Raoul ignored the burst of fury that flared up inside of him. He kept his expression neutral, his body language open.
“The way I see it,” Don continued, “there are options. You want the kid and I don’t care if you have him. Only it’s going to cost you.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Raoul saw Mrs. Miller approaching. Casually, he stepped to the right to block her path.
“You’re saying I can have Peter for a price?” he said just loud enough for the other woman to hear.
She froze, her face going white. He risked a single glance. She nodded, as if to say she was going to stay back and keep listening.
“Sure. And I don’t care what you do with him. To each his own.”
“You have a price in mind?”
“Fifty thousand. In cash.” Don held up his hand. “I’m not interested in bargaining on the price. This is a onetime offer. If you don’t want him, I can find someone else who does.”
Raoul pretended to consider the offer. “You have a way of clearing this through social services?”
“Sure. I go to Mrs. Dawson and say Peter would be happier with you. You had him before and he never said what happened. The kid knows how to keep a secret, I guess. Boys aren’t my thing, but I’m an understanding kind of guy.”
Raoul wanted nothing more than to put his fist in the man’s face. It would give him pleasure to grind Don Folio into the dirt.
He didn’t know how this man had gotten ahold of Peter in the first place, but it was going to stop now. Today.
Don handed over a business card. “My cell’s on the back. You have twenty-four hours.”
Raoul nodded, and the other man walked off. When he was gone, Mrs. Miller hurried up to him. “It’s disgusting.”
Raoul closed his hands into fists. “He has to be stopped.”
She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the contacts. “I’m calling Mrs. Dawson right now.”
The social worker arrived in less than thirty minutes. Less than ten minutes after that, Police Chief Barns was threatening a very nervous-looking Don Folio. Raoul didn’t think they could charge the guy with much—money hadn’t actually changed hands—but he wasn’t likely to ever take in a foster kid again. At least that was something.
Peter came running toward him.
“I heard,” the boy said, grinning and slightly out of breath. “I’m not going to be with them anymore. You’re going to take me.”
Raoul stared at the kid, then held up both his hands. “Peter, I think you misunderstood. You’ll be safely away from the Folios and another family will be found for you.”
Peter’s expression froze. The happiness faded from his eyes and tears appeared. He went pale and his mouth trembled. “But I want to go with you. I stayed with you before. You’re my friend.”
Raoul ignored the sense of being kicked in the gut. “We are friends. We’ll still be friends and I’ll see you at school. But I’m not a foster parent.”
“You were before,” he insisted, the last word coming out on a sob. “You took care of me.”
Mrs. Dawson hurried toward them. “Peter, we need to go.”
Peter lunged for Raoul. For a second, he thought the kid was going to hit him, but instead Peter wrapped his arms around Raoul and hung on as if he would never let go.
“You have to take care of me,” he cried. “You have to.”
Mrs. Dawson shook her head apologetically. “Come on, Peter. I have to get you to the group home. It’s only for a few weeks until we find something else.”
Raoul stood there, not moving. Although the boy wasn’t doing anything, he still felt his heart being ripped out all the same. People were stopping to stare.
Just when he thought he was going to have to forcibly push the kid away, Peter let go. Mrs. Dawson led him away, and neither of them bothered to look back.
MONDAY MORNING, RAOUL arrived at work at his usual time. Seconds later, Dakota walked in, slammed her purse down on his desk and put her hands on her hips.
“I can’t decide if I should quit or back my car over you,” she announced.
He stared at her. “What are you pissed about now?”
“What you did to Peter.”
Raoul didn’t want to talk about that. He hadn’t slept all night and he still felt as if he’d been hit in the gut. “He’s safe now,” Raoul said flatly. “I talked to Mrs. Dawson this morning and from what the psychologists can tell, he wasn’t abused by anyone. Folio’s threats about giving the kid to someone else were designed to make me hurry. He’s not part of a big child-stealing ring. He’s just an ass**le.”
She glared at him. “And that’s all you see?”
“What else is there?” He knew he sounded defensive, but it was all he had.
“Peter’s crushed,” she snapped. “You swept in and saved him. Do you think he doesn’t know what you did? You’ve been there for him all this time. You took him home when he broke his arm. You’ve been his friend.”
She spoke as if he’d been burning the kid with a cigarette.