Until We Touch (Fool's Gold #15)

Jack nodded at the kid.

“Percy’s from Los Angeles and he turned eighteen a couple of weeks ago. He spent the summer at End Zone for Kids. That’s Raoul Moreno’s summer camp.”

“I know what it is,” he told her. He turned to the teen. “You miss the bus, son?”

Percy shook his head.

Larissa put her hand on Jack’s chest. “He aged out of foster care, Jack. Percy doesn’t have any family and he didn’t finish high school. He has nowhere to go, so he made his way back here. He thought Fool’s Gold would be a good place to spend the winter.”

Obviously the kid had never taken geography, Jack thought grimly. Winters in L.A. barely dipped into the fifties. Fool’s Gold got snow. This was not a well-conceived plan. But he wasn’t even surprised.

“You were gone three minutes,” he said to Larissa. “How did you get all that information?”

She smiled up at him. “I have my ways.” Her blue eyes locked on his. “Jack,” she said slowly.

Then he got it. Right. Because the kid was eighteen, there was no social worker to call. Also no family. And he couldn’t go home with Larissa. Her tiny apartment barely had room for her cat.

“I’m sure we can get him a hotel room.”

Her gaze stayed on his face.

“Or not,” he grumbled, bowing to the inevitable. He looked past her to the teen. “Let’s go to my house and we can all chat.”

Percy’s expression tightened. “Why would you do that, man? You don’t know me. What if I murder you or rob your house?”

“Are you going to?”

“No, but you have to ask about that kind of thing. You have to be careful.”

A handful of sentences that told Jack a lot about the kid. One of these days Larissa was going to bring home a serial killer, but apparently not today.

“Right back at you,” he said.

Percy frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m not going to murder you, either.”

Percy’s mouth curled. Jack had a feeling it was in humor rather than appreciation for the assurance. No doubt the teen figured no middle-aged guy from a place like Fool’s Gold was a threat. He was probably right about that.

Jack glanced from Larissa to the kid. She didn’t usually take on people projects, he thought. But Mary had died today. He would guess she needed to help Percy as a way to heal. Jack knew he wasn’t going to get in the way of that.

“Let’s go,” he said, getting back in the car.

Larissa and Percy spoke for a couple of seconds before she climbed in next to him and Percy settled in the backseat.

The trip to his house took less than five minutes. Jack parked in the driveway. Percy let out a low whistle.

“You live here?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you rich?”

“Not in privacy,” Jack muttered as he climbed out of the car.

Larissa was already guiding the teen up to the front door.

“Jack has a guest room upstairs,” she was saying. “It’s very comfortable. Have you eaten today?”

Jack followed them, his gaze involuntarily taking in the kid’s too-lean frame. Sure, baggy jeans could be a fashion statement, but he suspected Percy had earned his low-riding pants the old-fashioned way.

“I, ah, sure,” Percy mumbled. “I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I am. Come on. Let’s go raid the refrigerator.”

Jack left them to forage through his leftovers. He was pretty sure there was a frozen pizza or two in the freezer, but Larissa would already know that. He made his way upstairs where he dropped his key fob and wallet on the wooden tray in his big closet.

He went to the opposite end of the hall and checked out the guest room. It looked clean enough. He had a weekly service that did things like change sheets, handle his laundry and keep food in the house. He walked into the attached bathroom and saw there were towels.

By the time he’d returned to his room and changed his clothes, the smell of pizza dough wafted upstairs. He headed for the kitchen.

Larissa and Percy sat at the eat-in bar by the main island in his kitchen. The teen had already polished off a banana and was munching his way through an apple. The timer showed less than two minutes on the pizza.

Jack walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He opened it and took a swallow, then leaned against the counter.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said.

Percy stared at him before standing and squaring his shoulders. “Sure. What do you want to know? I don’t have a record, if that’s what you’re asking. Not all black men have a record.”

“Never thought they did.”

“Jack,” Larissa began.

Jack cut her off with a shake of his head. If Percy was going to be living in his house, they had to come to terms. An eighteen-year-old was a whole lot more complicated than butterflies.

He continued to study Percy, who stared back at him. Finally the teen shrugged.