by Casey Hagen
“Oh, I’m sure they will, but we have county audits starting at the end of the week, and the head of the department doesn’t want to chance it.”
Kinsley swallowed the lump in her throat. Okay, so what were the chances that out of all of her cases, the one she bungled was also one of the cases that glitched?
Shit.
She looked at the mess around her, the smirk on Tamara’s mouth. Catching the faint scent of the sickly-sweet coffee that ordinarily tickled her tongue but now stunk with a hint of putrid milk, she grimaced.
Her stomach pitched, but no way in hell was she going to show her nervousness in front of Tamara. “I guess I’ll just have to see what they need and make it happen.”
“You’re good at that, aren’t you? Making things happen?” Tamara asked as she clicked her nails against the doorjamb.
“Just part of the job,” Kinsley said, sliding papers into folders.
“You wouldn’t be hoping for that promotion to supervisor, right? Because I hate to break it to you, but there are people who have seniority over you.”
Kinsley slapped a folder on the pile and blew out a breath. “Yes, there are. Fortunately, it’s less about the time we have in the department and more about how well we do our jobs while we’re here.”
Tamara’s mouth thinned, and her feet had already edged out the doorway. “Perhaps,” she said and sauntered away.
Tamara didn’t know. There’s no way she could know. But something about the confidence in her smirk had Kinsley’s skin flushing and burning hot.
She dropped the folders onto her desk and pushed up to her feet, her ankle rolling as she teetered on her heel. She caught it right before she lost her balance and twisted her ankle good.
“Are we done now? Can you give me a break up there, huh?” Kinsley said with her gaze on the ceiling as if she could see God in his kingdom straight through the water-stained drop panel ceiling.
Her phone buzzed. “Supervisor Gwynn would like to see you,” her supervisor’s secretary said.
“I guess that’s a no,” Kinsley said with a sigh. She held the button down and spoke into the intercom. “Please tell her I’ll be right there.”
She smoothed her hair and her suit jacket before making her way to her supervisor’s office. Knocking on the doorjamb, she waited for quite possibly the most formidable woman in the history of social work to glance up from her notes.
Her hair, a wiry salt and pepper, had been smoothed into submission, probably by a combination of hair product and fear, and tucked into a neat bun at the back of her neck. No easy feat since it looked coarse enough to scour pans.
“Miss Scott. Please sit,” Mrs. Gwynn said with a pinch of her thin, always disapproving lips.
Kinsley’s toes curled in her shoes, as they always did. A leftover reaction from her early years in Catholic school with strict, impatient nuns and her undiagnosed ADHD.
Sliding her glasses down her nose, she pinned Kinsley with a hard stare over the black, geek chic rims. “I’m sure you’ve heard by some of the looser lips in the office that we have a bit of an issue that needs everyone’s diligent attention this week.”
Kinsley forced her hands to relax on the armrests of the chair. “I have.”
“I’m counting on you, on everyone, to rearrange your schedules and focus your energies in the next forty-eight hours on following up with any cases that are affected,” Mrs. Gwynn said, laying her pen neatly to the side of her pad.
Forty-eight hours. Perfect. She’d be able to take her days off after all. “Yes, yes, of course. Whatever the department needs, you can count on me,” Kinsley said.
“Good. Here is a list of cases you’re currently working that need to be verified.” She handed Kinsley the manila folder and offered a flicker of a smile as rare as a solar eclipse. “Good news for you is, you have the shortest list.”
“Oh, good. Good. That’s great,” Kinsley said, nodding. “I’d be happy to check on them, report back, and if there’s anyone else who needs help with—”
The hint of a smile disappeared, leaving her signature pinched look in its wake. She shook her head and focused her attention back on the paperwork in front of her. “That won’t be necessary. Just handle your cases and report back to me.”
“Yes, sure. Absolutely,” Kinsley said with a firm nod.
“Well, the clock is ticking. Was there something else you needed?” Mrs. Gwynn asked with a raised brow.
Kinsley’s heart hammered in the back of her throat, thankfully clogging it and preventing the smart-ass reply that flashed in her mind from rising up and out and undoubtedly getting her ass fired.
“No, I’ll, uh, I’ll get right on this,” Kinsley said, hopping up and ducking away to her office to read the list in private. If she was going to have a heart attack, she might as well save some humiliation and do it in her own office.
She closed the door, took a deep breath, winced, and peeked in the folder.
Melissa and Tom Kramer.
Easy. They’d moved to a new house and were in marriage counseling and parenting classes together. Tom found that despite his reluctance, he liked going to AA, and he just got his three-month chip.
Lindsay Fisher.
Just saw her last week and she had just finished her probation period at her new job, and things couldn’t be going better.
And…Chloe Crew.
Of course, Chloe was on the list.
The one time Kinsley strayed from her training and this is what happened.
Karma.
And worse than the possibility of losing her job, of never working in the field again, was the fact that she might very well have put Chloe, Tyler, and Brielle in grave danger by walking away.
What did that make her?
A monster like the man that kept abusing Chloe?
She sat behind her desk long enough to bring up a list of all known addresses she had for Chloe over the past year. All five of them. That, in and of itself, was a huge red flag.
Kinsley replayed that long-ago day in her mind, not that it would make a difference. Really, it only served as this self-imposed purgatory that hadn’t relieved one bit of the guilt that weighed on her day and night.
She knew better, from life experience, from her own training, and still, she stood there, looking into the eyes of Chloe’s son Tyler and daughter Brielle, and let Chloe lie right to her face.
The way the kids trembled when the man Chloe wasted far too many years and tears on pushed past her and left the apartment on a squeal of tires told the story of their fear even if the words never crossed their lips.
Chloe promised he wouldn’t be back. That it was her place, and he was gone for good.
“Is there anyone who can take Tyler and Brielle for you for a few days, to be sure? Your parents maybe?” Kinsley asked.
Chloe shook her head, her ponytail catching the bottom of her lip with the force. “No, they aren’t equipped to handle two little ones. Really, he won’t be back. I swear.”
She’d heard that before. But for a few days, she could get the kids out of this mess and spend some time checking on their mother. Just to be sure. “There’s always your brother, right?”
“No,” Chloe said, her pleading tone turning hard. “He’s not safe for them.”
“What do you mean?” Kinsley asked, wondering if she should call her supervisor for a second opinion.
She’d met Zane before, when she stopped in for a wellness check. They’d been arguing, but she’d just assumed it was a sibling disagreement. Nothing more.
He’d been polite when Chloe had reluctantly introduced them. A bit uptight, sure, but then, did anyone really like seeing their sister under scrutiny for not keeping her kids safe?
Chloe bit her lip and wrung her hands before her. “He’s not the same since he came back from the Navy. I don’t want him around the kids. Not until he gets help.”
“You think he’d hurt them?” Kinsley asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know the guy w
Kinsley wondered what she meant, but she didn’t figure it was her business to pry since it wasn’t a direct concern for the kids.
From all appearances, he was a professional and made a good living, but she knew better than most that looks could be so very deceiving.
She glanced down at Brielle who had since wrapped her tiny little arm around her mother’s leg. The child had never been much of a talker, and when she did speak, her voice never rose to much more than a whisper.
Something told Kinsley that if she tried to remove the kids today, that beautiful little girl with the long, dark waves tangled down her back would let out a scream that would rip Kinsley’s heart to shreds and just might change Brielle’s sweet nature for good.
A scream that very well might echo like one from Kinsley two decades past.
Those memories didn’t float to the surface often. And never during a case. After all, she had all but buried them in concrete and sunk them in the Pacific Ocean years ago.
But something about this little girl, the tumble of hair so much like Kinsley’s at that age, had Kinsley wanting to give her the one thing she never got back as a child.
Her mother.
“I want you to check in with me every day this week and starting next week, weekly. Do you understand?” Kinsley asked, scribbling her personal cell number on the back of a business card.
Chloe waved her hand in dismissal. “Really, it’s not necessary.”
“Yes. It is,” Kinsley said, her tone catching Chloe’s attention. She waited until she met her gaze. “I’m going against protocol here. You have to stay in touch with me.”
“Okay,” Chloe whispered, taking the card and tucking her hand against her chest. Her eyes softened and turned glossy with tears. “I understand. Thank you,” she said, smoothing a hand over Brielle’s hair.
“Good.” Kinsley glanced down at Tyler and Brielle and gave them a reassuring smile. “And if you need anything, day or night, call that number, and I’ll be there.”
Chapter 3
Zane sat in the corner chair and watched while Tyler and Brielle slept in a huddled lump on his couch. He flexed his fingers on the armrest over and over as anger surged through him, snatching every last bit of energy he had.
He might have just aged a decade in a few short hours.
Darkness fell away to the light of a new day and a mountain of unanswered questions. If this were any other situation, he’d be pouring over his security tapes to draw out every last piece of evidence he could find in them to locate his sister.
Instead, he’d turned them over to Tex. Nothing like having your friend reach out to you with a job, and before the night is over, you’ve dumped your personal problems right in his lap.
But he had two kids to worry about, both tying his hands and filling him with trepidation for the days that lay ahead.
His phone beeped with an incoming text.
There’s not a lot to go on, but we’re doing everything we can to extract every clue on the tapes. Don’t worry about the security job just yet. Just focus on those kids.
Wasn’t that just the thing? Those kids, his sister, they were exactly why he would worry about that security job.
His sister needed people to wake her up and make her see that she needed to get out of the mess she put herself in.
Of course, maybe that’s what last night was. She’d never sought him out before. Hell, she had made damn sure to stay far away from him almost from the time he’d been served his discharge papers.
Maybe she was finally ready to stop living in fear, pain, and uncertainty.
Only she might have reached out for help too late.
I’ll meet him today. People like Chloe can’t afford to wait.
He really should call his parents, but he sure as shit was not going to do it within earshot of the kids.
Grabbing his phone, he stepped into the hall and called his next-door neighbor, Grace.
“Good morning!” she chirped as though it was perfectly normal for the phone to ring at just shy of six in the morning.
“Good morning, Grace. It’s Zane, next door. Normally I wouldn’t impose, but I’m hoping you could help me out,” he said in a low voice, hoping he didn’t wake the kids.
It had taken an hour to get them calmed down and another for Tyler to relax his wary, guarded stance enough to take a seat on the couch where Brielle laid her head on this thigh and drifted off to a fitful sleep with him not far behind. They’d only been out for four hours. He was no expert on children, but he knew that couldn’t possibly be enough.
Especially when their energy hadn’t been devoted to play and giggles and instead had been sapped by fear and uncertainty.
“Young man, I’ve told you time and time again, I’d be happy to help you out. What do you need?” Grace said with a lilt in her voice somewhere between sweet grandma with a tray of warm chocolate chip cookies and a golden years’ diva who’d decided to throw caution to the wind and live like a wild and free twenty-something.
How she managed to be a little bit of both, he’d never know, but right now, he couldn’t think of a more perfect person to help him reassure these kids that their lives would change from the minute they ended up at his door.
“A babysitter,” Zane said.
“Call me crazy, but don’t you need kids first?” she said with a tinkling laugh.
“I’ve got two right here beside me,” Zane said.
“But how? Wait—you know what? Never mind. You can fill me in on that story later. When do you need me?” she asked.
“Is nine too early?” He hadn’t talked to Dylan yet, but at the very least, she should be able to help him get the kids situated. Whatever that entailed.
He was flying blind here.
After that, he’d take on the rest.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll be there even sooner, and I’ll bring breakfast. How does that sound?”
He dropped his chin to his chest. “Sounds like if Peter didn’t already put a ring on your finger, I might consider doing so myself.”
“Listen to you, you’re so full of it. I’ll see you in just a bit, and we’ll figure out what’s what,” she said.
The bands that locked around his lungs from the minute he brought his niece and nephew in loosened a bit.
“Thank you, Grace. You’re saving my life here. And theirs,” he said quietly before hanging up.
Brielle shifted on the couch and whimpered. Zane waited to see if she’d settle, but before long, her whimpers turned to sobs, and hot tears squeezed out from her closed eyes and ran down her temples before soaking into her hair.
He grabbed a tissue and crouched down next to her. “Shhhh, it’s okay, Brielle. Uncle Zane is here,” he whispered, the words awkward on his lips.
Should he wake her up? What if she needed a hug? He’d never so much as held them when they were little. Chloe forbade it.
Her eyes shot open, and shining blue eyes looked back at him. Brielle’s lips parted, then she sucked in a breath and let out a scream that threatened to peel paint from his walls.
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Zane reassured her as he patted her shoulder.
Tyler shot up, his eyes bleary as he took in the room around him. His arms opened automatically, and Brielle climbed right in and buried her face in his shirt.
“She’s afraid of you,” Tyler said, wrapping his arms around her and propping his chin on the top of her head.
“Why?” Zane asked.
“Mom’s boyfriend hurts us. His friends hurt us. To her, you’re just like them. Big and scary,” Tyler said with far more wisdom than a child of seven should ever have.
But it was the exhaustion that kicked Zane in the gut. The look on his face like he’d just become resigned to what life held for him and that this was all there was to look forward to.
Zane wondered if there was even a child behind those eyes anymore, or if Chloe’s hard life had stolen any chance Tyler had at being one.
His gaze dropped to Tyler’s arm. The edge of his sleeve had pushed up almost to his elbow, and there, in the growing light of the morning, lay the evidence of what he’d been through.
Three cigarette burns in various stages of healing marred his lightly freckled skin.
Zane’s gut churned with blind rage at faceless men, his sister, and himself.
Mostly himself.
He should have stepped in sooner. He should have pushed, prodded—hell, he should have reported her himself if that’s what it took to get these kids out of hell.
All he had done was have a dozen or so conversations with his parents about his frustration with his sister which turned into tense standoffs after they spent the rest of the call making excuses for her.
“Tyler, I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise you,” Zane whispered with quiet resolution.
Tyler shrugged. “We’ve heard this before.”
Zane pushed up onto his feet and sat down next to the boy. “Not from me, you haven’t. Do you know what I was? Did your mom ever tell you?”
Tyler stroked his sister’s hair and shook his head. “I overheard her telling him that you were a killer.”
“Jesus,” Zane said, scrubbing a hand over his face. He thought he was prepared for the answer, but knowing his sister put that bullshit in their heads as though he were no better than a thug for hire on the street set his pulse racing and his muscles coiling tight.
“Were you?” Tyler asked, looking away.
“I was in the Navy. A SEAL,” Zane said.
“What’s a SEAL?” Tyler asked with a curious tilt to his head.
Progress. If Tyler felt like he could ask, that had to be a good sign. “Well, it’s a member of the Navy that has a whole lot of specialized training.”
“Did you ever have to kill anybody?” Tyler asked.
“Yes,” Zane admitted, terrified that he shouldn’t be telling him this, and by doing so, he was only making things worse.
“Were they bad?” Tyler asked.
Zane nodded. “Every last one.”
“Did anyone ever try to kill you?”
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