“Daisy!” Sophy chased after her, sidestepping merchandise, narrowly missing her when Daisy darted beneath a display onto the next aisle, then continued her rampage.
“I hate this place, I hate it, I hate it!” Helped along by her little hand, a shelf full of how-to books hit the floor with thuds, then she yanked the Halloween banners from the thin wires that hung them from the ceiling.
As she rounded a corner, Sophy’s foot slid on the wood floor, and she grabbed to catch her balance. While it was still touch-and-go, Daisy’s shrieks and tears and tearing about abruptly stopped. Steadying herself, Sophy saw the girl first, dangling in midair, and then the person who held her.
Relief rushed through Sophy. There were only a handful of people who could have walked in in the middle of Daisy’s meltdown without mortifying her—Nev, Ty, Liz, all of whom had had their own experiences with Daisy...and Sean.
And he was such a gorgeous addition to any day.
His dark gaze checked her out before sliding to Daisy. “Do you like cleaning up messes?”
Her eyes that were so like his were puffy, her cheeks red, her breath coming in little hiccups. The defiance wasn’t gone, though. “Yes, I do.”
“Good.” He set her down, turned her around and swatted her butt. “Get started.”
She puffed up in shock, staring at him. “You hit me! Nobody hits me!”
“I can tell, because if they did, you wouldn’t mistake that pat for actually getting hit.”
Whirling around, she stomped away, picking up a book here, a spool of thread there. She shook out a banner, folded it in a jumble—but at least she tried—and laid it on a shelf before turning to the next.
Sophy took a deep breath. “It’s like herding monkeys one-handed with your ankles tied together.”
Again his cool dark gaze moved over her, this time with more intensity than before, and she resisted the urge to make sure her hair was in place, her shirt covering what it should. It was tough enough to display her incompetence as a mother figure for him to see, but thank heavens, she hadn’t fallen on her butt in front of him.
“Have you had a break since you took them in?”
She smiled ruefully and finally let herself comb her fingers through her hair. “You mean, like get a babysitter?” The idea hadn’t occurred to her before, though she was sure it would have soon. “I can’t imagine who would agree to watch them. Maybe if there’s an empty cell at the jail...”
The thought gave her pause. “I bet Nev and Ty would keep them for a few hours. Ty’s seen them at their worst, and they weren’t far off that for Nev.”
“Go call them. I’ll help here.”
Sophy hesitated only a moment. Though she hated the idea of having to ask for help, she really did need a little time off. Just a few precious hours not worrying about what the girls were doing, thinking, feeling, plotting. She climbed halfway up the stairs along the north wall, sat and dialed Nev’s number, watching bemused as Sean straightened each bolt of fabric and returned it to its place and Daisy actually seemed to find pleasure in bringing order to the disorder.
“How can I help you, sweet pea?” Nev answered cheerfully.
“What makes you think I need help?”
“The sun went dark, the air turned cold and an otherworldly voice boomed, ‘I want to go to school!’”
“She wants to go to school, she wants to go home, she hates the shop, she hates me.... You’re right. I’m suffering from caregiver fatigue. I need a break, any time you and Ty are free, just for a couple hours.”
“Will you promise to make good use of these hours?”
“If curling up in a catatonic ball somewhere quiet and peaceful counts.” Sophy was surprised when strong dark fingers took the phone from her.
“How about dinner in some adults-only spot, complete with wine and chocolate?” Sean asked.
Even from a distance, Sophy heard Nev’s deep, full laughter. “Sean, sweetheart, you are clearly my kind of man. Tell Sophy of course we’ll do it. In fact, I’ll come over around four so she can take her time getting ready, and Ty will come when he gets off. That means you two will be free to leave by five-thirty.”
“Thanks, Nev. You’re a sweetheart. See you then.”
When he returned the phone to Sophy, she wrapped her fingers around it. “How do you know Nev?”
“I ran into Ty at the jail yesterday, and she was with him. Your reprieve will begin at five-thirty.”
She gazed at him, on eye level thanks to the steps she sat on. “I didn’t know there was an adults-only place in Copper Lake, other than clubs and bars.”
“That’s because you go out with the wrong guys.”
He was right. In one way or another, they’d all been wrong for her.
“And if you still need to curl up in a catatonic ball, that’s okay, too.”
She smiled. “Thank you. What brings you out today?”
His mouth quirked. “I went to see Maggie, but she wasn’t accepting visitors.”
“She didn’t get her share of swatting when she was a kid, either, did she?”
“Nope. For us guys, everything was more physical—affection, encouragement, discipline. Maggie was ‘too delicate for the likes of us,’ the old man used to say.” He smoothed another couple bolts of fabric, squeezing them in between coordinated swatches, then picked up a handful of spools of thread.
Feeling calmer, less frustrated and less incompetent by half, Sophy joined him on the floor, righted the thread display, then began sorting them into the right color slots.
He lowered his voice. “I’m going to the house to pick up a few things. Maggie wouldn’t see me, but she left me a shopping list.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, written in a barely legible hand, and held it between two crooked fingers. “Do the girls need anything?”
Sophy considered it. Daisy had her stuffed monkey that she slept with, and Dahlia had her favorite shoes and a tiny pillow. Other than that, all they’d brought with them was a paper sack of clothes, worn and ill-fitting. No much-loved books, according to the social worker, because their mom didn’t read to them. No favorite movies because they didn’t own any. No special toys because all their toys were second-or thirdhand and mostly broken.
“Can I go with you?”
The whispered words surprised both of them into turning, where Daisy stood, her eyes filled with tears again. “I want a picture of Mama, and Dahlia wants her necklace. Please? I’ll be good, I promise.” With a sniffle, she dumped two handfuls of thread into Sophy’s hands, then retrieved four more spools from her pockets.
Sean looked to Sophy to respond. She looked to him and shrugged. “Okay.” She dumped the thread into a basket nearby. “We can finish this later, can’t we, Daisy? Let’s go get your stuff.”
She locked up, and they walked together to the Chevelle parked right out front. Sophy remembered seeing the car drive past Sunday night and admiring the deep red color and the rrrumble of the engine. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked with a laugh as he opened the passenger door, then moved the front seat so Daisy could climb in back.
“Just like I wasn’t surprised to find you running a home-and-heart sort of business.”
“We are what we’ve always been—a car guy and a homey, old-fashioned girl.” She settled into the soft leather seat, fastened her seat belt, then turned what seemed an enormous crank to roll down the window. The Chevelle was in much better shape than her five-year-old Nissan, but her car was strictly transportation. The Chevelle was talent, skill, commitment, a lifelong love.
It didn’t take long to get anywhere in Copper Lake. The closer they got to the Holigan house, the quieter it became inside the vehicle.
Sophy had been there once before, back in fifth grade. She and Maggie had stayed after school to work on a project, and by the time they finished, it was pouring rain. Her mom had insisted on giving Maggie a ride. They’d left the paved road, then followed the rutted dirt road to its end, where several houses cl
ustered together, all belonging to various Holigans.
Maggie’s house had been shabby, hardly livable, with trash piled high outside: discarded vehicles, broken toys, garbage. Rae Marchand had looked sad, Maggie ashamed. The place had been a painful reminder of the last place Sophy had lived with Miri, their mom and the younger two, leaving her misty-eyed.
But today was different. The sun was shining. She was better prepared now than ten-year-old Sophy had been. And Sean was here, stoic, unwavering.
There would be no crying today.
Chapter 5
There’d been a time, three or four generations ago, when Holigans had owned all the land they could see from the original home site: up the broad lazy creek that bore their name, down to the banks of the Gullah River. They’d been land-rich but cash-poor and far too fond of whiskey and poker. With each generation, the family holdings got smaller until all that was left was a few acres and three houses that would cost more to demolish than they were worth.
Sean parked at the side of the road, and they got out of the car and met at the front. Daisy skipped ahead, and Sophy waited while he stared at eighteen years of bad memories. When he’d left fourteen years ago, he’d been convinced he would never see this place again. He hadn’t imagined Maggie living here, raising her daughters here. He sure as hell hadn’t imagined coming here with Sophy Marchand. Back then, his pride couldn’t have borne it.
It wasn’t a whole lot easier today. He wanted to tell her he would never live like this again, to describe his apartment, relatively new, neat, spotlessly clean. He put things away as soon as he finished with them, he dusted and vacuumed every other day, he made his bed first thing in the morning, he kept even the memory of this mess far, far at bay.
Yellow-and-black crime-scene tape dangled from either side of the door. The screen door lay broken on the ground beside the stoop, and plywood sheets covered several of the windows. He would like to think that was because of the most recent police raid, but weeds were growing through the screen, and the plywood was weathered, the nails holding it rusty. The door was locked, but he knew which brick to remove to find the spare key. When he opened the door, out rolled the smell of general lack of cleanliness, along with the staleness of being closed up for weeks.
Daisy went inside first and straight to a bookcase that had stood against the front-room wall for as long as Sean could remember. Its finish was scarred and stained, its shelves tilted crookedly, and it held everything except books—a pile of ragged socks, empty beer cans, crumpled paper plates, stacks of junk mail. She picked up a picture frame knocked over on the bottom shelf and clutched it tightly as she headed down the hall.
Sean and Sophy followed her into Declan’s old room. A mattress and box springs sat on the floor, the sheets a mess. Toys were scattered around, and clothes, empty juice boxes and candy wrappers, shoes, a handful of pinecones and rocks. Daisy plowed through it, heading straight for the wall where a couple of nails pounded into the drywall held necklaces of cheap beads.
“This is Dahlia’s necklace. It b’longed to our great-great-great-grandma. She’s been dead a long time. We never met her.” She held up a short piece of red string, knotted around polished chunks of stone. Sean could remember their father letting Maggie wear it a few times, saying it would be hers when she was grown, that it would be worth something to her someday.
Worth so much she’d given it to her little girl.
He didn’t look at Sophy, didn’t want to see the pity or disgust or shock on her face. Flushed and edgy, he pulled Maggie’s list from his pocket. “I’ll get this stuff so we can go—”
They caught the scent at the same time, her nose wrinkling delicately. It was coming from the back of the house, strong enough to overpower years of living and dirt and neglect. His first thought was stupid: Smoke? In a house that’s been empty three weeks?
The second made his chest tight and his blood pump cold: They made meth in this house. He didn’t know much about illegal drugs in general, but he damn well knew that the products used to make meth were volatile as hell, and the explosions they caused...
Scooping Daisy up, holding her tight when she wiggled, he grabbed Sophy’s arm and pulled them into the hall. “Let’s get out of here!”
They made it maybe six feet before the kitchen exploded into flames. The blast threw him against the wall, shook Sophy off her feet, too. Daisy screamed, first clapping her hands over her ears, then wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. They withdrew from the searing heat, past the kids’ room, into the bedroom at the end of the hall. No plywood on the windows in there, thank God.
“Take Daisy,” he commanded even as Sophy held out her arms, saying, “Give her to me,” but the girl refused to let go.
“Hell,” Sophy muttered. She shoved the door shut, grabbed something from the floor—part of a long-unused vacuum cleaner—and slammed it against the front window, shattering the glass. Yanking an armful of sheets and blankets from the bed, she knocked out the remaining glass, then laid them over the frame.
Her hair whipped around as she looked for something to stand on to boost herself out the window. With smoke pouring under the door, Sean grabbed her arm. His muscles straining, he lifted her with his free arm until she could slide out the window, then shoved Daisy into her arms, jerking her hands loose from their fierce hold on him.
As he placed his hands on the sill, another explosion rocked the house, blowing the door open, a violent burst of flame shooting six feet into the room. He fell against the wall, his arm stinging, then regained his balance and vaulted through the window, landing hard on the packed dirt outside.
His ears were ringing, the sting in his arm turning to pain. Daisy’s tears echoed distantly as soft, tender hands pulled at him. “Get up, get up, get up,” Sophy chanted, her voice little more than a whisper. He stumbled to his feet with her help, and they backed off to the creek bank at the far side of the road, where Daisy waited. Immediately she grabbed on to him again, tears running down her face as she stared at the flames.
“Our house! Our stuff! What happened?”
Your mother is criminally stupid.
Sean took a step back, leaning against the pine tree there, then slowly sank to the ground. Sirens sounded in the distance, and every dog within a mile was barking. Sophy searched her pockets, for a tissue, he guessed, and came up with a neatly folded wad of paper towels.
“Tissues are on the shopping list,” she murmured as she crouched beside him.
His left arm stung sharply, and he jerked away, but she anticipated the move and held tightly. “You’re bleeding,” she said, and he looked down to see a long cut along his biceps. The cut and the blood didn’t affect him. He’d had far worse of both. But the sight of Sophy’s hands on him...
Small, delicate hands. No polish on the nails; when would she have time? Soft, but callused on the tips of her fingers. Skin much lighter than his, warm, gold, a perfect match to her blond hair and brown eyes. A little oval scar between her thumb and index finger.
“I must not have gotten all the glass out of the window.” Regret tinged her voice, and a strand of hair fell across her face as she held pressure to the cut. Even the pores on his fingers wanted to brush it back, but with Daisy still clinging to him, he didn’t have a free hand to do anything.
“Hey, you got us out of there. What’s a little scrape compared to being burned alive?”
“If I weighed ten pounds more, I’m not sure you could have lifted me out the window.”
“Nah, I had strength to spare.”
Her smile was shaky, and her hands began to tremble. She half sat, half fell to the ground and scooted up beside him, so close he could feel the tremors ricocheting through her body. “Oh, my God, Sean, we could have died in there,” she whispered.
Grimly he settled his arm around her shoulders and stared at the house. What were the odds that the house just happened to spontaneously combust when they were there, as opposed to a deliberate act—a message fr
om Craig or one of Maggie’s partners in crime destroying any evidence that might remain? It had been stupid to come here, stupid to bring Sophy and insane to bring Daisy.
Thank God they were all right.
And, damn, did she have to feel so good up next to him?
The first vehicle to arrive on the scene was a fire engine, its siren loud enough to make Daisy grab her ears again. Another followed, along with paramedics and a dark Charger. Ty parked behind the ambulance, then strode over and extended his hand. “Give me your keys.”
With a grunt, Sean pushed to his feet and maneuvered free of Daisy again, handing her off to Sophy. He dug his keys from his pocket and held them out. “You’re just moving it, right?”
Grinning, Ty bounced the keys on his palm before catching them. “I might take it around the neighborhood a few times.”
As he headed for the Chevelle, Sophy sniffed. “I could have moved the car. Or are women not allowed to drive your baby?”
She looked remarkably good for someone who’d just been through a near-death experience. There was some dirt on her clothes, and her hair was messed up a little, but other than that, she was freaking beautiful.
“I’ve had that car six years, and no one’s ever driven it but me.” Then, without thought, he added, “Though I might make an exception for you. Depends on what I get in return.”
He expected another sniff, a laugh or a dismissal. Instead, she got very serious, leaned close to him and whispered, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Well, damn. Now she’d guaranteed that so would he.
* * *
Maggie shuffled into the visitors’ room, the shadows under her eyes darker and her scowl so like their father’s that Sean could practically see the old man there in her place. She went as far as the table with its stools, then cocked one hip and braced her fists on her waist. “Why the hell is Ty Gadney telling me I have to see you? I don’t have to see anyone but my lawyer, and you ain’t him.”
Undercover in Copper Lake Page 8