turned.
Kevin, the Simpsons’ son, sauntered up the walk from the shed. Dawn’s brother was Meg’s age—five years older than Luke—tall and rake-thin like his father, with his mother’s pale eyes and a couple of tattoos that would earn him a reprimand in the Corps—a pair of SS bolts on his neck, a messy half sleeve on one arm. A real badass wannabe. When the other island kids had been drinking their daddies’ beer under the pier, Kevin had been into the hard stuff. For an extra couple bucks, he’d buy the younger kids a bottle or some weed and drink or smoke it with them. Luke had bought some Old Crow off him once, but he’d had no desire to repeat the experience. Especially not after Matt caught him puking in the bushes.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Kevin asked.
“I’m here to see your parents,” Luke said.
“Well, they don’t want to see you.”
“That’s fine,” Luke said. “I just came to get a picture of Dawn.”
“You fucked my sister. You’re not getting fuck from us.”
Luke stepped back (
Move away from your attacker. Distance is your friend
.), angling his body so he could talk to the elder Simpsons and still keep Kevin in sight. “I just want a photo.”
Jolene fixed him with her pale, watery eyes. “You never came around to see her while she was alive. What do you care what she looked like now she’s dead?”
Luke winced. Hard to argue with that. “It’s not for me. It’s for Taylor.”
Ernie scratched his beard. “I guess that would be—”
“Taylor wants to see pictures of her mama, she can come here,” Kevin said.
“That’s not up to you,” Luke said.
“I’m her uncle.”
That spider sense crawled again on the back of Luke’s neck. “You don’t live here,” Luke said.
Kevin smiled. Not a good look for him, since his teeth were stained from years of tobacco use or meth. “Nah. I just come by.”
Yeah. When his utilities were cut off, Luke guessed. Or when he needed groceries.
But who was Luke to judge? He was living in his parents’ back yard.
“All I want is a picture of her mother to give to Taylor.”
“I
said
, we got nothing for you,” Kevin said. “Get out.”
Luke’s jaw bunched in frustration. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” Getting in a brawl with a civilian wasn’t going to help him. Not with the social services investigation pending.
“Then you’d best leave,” Ernie said. “Sorry, boy.”
“Mrs. Simpson.” Luke appealed to Dawn’s mother. “Jolene—”
She stuck out her round, quivering chin, siding with her son. “You heard Kevin. You’ve taken everything else from us. We’re not giving you a damn thing.”
• • •
K ATE HAD BEEN at her desk since early morning, answering phone calls, responding to e-mails, putting out small, domestic fires.
One of these days, she would make an effort at having some kind of personal life. Go out for drinks after work with Alisha or join an online dating site. Something that didn’t include batteries. No remote, no vibrator.
A memory whispered through her mind of Luke, solid in the twilight, with his wide shoulders and dark blue eyes.
I had the evening free
, she’d said.
Most evenings free
.
Lucky for me
, he’d drawled.
What had he meant by that?
She shook the thought away, tucking her phone under her ear, jotting notes on the legal pad in front of her.
“I understand,” she murmured soothingly to thirty-nine-year-old Tammy Blakemore.
Tammy’s husband, a prominent dentist, had just informed her during their counseling appointment that he intended to go on banging his twenty-six-year-old hygienist, and he expected his wife to be okay with that. After all, Tammy explained tearfully, she lived in his house, she carried his name and his children, he gave her a car and a generous allowance. He deserved something in return.
Yeah, like slow castration with a butter knife
.
But of course Kate didn’t say that. She rarely told clients how she
Kevin, the Simpsons’ son, sauntered up the walk from the shed. Dawn’s brother was Meg’s age—five years older than Luke—tall and rake-thin like his father, with his mother’s pale eyes and a couple of tattoos that would earn him a reprimand in the Corps—a pair of SS bolts on his neck, a messy half sleeve on one arm. A real badass wannabe. When the other island kids had been drinking their daddies’ beer under the pier, Kevin had been into the hard stuff. For an extra couple bucks, he’d buy the younger kids a bottle or some weed and drink or smoke it with them. Luke had bought some Old Crow off him once, but he’d had no desire to repeat the experience. Especially not after Matt caught him puking in the bushes.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Kevin asked.
“I’m here to see your parents,” Luke said.
“Well, they don’t want to see you.”
“That’s fine,” Luke said. “I just came to get a picture of Dawn.”
“You fucked my sister. You’re not getting fuck from us.”
Luke stepped back (
Move away from your attacker. Distance is your friend
.), angling his body so he could talk to the elder Simpsons and still keep Kevin in sight. “I just want a photo.”
Jolene fixed him with her pale, watery eyes. “You never came around to see her while she was alive. What do you care what she looked like now she’s dead?”
Luke winced. Hard to argue with that. “It’s not for me. It’s for Taylor.”
Ernie scratched his beard. “I guess that would be—”
“Taylor wants to see pictures of her mama, she can come here,” Kevin said.
“That’s not up to you,” Luke said.
“I’m her uncle.”
That spider sense crawled again on the back of Luke’s neck. “You don’t live here,” Luke said.
Kevin smiled. Not a good look for him, since his teeth were stained from years of tobacco use or meth. “Nah. I just come by.”
Yeah. When his utilities were cut off, Luke guessed. Or when he needed groceries.
But who was Luke to judge? He was living in his parents’ back yard.
“All I want is a picture of her mother to give to Taylor.”
“I
said
, we got nothing for you,” Kevin said. “Get out.”
Luke’s jaw bunched in frustration. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” Getting in a brawl with a civilian wasn’t going to help him. Not with the social services investigation pending.
“Then you’d best leave,” Ernie said. “Sorry, boy.”
“Mrs. Simpson.” Luke appealed to Dawn’s mother. “Jolene—”
She stuck out her round, quivering chin, siding with her son. “You heard Kevin. You’ve taken everything else from us. We’re not giving you a damn thing.”
• • •
K ATE HAD BEEN at her desk since early morning, answering phone calls, responding to e-mails, putting out small, domestic fires.
One of these days, she would make an effort at having some kind of personal life. Go out for drinks after work with Alisha or join an online dating site. Something that didn’t include batteries. No remote, no vibrator.
A memory whispered through her mind of Luke, solid in the twilight, with his wide shoulders and dark blue eyes.
I had the evening free
, she’d said.
Most evenings free
.
Lucky for me
, he’d drawled.
What had he meant by that?
She shook the thought away, tucking her phone under her ear, jotting notes on the legal pad in front of her.
“I understand,” she murmured soothingly to thirty-nine-year-old Tammy Blakemore.
Tammy’s husband, a prominent dentist, had just informed her during their counseling appointment that he intended to go on banging his twenty-six-year-old hygienist, and he expected his wife to be okay with that. After all, Tammy explained tearfully, she lived in his house, she carried his name and his children, he gave her a car and a generous allowance. He deserved something in return.
Yeah, like slow castration with a butter knife
.
But of course Kate didn’t say that. She rarely told clients how she
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