up expectantly. Particularly Marly. His mother used to wear that look, Sam remembered. It had never boded well.
“Sorry to be late,” he said.
Emma beamed and moved forward. Marly continued to stare. Reluctantly Sam removed his hat. Marly’s eyes fastened at once on the angry red scar that angled along his forehead, over the left temple. There was no way for her to know it had been made by a bullet. Only she was a bright lady. How long would it take her to put the pieces together and come up with the fact that she was harboring a fugitive?
As Sam sat down across from Marly and began filling his plate, he caught another pair of eyes that traced the bullet’s path. Chris looked down quickly at the dinner plate in front of him. Sam could almost feel the kid’s raw fear.
He knew Marly hadn’t missed the boy’s reaction, either. It was obvious that she was as puzzled by it as she was curious about the scar. Fortunately, she didn’t ask questions, and the kids began to eat as though faced with imminent starvation. There was silence for several minutes, broken only by the clink of silverware and the sounds of contented eating. Sam caught Marly watching him, a speculative look on her face. It was almost a relief when one of the boys began to talk.
“Sam’s gonna teach us how to fight,” Zeke announced around a mouthful of chicken. The words produced an immediate chorus of approval from the other boys.
Sam gave a mental groan and looked down the table, into turbulent hazel eyes. An “I told you so” expression was already in place. The words just hadn’t made it to her lips yet.
“Yeah. Next time Chris calls me a fathead, I’m gonna—”
“Whoa, now. Didn’t I tell you there were rules?” Sam waved his fork, amazed by Marly’s restraint. He had the distinct impression that she wanted to be chewing on him instead of her food. “There are better ways to settle problems.”
Disgusted frowns appeared as the boys waited for Parental Lecture 101. Aware that Marly was close to interrupting, Sam stabbed a bite of chicken. “I’ll tell you about a few of the more interesting ones later on. For now, what did I tell you is rule number one?”
Man Without A Badge Page 4