One Man's Family

Rucynski shrugged. “Some kids are carrying around a lot of anger.”

He nodded. It was an act of vandalism, possibly—probably—random, and yet there was something about it that bothered him.

“What did you tell Al—Miss Juarez?”

“The truth—that this neighborhood isn’t exactly upscale, and the fact that she’s lived here for three years without incident is only proof that she was due for some trouble.”

“What about the words on the back windshield?”

“By her own admission, the neighborhood kids sometimes leave messages in the dust on her car.”

Scott nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

Not that he blamed Rucynski for looking for an easy answer. He’d responded to too many of these same types of incidents when he’d been in uniform, and usually the simplest explanation was the right one. But he’d also learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts were warning him that this might not be as straightforward as Rucynski wanted it to be.

“Is that going to be the conclusion of your report?”

“We’ll ask around, see if any of the neighbors saw anyone or anything suspicious. But at this point, yeah, I can’t see that it will play out any other way.

“I know that won’t satisfy your…” Rucynski paused deliberately “…uh, client, but the truth isn’t always what we want it to be.”

Which was exactly the same point Scott had tried to make when he’d talked to Alicia about investigating her brother’s case earlier, and he anticipated that she’d still be as resistant to it as she’d been then.

She responded immediately to his knock, and he saw that she’d changed out of the scrubs she’d been wearing earlier that day and into a pair of softly faded jeans and a simple scoop-neck T-shirt. Her hair was still in a braid, but her feet were now bare and her toenails, he noted with surprise, were painted blue and decorated with tiny white and yellow daisies.

Obviously there were layers to the woman he hadn’t suspected, layers that he was curious to explore.

“What did Rucynski tell you?” she asked without preamble.

“Probably the same thing he told you—that it looks like a juvenile prank.”

She folded her arms across her chest and paced across the threadbare carpet. There was an old—possibly even antique—couch against one wall, decorated with colorful pillows in various geometric shapes. Beside it was a newer-looking wing chair and ottoman. The coffee table looked sturdy, if scarred, and held a neat stack of magazines. Facing the couch was an ultra-modern entertainment unit of glass and aluminum that housed a small TV and modest stereo system, along with stacks of CDs and DVDs.

It was…eclectic, he decided. And yet somehow warm and appealing—like Alicia herself.

He turned his attention back to the woman who was still pacing.

The protective instincts that had sent him racing across town in response to her phone call rose up again and urged him to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and promise to take care of her. But he managed to resist the impulse, recognizing that holding her wouldn’t just be inappropriate but potentially disastrous for his peace of mind. After only one meeting with the woman, he’d already found himself daydreaming about her. God help him if he touched her and found she was as soft and warm as he imagined her to be.

No, there could be no personal contact. He needed to remember that she was a client, off-limits, and to keep his distance. But that was tougher than he wanted to admit when she had her arms wrapped around her middle to disguise the fact that she was trembling.

“I can understand why this has shaken you—”

She turned abruptly to face him. “I’m not afraid of whoever slashed my tires.”

He frowned. Whoever had done that number on her car had been wielding a dangerous instrument. Hell, he was scared just thinking about the possibility that Alicia might have interrupted the culprit in the middle of his task and had the weapon used against her.

“I’m just furious that the cops think they can brush me off with statistics about the incidence of crime in this neighborhood.” She resumed her pacing, taking less than a dozen steps to move from one end of the room to the other, then pivoting on her heel to change direction.

“Rucynski assumed it was a prank at first glance and decided there was no need to dig any further.” She turned again, her eyes fairly sparking with fury as her gaze met his. “If those are the kind of cops who investigated my brother’s case, no wonder he’s in prison.”

He stepped into her path, forcing her to either stop or run into him. “Did you call me to complain about the apparent ineptitude of the police, or was there another reason?”

She huffed out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just hate being spoken down to, and Rucynski did everything but pat my head.”

“He isn’t the most diplomatic cop I’ve ever known, but his instincts are usually good.”

“Well, I don’t believe for a minute that this was a random act of vandalism.”

“What do you think it was?”

“A threat—to stop me from looking into the charges against Joe. Think about it,” she said. “My car getting trashed the same day I hired you is just too coincidental.”

“You really believe there’s a connection?”

“It’s the only explanation that makes any sense,” she insisted.

“Did you tell anyone about our meeting this morning?” he asked.

She shook her head. “After I left your office, I went straight to work, and I’ve never talked to anyone there about my brother’s situation.”

“Was there anyone who knew about your plan to meet with me?”

“Just Jordan. And your secretary.”

And it was unlikely that either Jordan or Caroline would have shared that information with someone who could be responsible for the damage done to Alicia’s vehicle. Which, if this wasn’t a random act, forced him to consider another possibility—that Alicia had been followed.

Before he could ask any more questions, she glanced down at her watch, then turned away from him. “I’m sorry to drag you out here then have to take off,” she said. “But I’m already late and the kids will be wondering where I am.”

“How are you going to take off without any tires on your car?”

“I’ll call my mechanic to have it towed and take a cab to my brother’s place.”

“Call for the tow,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Alicia was surprised by his offer—and tempted to decline.

She was a woman who prided herself on not needing a man for anything, but the truth was, she couldn’t help her brother on her own. She did need Scott’s help. And he’d already come through for her twice today. The first time when she’d shown up at his office without an appointment, and the second when she’d tracked him down on his cell phone to tell him about the incident with her car.

So she set her pride aside again and responded, “That would be great. Thanks.”

He waited while she called her mechanic and didn’t say a word or express the slightest hint of impatience when what should have been a two-minute conversation turned into a much longer one while Ernie pried the details of the situation from her and expressed indignation for her car’s plight.

“Sorry about that,” she said when she’d finally hung up the phone.

“Not a problem,” Scott said easily. “Are you ready to go now?”

She nodded and reached for her duffel bag at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed and she jolted at the contact, instinctively pulling her hand away as he said, “I’ve got it.”