The Call of Bravery

CHAPTER ELEVEN



THE SCREEN DOOR slammed and Conall looked up. Sorrel.

“Hi,” she said.

Had she known he was out here? Conall smiled lazily at her. It was good timing; he’d had in mind to catch her alone and impress on her for the eighty-ninth time that she could not mention him and Jeff at school, online or anywhere else. Truthfully, he wasn’t worrying that much, not the way he had at the beginning. The targets were pretty anti-social; Henderson had noted that even when they were grocery shopping and the like, they didn’t make conversation with locals. Conall couldn’t imagine them prowling a teenager’s Facebook page. Still, it would be better if Sorrel kept quiet in the first place.

He couldn’t claim to understand her the way he did Walker and Brendan, which made him nervous. She was different than girls he’d known—mostly in a Biblical sense—when he was a teenager. Sometimes she acted no older than the boys, then a minute later would eye him in a way that suggested she was on the cusp of being a woman. The girl part he could handle; the woman, not so much.

“Hey,” he said. He sat on the top porch step, his plate of potato salad balanced on his knee, a sandwich in his hand, a can of soda next to him.

Sorrel settled carefully a few feet away. That was something he’d noticed about her; she held herself in tight. None of a teenager’s usual expansive, dramatic body language.

“What’s up?”

“My caseworker called.” Her voice was tight, too. “She says I have to go to counseling with my parents.”

He’d heard the phone ring a few minutes ago and could tell somebody had grabbed it. Sorrel didn’t seem to get many calls, he’d noticed, unlike the typical teenager. Partly, he supposed, because she’d gone to school here for only a couple of months.

Conall knew little about her background except that she’d been sexually molested and had run away from home repeatedly. He’d as soon not learn the details. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

She hunched over, her arms held to her body. “They just want me to say I was lying.”

Oh, man. Already they were out of his depth. But he didn’t feel like he could blow her off, either. “Lying about what?” he asked cautiously, although he knew.

“Everything. They don’t want to know the truth.”

They. That surprised him. “You kept running away. That’s what Lia said.”

She nodded.

He cleared his throat. “Was it your dad…?”

Sorrel’s eyes widened. “You think my dad would…?” Shock sounded in every word.

“It happens.”

She closed right up. Body, expression, everything. Curled in on herself. Then she mumbled something he couldn’t hear.

“What?”

She mumbled it again.

“Tell me, Sorrel.”

She lifted her head and yelled, “It wasn’t him! Okay? It wasn’t him!”

Slowly Conall moved his plate to the porch behind him and swiveled to face her. It was all he could do to keep his voice calm. “Who was it?”

Her hair swung as she shook her head.

“I’ll believe you,” he told her, voice hard.

They stared at each other. Tears flooded her eyes. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Not even if Mom and Dad decide to believe me. I did stuff—” She shuddered.

Conall wished like hell he was somewhere else. Why had she cast him in the role of confidant? He couldn’t think of anyone more ill-qualified. The boys were one thing, she was another.

But he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. She’d chosen to talk to him, for whatever reason.

After a moment, he said, “You mean when you were on the run.”

She nodded.

He was afraid he knew what she meant. “Did you turn tricks, Sorrel?”

She was back to staring at him. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“There aren’t too many ways to get enough to eat when you’re twelve or thirteen and living on the street,” he said, wearily. “You steal, or you sell yourself.”

“Did you ever…?”

There but for the grace of God, he thought. Or Duncan.

“No, but I know people. I see kids all the time in Miami, where I live now.”

“Oh.” She began to rock herself. “I can’t tell my parents. I can’t!”

“Who was it?” Conall asked. He knew how to interrogate, when to let his voice harden. When to make it plain the game playing was done.

“My uncle.” She rocked a little faster. “I tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen. Mom slapped me!”

What in God’s name should he say? Pick something. Don’t let this silence deepen her wounds. No, it had to be right.

“It could be they’re ready to listen now. Does your caseworker know what happened to you?”

She bobbed her head.

“Does she believe you?”

She shrugged.

“What about Lia?”

The teenager was quiet for a minute. “Maybe.”

“So why are you telling me, Sorrel?”

“I like that you’re here.” Face flushed, she straightened. “I like living here. I don’t want to have to go home. I thought maybe… Sometimes I wish…”

Instinctively Conall recoiled from finding out what she wished. He cast a brief look of longing toward the screen door, through which he could see the empty entryway. This would be a really great time for someone to interrupt.

No one did.

He made himself ask. “What do you wish?”

Color flamed in her cheeks now. She kicked up her chin. “I wish that you would…you know. You wouldn’t have to pay me or anything. I like you.”

Oh, shit, oh, shit. It took everything he had not to leap to his feet and back away. This pretty, curvaceous girl was gazing at him with yearning in her eyes.

In an act of will, he stayed where he was. Long practice kept his posture relaxed. “I’m old enough to be your father, you know, Sorrel.”

“Yeah, so?” She inched her butt a little bit closer.

Another shit. The men who’d bought her, a desperate runaway girl, had probably been his age. Or older. Lots older.

He unclenched his jaw. “I’m thirty-three years old. Twenty years older than you. You’re a nice girl, Sorrel, but you should be flirting with boys your age.”

She wrinkled her nose and he laughed.

“Yeah, I know, middle school boys haven’t exactly hit their stride yet, have they?”

She gave a tiny giggle that heartened him. Had her hectic flush subsided, too?

“You’ll be in high school next year, won’t you?”

She shook her head. “The middle school here is grades six through nine.”

“Really? It wasn’t when I went here.”

“Wow. I can’t imagine you in middle school.”

His laugh was genuine. “Trust me, you wouldn’t have looked twice at me, not a girl as pretty as you. I was really short until I hit…oh, sixteen, seventeen. I was scrawny and wild.” He smiled at her. “Some of the boys your age are going to turn out okay. Some of them, more than okay.”

“Mostly thinking about boys freaks me out,” she admitted, so softly he had to strain to hear her. “But you’re different. And—and I know there’s no reason you’d want me—”

“Whoa. Let me say this. You’re right. I don’t. No man my age should respond sexually to a girl your age. It’s wrong. And I’m betting you’ve been thinking about me that way because you know I’m safe. You’re afraid of the boys at school because they probably are checking you out. You really are pretty. And after your uncle and the creeps who paid you for sex you’re not so sure about men, but you’ve gotten to know me and—”

“I wish a guy like you did like me,” she mumbled, hiding her face again.

He took the risk of laying a hand on her back and rubbing gently. “Someday one will,” he said. “When the right time comes. In the meantime, I think what you’re doing is looking for, I don’t know, a role model, I guess.”

She gave an audible sniff. Her cheeks were wet when she lifted her head to look at him. To his dismay, she flung herself at him and wrapped her arms tight around him. Conall froze, unsure what to do. At a flicker of movement, he looked over her head to see Lia standing on the other side of the screen watching them. He hoped like hell she’d been there long enough to hear at least part of the conversation. After the longest hesitation, he enclosed the girl in his arms and hugged her, then carefully set her away from him.

“This counseling thing. I think you should give it another chance. Your parents might have decided to listen.”

“I don’t care.”

“I know you’re mad at them. I don’t blame you. But holding grudges…” He hesitated. “I’m here to tell you how much you miss, cutting people who love you out of your life.” Conall didn’t even know if he meant it; the words coming out of his mouth surprised him. But he thought it was what she needed to hear, and that’s what he was good at telling people.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

The screen door squeaked as it opened. “Was that your caseworker on the phone?” Lia asked.

Tears flooded Sorrel’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Oh, honey.” Crouching, Lia gathered the girl into her arms. “It’s okay. You can tell me what you want to do.”

“I don’t know,” she wailed.

“Then we’ll think about it, as long as you want. And if you have to talk to your parents or anyone else and you want me to be there, I’ll go with you. Okay?”

Sorrel went still and tilted her head back. “You promise?”

Lia kissed her forehead then began to rock her gently. “I promise. Cross my heart.”

The thirteen-year-old laid her face against her foster mom’s shoulder and gave way to heartbroken sobs.

Conall grabbed his plate and soda and stood. “Later,” he mouthed, and Lia nodded. Her smile was shaky but real.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and he fled. No, beat a sensible retreat.

She caught up with him an hour later. The boys had decided to go “riding,” which meant Walker sat on the pony’s back and Brendan’s on the horse’s. With no bridles or saddles, the animals had continued to placidly graze, but the boys were clutching the manes and talking excitedly, seemingly feeling like knights of yore or some such thing. Since Lia’s one rule regarding the animals was that they couldn’t go into the pasture or get onto the horse or pony without an adult present, Conall had accompanied them. Now, he leaned his back against the fence and watched Lia cross the lawn to him. He loved the way she moved, her stride long and lithe, and he really loved the way her shorts bared her amazing legs.

“She okay?” he asked when Lia got close enough.

She sighed and propped her forearms on the top rail beside him. “Yeah. Telling you about it seems to have helped.”

“Me? Why?”

She laughed at his expression. “You obviously went into the wrong profession, Conall. You should be a therapist. Tell me, do all the crooks confess all whether you want to hear it or not?”

He grimaced. “If only it could be so easy.”

“She came on to you, didn’t she?”

He shuddered. “Yeah.”

“It sounds like you handled it amazingly well. That’s been one of her problems, you know. In her other school, she cornered a male teacher alone in his classroom and started to strip. She got lucky, like she did today, because he handled it appropriately and also because nobody walked in on them at the wrong moment. She swings wildly between scared little girl and promiscuous teenager.”

“Is it true that her parents didn’t believe her?” he asked in a hard voice.

“Yes. It sounds like her mother was positive Sorrel was lying. It was the mom’s younger brother who molested Sorrel.”

He nodded.

“My impression is that the dad was less sure. He admitted to the guardian ad litem that there were a few times he’d been uncomfortable with the way his brother-in-law watched Sorrel or hugged her. That kind of thing. But apparently he was too spineless to stand up to his wife and say, ‘We should listen to her.’ No surprise, Sorrel ran away. She got picked up by the police and returned home, at which point she was angrier than ever and things deteriorated. Gee, you think? The cycle continued until the parents and caseworker agreed she had to live somewhere else temporarily.”

“And she got lucky enough to come here.”

Lia’s smile was slightly shy. “A compliment. Thank you.”

“You know I mean it.”

She studied him for a moment, those extraordinary eyes seeing things he probably didn’t know about himself. After a moment she nodded. “I do believe you’re honest.”

Conall gave a bark of laughter. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Creases formed between her eyebrows. “Because you work undercover. You must lie all the time.”

Put that on my tombstone, he thought dryly. I’m a hell of a liar.

“I prefer to think of it as acting,” he told her. “And when I do it I’m not Conall MacLachlan. I’m someone else.”

Again she looked at him, her eyes searching, and again she nodded.

“So what’s her conclusion?” he asked. “Is she willing to give her parents another chance?”

“I think so.” Lia made a face. “I wish I had a guarantee that they are willing to believe her.”

“You don’t have any doubt.”

“Do you?”

He shook his head.

“Her behavior is classic. Somebody molested her, no question.”

“It wasn’t only, er, touching, then.”

Her glance speared him. “Only?”

“You know what I meant.”

Lia let out a breath that had her shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry. And no, when her mother marched her to the doctor, it was clear she’d had nonconsensual sex. Her mother didn’t take it that way, though. She was positive her daughter had gotten in over her head with some boy, chickened out but didn’t want to take responsibility for her own behavior.”

“What a winner,” he muttered.

“The trouble was, Sorrel and she were already going at it, fang and nail. Puberty had struck. You know what thirteen-year-old girls are like.” Her gaze slid sidelong. “Well, maybe not.”

He grinned. “Got to say, I haven’t so much as carried on a conversation with a thirteen-year-old girl since I was that age.”

“If it’s any consolation, she threw herself at you because she trusts you.”

“I did get that.”

“Ditto the teacher. She’s really wary with men she doesn’t trust. Trouble is, well, the behavior is inappropriate no matter what. She seems to feel it’s all she has to offer. It isn’t only men, though. She’s conflicted with women, too. After her mother’s rejection, she doesn’t believe she has anything at all to offer a woman.”

“But she seems to trust you.”

“We’re getting there.” After a moment she sighed again, then smiled at him. “Thrills and chills, constant drama. And you thought you’d be bored here.”

“I’m bored as hell sitting up in that damn attic,” he admitted. He glanced over his shoulder to check on the boys even though he knew Lia was watching them, too. Brendan had dismounted and was trying to convince Pepito the pony to move without notable success. Pepito snatched a mouthful of grass even as Walker kicked his sides. Mouth curving, Conall said, “Do you keep your horses doped up?”

Lia chuckled. “I don’t have to. They’re infinitely patient, and completely uninterested in any speed above an amble.” She turned to look more directly at him. “So what’s your job like? Weeks of tedium interrupted by moments of terror?”

He laughed. “Something like that. Not terror, though. Most cops enjoy the rush of adrenaline, you know.”

“Do you?”

A year or two ago, he’d have told her he lived for it. Lately, he’d been trying to believe it was still true, that he simply needed assignments that offered more action, more risk. Appalled, he thought he’d been like a drug addict, hooked but finding the same quantity of his drug of choice no longer gave him the rush it once had. Solution: shoot up more.

“I…always have.” He knew she was scrutinizing him again, but he didn’t meet her eyes. God forbid she see the cascade of doubt that was making him sweat. Now, that was terror. Oh, hell, oh, hell, oh, hell. If I don’t have that, what’s left?

“I think there’s more to you than you believe,” Lia said softly, then pushed away from the fence. “You’ll keep an eye on the boys?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said automatically.

She nodded and left him.

His head was spinning. The snow globe had been given another bone-rattling shake.

* * *

AFTER DINNER, CONALL CALLED Duncan, who agreed to try to sell the local public utility administration on allowing the DEA to borrow a truck, uniform and equipment.

“They’ll have to show you how to read the meter,” he said. “Your targets will wonder if they don’t get a bill.”

“Appears the bills go to the home-owner, not the residents, so maybe not. But you’re right, we don’t want to wave a red flag.”

There was a pause. “You going to do it?” Duncan asked, sounding a little too casual.

“No, my partner.” The idea made him itchy; Conall wasn’t the sit at home and wait on events kind of guy. But for him, showing up next door in a uniform was a no-go. “I’ve been too visible. I don’t know if they’ve seen me or not, but other neighbors have. These guys might have heard my voice when I was talking to the kids outside. Jeff has stayed out of sight. He’s got one of those forgettable faces, too.”

“Good.” Duncan sounded relieved. He’d met Henderson briefly. “I hate to say it, but you look a little too much like me, in case your neighbors pay attention to local news.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” And don’t want to think about how much I resemble my big brother.

“You ever pass as Hispanic?”

“No. I’m fluent enough, but even if I wore colored contacts, my hair and skin aren’t dark enough. I’m always a crooked gringo.”

“Good to know,” Duncan said with a laugh.

They talked for a few minutes, Conall asking how Jane and baby Fiona were, Duncan in return wanting to know about the kids here at the house.

“I hear Des thinks Walker is his new best friend,” he said.

“I kind of get the feeling Des makes a lot of friends.”

“He’s definitely a glass half full kid,” Duncan agreed. “Something none of us ever were.”

Conall stiffened at the offhanded remark about their shared past. He waited for the old feelings to grab him by the throat, but they stayed absent. Finally he said cautiously, “I would have said you were. I always thought of you as the golden boy. Popular, good at everything, most likely to succeed.”

“Desperate to get the hell out of Dodge, you mean.”

“Really? That’s what you were thinking all that time?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Duncan said flatly. “Early on, I figured out that Mom and Dad wouldn’t be paying my way through college. If I was going, I had to do it on my own. Grades or an athletic scholarship were my way out.”

“You worked all those years for something you had to throw away.”

“I got my college degree and the career I wanted.” Duncan paused. “When I was a kid, I didn’t let myself think about what would happen to you and Niall. I won’t say I wasn’t shocked by what Mom did or by what it meant to me, but whether you think I’m spouting a line of bull or not, the truth is I’m glad things fell the way they did. I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life with you two on my conscience.”

Stunned, Conall took a minute before he said, with what he intended to be his usual mockery, “Saint Duncan.”

He had the feeling his brother was smiling when he said, “I don’t hear any bitterness. Don’t tell me the years are finally mellowing you.”

Was it true? Well, hell. “I guess maybe they are,” he admitted. “Or something else is.”

“Maybe someone.”

“Maybe.” His voice sounded thick.

They both backed off after that, but, like every time he saw or spoke to Duncan lately, Conall was left shaken by how much everything had changed. His perception of the past had shifted. It was as if two different artists had painted the same scene, interpreting it with completely different sensibilities. Maybe neither was the truth, but both were true.

Go figure.

He made a point of seeking out Sorrel before dinner, finding her in her bedroom with the laptop open. “You okay?” he asked.

Color swept over her face. “Um, yeah.”

He smiled. “You going to talk to your parents?”

Her shoulders jerked. “I kind of have to, don’t I?”

“Probably. One of those parts of being a kid that sucks.”

She gave a tiny giggle, but her gaze still shied from his. “I’m, well, I’m sorry for…you know.”

He stayed relaxed in the doorway, shoulder propped against the frame. “Yeah, I know, and don’t worry about it.”

Sorrel nodded.

“You know what I’d like? I’d like to see your uncle arrested. Behind bars where he belongs.”

“Lia says she bets there’ve been other girls. Or there will be.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true. It stinks that he has to hurt more than one girl before anyone takes it seriously.”

“Yeah.” She sounded militant. Then, the next instant, pathetically young. “I wish I hadn’t let him—”

“Let him?” That pissed Conall off. “He had the power, Sorrel, not you. Every single thing that happened is on him. You are not responsible. Don’t ever even think that again.”

“Okay.” Her teeth closed on her lower lip. Then she said softly, “I’ll try not to.”

He made an effort to hide his anger for fear she’d misunderstand it. “Good girl.”

“Is it time for dinner?”

“Lia hasn’t called us yet. I’m going upstairs to check in with Jeff. Knock when it’s time, okay?”

She nodded, smiled, a shy blooming of beauty to come. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t going to say you’re welcome, because she didn’t owe him for a thing. It enraged Conall to think of her so vulnerable, betrayed by someone she should have been able to trust. It was worse, so much worse, than the kind of betrayals he took for granted from the scum he dealt with on the job. Would Sorrel ever truly be all right again? He doubted she would; faith in other people, once lost, was probably impossible to recapture.

Except, like him, she’d gotten lucky. Lia would be her refuge until she no longer needed one. One person could make all the difference.

Halfway up the attic stairs, his steps slowed. Was it possible he’d regained his own faith?

I believe that Duncan loved me all that time. It wasn’t entirely duty.

And, more shocking, I believe that Lia will never fail anyone she loves.

Lucky Sorrel.