“Don’t. Please.”
Two words. Very small. He looked at her sleeve, and at the narrow flash of china wrist. Both knew he could lift the sleeve, and that she couldn’t stop him. He was too strong; too ready. He could have his answer and, in its wake, find helplessness and truth and the ruins of their friendship. “What is it with you and these kids?” he asked. “Gideon? The girl? Put a hurt child in front of you and you don’t think straight. You never have.”
His grip was iron, his hand squeezed so tight she had little feeling left in her fingers. “That’s not your business, Charlie.”
“It wasn’t before. Now it is.”
“Let me go.”
“Answer the question.”
“Very well.” She found his eyes and held them, unflinching. “I can’t have children of my own.”
“Liz, Jesus…”
“Not now, not ever. Shall I tell you how I was raped as a child? Or should we discuss all that came after, the complications and the lies and the reasons my father, even now, won’t look at me the same? Is that your business, Charlie? Is the skin on my wrists your business, too?”
“Liz…”
“Is it or isn’t it?”
“No,” he said. “I guess it’s not.”
“Then let go of my hand.”
It was a bad moment that caught like a breath. But he saw her clearly, now. The children she loved. The string of broken relationships and the withdrawn, cool way she often held herself. He squeezed her hand—once and gently—then did as she asked.
“I’ll try to keep them away.” He stood and seemed every inch the clumsy giant. “I’ll do what I can to conceal the fact she’s here.” Elizabeth nodded as if nothing were wrong; but Beckett knew her every look. “Channing’s scores are public record,” he said. “You can’t hide that she’s a shooter. Sooner or later someone will figure it out. Sooner or later they’ll find her.”
“All I need is for it to be later.”
“Why, for God’s sake? I hear what you’re saying, okay? The kids and all. I get it. I see what it means to you. But this is your life.” He spread the same thick fingers, struggling. “Why risk it?”
“Because for Channing it’s not too late.”
“And for you it is?”
“The girl matters more.”
Elizabeth lifted her chin, and Beckett understood, then, the depth of her commitment. It wasn’t a game or delay for its own sake. She would take the heat for Channing. The murders. The torture. She would go down for the girl.
“Jesus, Liz…”
“It’s okay, Charlie. Really.”
He turned away for an instant, and when he turned back he was harder. “I want a better reason.”
“For what?”
“Look, I’ve made mistakes in my life, some really big ones. I don’t care to make another one now, so if there’s a reason you’re doing this—something beyond childhood wounds and raw emotion—”
“What if there is?”
“Then I’ll do everything I can to help you.”
Elizabeth measured his sincerity, then pulled up both sleeves and lifted her arms so he could take it all in: the fierce eyes and conviction, the raw, pink wounds and all they implied. “I would have died without the girl,” she said. “I would have been raped, and I would have been killed. Is that reason enough?” she asked; and Beckett nodded because it was, and because, looking at her face, he knew for a fact that he’d never seen anything so fragile, so determined, or so goddamn, terrible beautiful.
*
When he was gone, Elizabeth pushed the door shut and watched him all the way to his car. His stride was slow and steady, and he drove away without looking back once.
When she turned, Channing was in the hall. A blanket wrapped her like a package. Her skin was creased from sleep. “I’m ruining your life.”
Elizabeth put her back to the door and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “You don’t have that power, sweetheart.”
“I heard what you said to him.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
“And if you go to prison because of me?”
“It won’t come to that.”
“How can you know?”
“I just do.” Elizabeth put an arm around the girl’s shoulder. Channing wanted a better answer. Elizabeth didn’t have one. “Did you sleep okay?”
“I was sick again. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Elizabeth felt a stab of guilt. She slept so well with the girl warm beside her. “You should eat something.”
“I can’t.”
The girl looked as fragile as glass, the veins powder blue in her arms. She looked how Elizabeth felt. Even the skin beneath her eyes was smudged.
“Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“Where?”
“You need to see something,” Elizabeth said. “And then you’re going to eat.”
*
They took the Mustang, top down. Heat was already spiking in the day, but dense trees shaded the streets, and the lawns in Elizabeth’s neighborhood were thick and green. It made for a pleasant drive out, and Elizabeth watched the girl when she could. “Why the desert?”