“Well, you can’t drink too much of it. You’re not grown yet, and caffeine can make you jittery. But a little won’t hurt you. Just remember, you didn’t get it from me.”
“Okay.” She took another sip, then said, “What were you going to ask before?”
“When?”
“You said, ‘But don’t you ever . . . ’”
“Oh, that. I don’t know. Something about school, I guess. But you know what? I don’t even remember much about school. I actually hated it.”
She cocked her head, suddenly intrigued at what felt like a confidence. “Why?”
“Ah, it’s a long story. I just never felt like I fit in. I was glad when it was over. I’m better at being a cop than I was at being a student.”
Livia glanced around. “You . . . didn’t want to go to breakfast?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “I begged off. It’s great to see everyone, but sometimes I need a little space. You know?”
“Yes.”
“And tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, so it’s going to be the big church thing. Does Fred make you go to church?”
“Yes.” She didn’t like talking about Mr. Lone.
“Yeah, I figured. Well, I’m not really the churchgoing type. To each his own, I guess.”
She looked at him, desperate to ask, but also afraid. She sensed she was crossing lines she couldn’t clearly see.
A strange expression settled into his face—compassion, but also something . . . concerned.
“How’s everything going, Livia?”
Somehow, she could tell he didn’t mean it in the usual polite, surface way. That he was really asking. Really wanted to know. Maybe even really . . . cared?
She bit her lip. She so wanted to ask him.
“What is it?” he said. “Honey, if something’s wrong, you can tell me.”
No, she thought. I can’t tell anyone. Ever.
But she could ask him. She had to.
“My sister,” she said. “Nason.” From no more than saying Nason’s name, the tears welled up. She wiped them violently away, furious at herself for crying.
“I heard about your sister, hon,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
She nodded. “No one knows where she is. What happened to her. Even if—”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. But she didn’t need to. He nodded, waiting for her to go on. She could tell that Mr. Lone had told him nothing. But did that mean Mr. Lone knew nothing?
She cleared her throat. “All anyone knows, I think, is Portland is where we were separated. Portland is where she disappeared.”
He nodded. “PPB knows about it. And I talked to all my contacts so they would understand it’s personal, too. You know, my beat is homicide, but there are cops who specialize in child matters, that kind of thing. I made sure they’re all looking for your sister.”
She was stunned. “You . . . you did that?”
“Jesus, of course I did, Livia.”
She started crying again. She couldn’t help it. She’d gotten so good at hardening herself against cruelty, she hadn’t been prepared for his kindness.
He tore a paper towel from the dispenser and handed it to her. While she wiped her face and sniffled, he reached for her shoulder. She jerked back.
Instantly he raised his hands, palms up. “I’m sorry, honey.”
She shook her head. She hadn’t sensed he was going to touch her in a bad way. But . . . she didn’t like being touched anymore. By men, especially.
She wanted to tell him it wasn’t his fault, because what he had done for Nason was so nice, so good. But there was no way to explain. She shook her head and said, “No, no, I’m sorry.”
The way he was looking at her . . . she had the strangest sense that maybe he knew. Or knew enough. Even without her telling.
“It’s okay,” he said. “And you don’t have one thing to be sorry for, do you understand? Not one.”
She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Did the special police you know . . . did anyone . . .”
He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, there’s not a lot to go on, and no one has been able to find anything. But I’m not going to give up. And I won’t let anyone else, either.”
“What about the men who took us? The Thai men? I described them all to the people from the Immigration and Naturalization Service.” She pronounced the unfamiliar words carefully.
“As I understand it, that’s a dead end. No one knows who the men are or how to find them. I know the police have your description, and if they catch anyone who looks like that, they’ll be questioned very closely.”
“Will you tell me if that happens?”
“Of course.”
She pursed her lips, frustrated. To be right here, able to ask a Portland police officer, and still not find anything useful . . . it was maddening.
“What about the men on the boat? The boat from Portland. How did the police even know there were smuggled people on it?”
“That’s funny, I had the same question. I asked around. Word is, it was an anonymous call to Chief Emmanuel of Llewellyn PD. Seems like a rival gang dropped a dime.”