The Word of a Child (21 page)

Mariah laughed, a merry sound. "Weren't you a jock in
high school? You must have had girlfriends."

"I played football and basketball. Yeah, I had
girlfriends." More like, a girlfriend.

He'd given something away. Mariah's eyes were dark and
knowing. "But not somebody you want to talk about."

Why was he reluctant? Did too many years of silence on a
subject rust your ability to talk about it? He tried not even to think about
Becky, although he couldn't help doing so at odd moments. Hell, how could he
not,
given
that his job was more a crusade in her name than in his mother's.

"I went with a girl named Becky for a couple of
years." Even his voice sounded rusty. "Her dad didn't like her
dating, so we hung out at school, I'd drive her home, she'd sneak out sometimes
at night." He shrugged. "She was scared of him. I knew that. I
thought he was just an SOB who'd ground her, maybe give her a hard time if he
ever caught us. Talk about old-fashioned, not letting a sixteen-year-old date.
Then she turned seventeen, and she still couldn't."

Mariah watched him across the table, her expression
compassionate. "What happened?"

"I wanted her to go to the prom. She freaked. She
couldn't possibly ask her father. I said I would." How clearly he
remembered his teenage arrogance and blindness. "That's when Becky finally
told me she had been having sex with her father for years. Since she was about
twelve. He was jealous. That's why she couldn't date."

Mariah let out a small, anguished sound echoing the pain he
had felt. "What did you do?" she whispered.

"Tried to talk her into going to the school counselor.
Didn't she know how sick that was? I said." He shook his head, hearing the
incredible insensitivity. Yeah, it was her father who was sick, but she must
have known she could stop him, and she hadn't. At that age, she wouldn't have
understood the difference in responsibility between the adult and the child,
the power he had over her. Connor continued, "Of course, she wouldn't go.
Her mom was dead, her dad was all she had. No little sisters to worry about.
She'd be out of high school in just another year, and then she'd move out of
the house. She begged me to be patient."

"But you weren't." Mariah said it as if she knew
the rest of the pathetic story.

"In my defense, I don't think it was my own impatience
driving me. I thought I was in love. I was the knight on the white charger. I
was determined to save her. Hell, I knew what was right and wrong. The real
trouble was my inflated belief that I could fix anything."

"You confronted him?"

"I was smart enough not to do that." He gave a
harsh, humorless laugh. "I called Child Protective Services. Becky denied
the whole thing, he beat the crap out of her and she ran away after telling me
she hated my guts." Until his dying day, he would remember her swollen,
battered face and the terrible sense of betrayal in her eyes. "I heard
later she was pregnant, living with some sailor in Bremerton. The baby couldn't
have been mine. I don't want to think about whose it was."

"Oh, Connor." Her hand crept across the table and
shyly covered his. "I'm sorry. I could tell you didn't want to talk about
her. I guess I'm pushy, too."

He gripped her hand, too hard, feeling the fragile bones
under his fingers. "No. It's okay," he said gruffly. "It
happened a long time ago."

She nodded, her face grave. "You couldn't have done
anything differently, you know."

"I should have talked to her." A rough sound came
from his throat. "I never imagined she'd lie to the CPS worker. Somehow,
even though she wouldn't make the call herself, I was sure she'd be grateful to
be rescued." He gave another harsh laugh. "Rescued. More like sending
a lifeboat that drove right over the top of her."

"You had to tell," Mariah repeated.

"Yeah. I did." He tried to smile, felt how bleak
his effort was. "Right and wrong have never looked as clear-cut
since."

Her forehead crinkled as her eyes searched his. "You
face these dilemmas every day, don't you?"

"No, what I do is deal with other people facing them.
It's never easy."

She bit her lip. "And they all look at you later the way
I did."

"Most of them."

She squeezed his hand back, hard. "I think, Connor
McLean, that you're a good, kind man. I'm sorry it took me so long to
notice."

He hoped she found him a little more exciting than that
implied, but he appreciated the thought.

"If we were anywhere else, I'd kiss you," he said
roughly.

"Oh." Her cheeks flushed and her gaze wavered from
his.

"Or do good, kind men not do that?"

Mariah firmly reclaimed her hand. "I don't know all
that many." She sounded prim. "But since you already
have
kissed
me…"

Too long ago. At odd moments the entire week he'd remembered
her taste, the faint flowery scent of her hair, the quiver of her lips and her
tiny gasp. He hadn't kissed a woman in months. The dating game had palled for
him years ago. Every so often he met someone he liked enough to make the effort
for. That seemed to be happening less and less often, which made him wonder if
there was a reason he was thirty years old and hadn't fallen in love since high
school.

Tonight, he was thinking he just hadn't met the right woman
yet. Or, more accurately, he had met her and just hadn't broken up her marriage
yet, he thought dourly.

Forget Simon, Connor told himself. She was single now. She
wouldn't be getting back together with her ex. Why
shouldn't
he kiss
her?

"And I'm looking forward to doing it again," he
said, letting his gaze drift for a brief moment to her mouth.

Her blush was gratifying.

They sipped coffee and talked about politics at work and the
school board and the city council, avoiding any more land mines. After he paid,
they strolled out into a misty night, smelling the salt air and hearing the
roar of the surf.

Mariah had already fastened her seat belt by the time he got
behind the wheel.

"I was thinking," she said.

He glanced at her, keys in his hand.

"I promised myself I wouldn't talk about Tracy tonight at all."

"I don't mind if you have something to say."

"Well." Mariah pushed her hair back from her face.
"It was what you said about your girlfriend. How determined she was not to
rock the boat. To … protect her father, I suppose."

"Tracy doesn't have contact with her father."

"So she says." Her face was indistinct in the dark
parking lot. "I was just wondering whether there was some chance she does,
and her mother doesn't know."

Connor considered. "I asked about him. I didn't get any
sense she was hiding anything, but what the hell. I'll locate him."

"You can do that?"

"It's harder than you'd think to disappear. And this
guy doesn't have any reason to be hiding, unless he's skipped on child support.
I had the impression from Tracy's mother that she's happier he's out of the
picture."

Mariah sounded worried. "If it's not her father she's
protecting…"

"She might be telling the truth," Connor reminded
her.

"What do you think?"

He shoved the key into the ignition. "I think she's
lying," he said baldly.

"Then…"

"Then if it's not her father she's protecting, I have
to look at her mother."

Distress made her voice husky. "You think she
collaborated
with
someone, or…"

"Or just turned her eyes the other way. Do you know how
often that happens?" He sounded savage; couldn't help it.

"No. I've read…" Mariah drew an audible breath.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up at all."

"No." He deliberately relaxed. "You're right.
I'll find Tracy's father first. Then I'll have a talk with the last
boyfriend."

"Thank you," Mariah said softly.

"Just doing my job."

As he hoped he'd done it when her husband was accused.

As was habit for a cop, he had stayed aware of their
surroundings. He knew the parking lot was quiet, no one getting out of a car or
exiting the restaurant. So he didn't hesitate when impulse had him reaching for
her.

He wrapped his hand around the back of her head and covered her
mouth with his, sharp-edged need making this kiss hungrier than it should have
been. But instead of stiffening, she sighed and parted her lips. His other hand
found her shoulder, traced the fragile line of her collarbone, stroked her
throat, flattened on her chest just above the swell of cleavage. Damn, he
wanted the plump weight of her breast in his hand, but he had enough restraint
to know it was too soon, would scare her off.

He stroked her tongue with his, explored the soft contours
of her mouth, nipped at her full lower lip. She kissed him back with a passion
that seemed somehow innocent, unpracticed. It made him wonder what kind of
lover her husband had been.

None of his business.

Yes, it was, damn it! The way Simon Stavig had treated
Mariah was a part of the experiences that made up who she was, how she would
react to another man's touch and promises and excuses.

Right now, Connor thought, nuzzling the hollow at the base
of her throat, he couldn't complain. The quick rise and fall of her breasts, the
ragged vibration of her pulse beneath his mouth, gave him intense satisfaction.

Whatever had come between them before, Mariah wanted him.
She'd forgiven if not forgotten. He was a lucky man.

With a deep-throated groan, he lifted his head, kissed her
one more time and then reluctantly let her go.

"Time to get you home," he said.

"I…" Her voice was high, breathless. Attuned to
her, he felt her draw in a sustaining breath that allowed her to steady her
voice. "Thank you."

The drive was too short. He asked her about her drama
program, and she talked almost at random about auditions for the play to be
performed in early December,
A
Christmas Carol.

In front of her house, before releasing his seat belt, he
kissed her again, but didn't let it get serious. This was a first date. He had
a chance, if he didn't blow it.

When he opened her door, she seemed to fit so naturally
against him that he found himself sliding his hands down her back, gripping the
soft curve of her buttocks, nipping at her mouth, finally losing himself in a
long, drugged kiss.

She sounded dazed when they surfaced. "I should go
in."

"Yeah." Her hair was fluffy beneath his cheek.
"I didn't intend…"

Surprisingly she laughed, a delicious gurgle. "If
you're claiming it wasn't premeditated, I don't think you'll get off. You did
warn me, you know."

"I did, didn't I?" He found himself smiling, which
made it easier to let her go. They walked to the front door hand in hand.
"Can I take the baby-sitter home?"

"She lives in the complex."

"Then this is good night." One last slow kiss
during which he savored her soft mouth, her slender neck under his hand and the
pillow of her breasts against his chest. Then he let her go and backed away.
"I'll call."

"Thank you for a nice evening, Connor." He was
pleased to see her fumble the key before she got it in the door. "Good
night." She disappeared inside.

Walking back to the car, he wondered how soon before he
could decently call. Was tomorrow morning pushing it?

Chapter
10

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^
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I
t took Connor less than
two hours in front of a computer to discover that Randy
Mitchell had been dead for half of Tracy's life. When her mother and she said
no contact, they meant it.