Between Love and Duty (4 page)

“Hasn’t reached puberty,” she diagnosed.

MacLachlan nodded. “Definitely not. No sign of beard growth or a change in his voice. He sure isn’t adding any muscle.”

“I suppose puberty is as hard for boys as it is for girls.”

“It can be.” There was that faint, rueful tone again, the one that made him unexpectedly likable. “Not for the guy who is shaving by the time he’s in eighth grade and has all the moves on the girls. He’s not the one hoping no one notices him when he sneaks in and out of the shower after gym, or the one who’s trailing the pack on cross-country runs. The one shorter than all the girls.”

She chuckled. “That sounds personal.”

“No. It was my youngest brother. I suspect his lagging maturity contributed to him getting in trouble.”

“Trying to prove himself.”

He inclined his head. “The same way Tito was.”

“Did you tell him about your brother?”

MacLachlan shook his head. “We’re men. Men don’t talk about our bodies or how deep our voices are.”

She had to laugh. “Unless you’re taunting each other.”

Another flash of a grin came and went so fast she almost missed it. “Yeah. Unless.”

She bent her head and, in self-defense, concentrated quite hard on her notes. “Is there anything else you’d like to add, Captain MacLachlan?”

“Duncan.”

She looked up in surprise. “What?”

“You can call me Duncan.”

“Oh.” The name did suit him, sounding as gruff as the man. “Duncan.”

“What’s the next step?” he asked.

“I interview teachers, any of his other siblings, any other adults. Scout leaders, Boys & Girls Club employees and the like.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s involved in anything like that. My impression is, he’s been forced to be a loner. His sister is too busy to push him into activities that might change that.”

“Perhaps their priest…”

“She does drag him to church.”

“Of course I’ll be sitting down with his father. And, naturally, Tito himself.” She hesitated. Maybe she didn’t have to say this, but she felt compelled, anyway. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss my visit with him. Or attempt to prejudice him in any way.”

“You mean, suggest he might be better living with someone besides his ex-con father.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

His face had returned to its earlier granite facade. “I think I can manage to keep my mouth shut, Ms. Brooks. Is the hearing date set?”

“Yes.” She told him when.

He nodded and rose to his feet. “If that’s all…?”

It was completely ridiculous to feel hurt because he was eager to get rid of her. Especially since she was relieved at the prospect of escape, too.

“Thank you for the coffee,” she said formally, although she’d scarcely taken a sip.

He didn’t bother with an insincere “You’re welcome.” All he did was walk her to the front door, say, “Ms. Brooks” and close the door firmly in her face.

Cheeks flushed again, this time with both humiliation and aggravation, Jane hurried to her car.
Jerk,
she thought, and refused to let herself remember those two astonishing grins.

WHEN SOMEONE HE DIDN’T KNOW wanted to talk to him like this, Tito knew it meant something bad was happening. After Mama went away and then Papa was arrested, lots of social workers came to talk to Tito and Lupe. Mostly they ignored Tito, though, even when they were supposedly asking him questions. He could tell that, in their eyes, he was only a little kid, so they didn’t care what he said.

This time it was because Papa would be getting out of that place soon. Tito knew his father thought Tito would be living with him. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Three years was a long time. He’d been so young the last time he lived with his father. He hated going down there, to the prison. Tito hadn’t admitted to Lupe how much he hated it. He always slumped in the chair and mumbled when Papa asked about school or friends or whether his sister was taking good care of him and feeding him enough. Tito could tell Papa thought she wasn’t, and that made him feel bad.

And now Lupe had taken him to the public library to meet with this Miss Brooks, who Lupe said had already come by the apartment to talk to her. Tito burned with resentment because Miss Brooks didn’t know anything but would be able to decide things about his life. It made him mad that she’d talked to his sister at least a week ago but not to him until now.

“Tito,” she said, when they went straight to the table in a quiet corner of the library where she had already been sitting. She gave him a big smile. He’d seen smiles like that before. He didn’t return it.

“Lupe, thank you,” she said. “Do you mind if I talk to Tito alone?”

This woman did speak Spanish, at least, he thought grudgingly. Lupe seemed to like her, but then she liked everyone except for that
idioto,
Raul, who lied every month and said he couldn’t find a job only so he didn’t have to pay child support. What kind of man did that make him? Not much of one. Tito worried that Lupe needed the money the state paid her to take care of him.

He sat down unhappily, across the table from the social worker woman, and his sister left them.

Miss Brooks said, “Tito, you can call me Jane. Would you rather speak in Spanish, or English?”

He shrugged and focused on the tabletop. Someone had written some bad words in ink. He rubbed a finger over them, and they smeared.

“Then let’s make it English,” she said, switching. “Since that’s what you have to speak at school.”

He shrugged again.

“You know your father will be released in two weeks.”

She waited and waited, until he finally mumbled, “Yes.”

She explained that the judge had asked her to talk to him and his family members and any adult friends—even his teachers—and recommend where she thought he should live.

“I know you’re used to living with your sister now,” she said, in a nice voice. “But she doesn’t have much room, and she works evenings. It would be better if you had someone who could spend more time with you.”

He did wish Lupe worked days instead. Tito didn’t like Señora Ruiz, the neighbor who came over evenings. She ignored him and mostly paid attention to the little kids.

“How do you feel about it?”

Tito looked up at last. “What do you care?”

Her eyes were soft. Kind. They were pretty, too, blue but not cold. More like a flower.

“I do care. I want what’s best for you, Tito. You don’t know me, and you have no reason to trust me, but you can. I promise.
Te prometo.
”

There was a lump in his throat. He struggled against it and finally nodded.

He still didn’t answer very many of her questions. He didn’t know if he wanted to live with his father! How could he know? And who else was there? Yes, he had a brother, Diego, but he was only twenty and worked the fields. He had dropped out of school early—not that much older than Tito was now. He never stayed in one place, and he didn’t have a wife. Tito saw him only every few months.

When Miss Brooks said, “I spoke to Duncan Mac-Lachlan,” Tito looked at her in alarm.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“I asked him not to.”

That tasted bad, like broccoli. He had
trusted
Duncan, who had caught him,
el stupido,
breaking into his house. What had Duncan said to her?

“He told me he wouldn’t betray any confidences.” She fumbled for another way to say that, but Tito understood and relaxed. He wished secretly that he could live with Duncan, but, of course, he wouldn’t want a boy like Tito. Why would he? Tito wondered all the time why he was being so nice.

“Do you like spending time with Duncan?”

Tito smeared the words on the table some more, but he also nodded.

“He did tell me how you met.”

Tito’s head shot up, but she was smiling.

“Don’t worry. It has nothing to do with where you live. I won’t tell anyone else.”

That lump was again in his throat. “
Gracias.
Thank you.”

Still smiling, she said, “Here’s my phone number, Tito. It’s a cell phone, so you can reach me day or evening. If there’s anything you want to say.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be speaking to your father next.” She asked him if there were other adults she should talk to, but he shrugged. He had friends,
sí,
but he didn’t even know their parents. Truthfully, he didn’t have many friends, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

She signaled and Lupe came over to them. Tito hadn’t known that his sister had stayed. She looked so tired. He wondered if Papa could help her, once he got out. Would he be able to find work? If he couldn’t, how would he be able to take Tito?

What would Papa think of Duncan? Tito felt a heavy sensation in his chest at the idea of not being able to play basketball and soccer with Duncan anymore, but if he had to live with Papa and Papa said no…

“Was it all right?” Lupe asked him on the way home, and Tito only hunched down in the car seat and shrugged.

He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember what “all right” was.

TELEPHONE TO HIS EAR, Duncan rotated his big leather office chair so that he was gazing out the window at the sky. His office was on the second floor of the new redbrick jail and police station. Right next door, attached by a glassed-in walkway, was the matching courthouse.

On the fourth ring, a woman said, “Dance Dreams.”

Jane Brooks, of course. She had an intriguing voice. A little husky. Smoky.
Sexy, damn it.

“Ms. Brooks. You’ve been dodging my calls.”

A couple of weeks had passed since she’d come to his house, and never another word from her. He’d left her four messages on her cell phone. They had been increasingly testy, he knew.

“Yes, I have, Captain MacLachlan. As I thought I’d made clear to you, I’m unable to discuss my recommendations until I make them to the court. I’d welcome new information. However, you didn’t sound as if you had any to offer.”

He restrained a growl. “Have you talked to the father?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss…”

He didn’t even try to restrain this growl. “Ms. Brooks, do you or do you not want what’s best for Tito?”

“That,” she retorted with a snap in her voice, “depends on whether we’re talking about what’s best for Tito as pronounced by
you,
Captain.”

“I’ve read the original police report on Hector Ortez’s crime.”

“As have I.”

That surprised him.

She continued, “The trial transcript, too. Have you read that, Captain MacLachlan?”

He hadn’t.

She waited politely. “No?” she said after a moment. “Since you’re so interested, you might want to do so.”

“I intend to.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”

He didn’t know whether it was more insulting to think that she was lying about the existence of those customers, or that she wasn’t.

Either way—she was gone. “Bullheaded woman,” he muttered, hanging up the phone.

Duncan didn’t like being bested by a pretty, feminine little thing who made her living selling, of all damn things, tutus.

Maybe not little, he conceded. She had the look of a dancer. Slender, small-breasted, graceful and long-legged, with the swanlike neck and unusually erect carriage he’d expect of one. In appearance, she was just plain feminine, with that mass of glossy hair the color of hand-rubbed maple wood, a sweet face and eyes of the darkest blue he’d ever seen.

All that, and the personality of a police dog on the job. Outwardly well behaved, sharp-eyed and ready, at the slightest excuse, to go for the throat.

He’d have expected as much if she’d been a defense attorney. But the proprietor of a dance shop?

Duncan might have been amused if he hadn’t been so pissed. She’d made up her mind, all right. He suspected she had from the beginning, whatever she said to the contrary. She had every intention of handing Tito back to his father, whose main virtue seemed to be a lack of any history of domestic violence calls. Never mind that he’d stabbed a man to death in the parking lot of a tavern at two in the morning.