Between Love and Duty. Janice Johnson Kay
velvety voice she recognized from television interviews.
But his words helped her get a grip. “No.”
“You look like one.”
“I never had the opportunity,” she said flatly. She held out a hand. “Captain MacLachlan.”
He didn’t smile. “Ms. Brooks.” His very large hand enveloped hers for the briefest possible time considered civil. “Please come in.”
She stepped inside, trying very, very hard to shut down her physical awareness of him, but not succeeding. It wasn’t that he was huge; at a guess, he was about six feet tall, maybe even a little less. At five foot seven herself, she shouldn’t feel dwarfed by him. It was that he had…presence. She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. He was the kind of man people would always look at first, no matter how big the crowd. Even when, like now, he wore neither uniform nor the kind of suit he was usually photographed in. He must have changed when he got home, to well-worn jeans, athletic shoes and a long-sleeved dark blue T-shirt that hugged broad shoulders.
He did indeed have a great body—lean and athletic. Not overmuscled, not thin. Perfect. His face wasn’t model handsome, not by a long shot. He had broad, blunt cheekbones, a heavy brow, too many furrows and a crooked nose. His eyes were a wintry gray, clear and penetrating.
And, damn it, her knees wanted to buckle because he was right there, so close she could have touched him. I did touch him, she thought, and rolled her eyes at herself when he turned to lead the way into the living room. Apparently her inner teenager was alive and well.
Even though mainly focused on him, she was aware enough of her surroundings to know instantly that she loved the interior of his house as much as she had the exterior. Wide-planked wood floors, wooden blinds, cushiony leather furniture in a warm, chestnut brown underlaid by the contrasting elegance and color of Persian rugs. Bookcases, packed full, flanked a river-rock fireplace. For the walls, he favored art-quality photographs over paintings. Above the rough-hewn mantel hung a large framed photo of a bald eagle sitting on a snag above a river. The doors of an antique armoire stood open to display a large-screen television and, below, a fancy-looking audio system.
“Coffee?” Captain MacLachlan asked.
“Thank you.”
He excused himself and disappeared, leaving her to wander and examine his books—an exceptionally eclectic mix of science fiction, thrillers, historical fiction and nonfiction that covered a gamut of subjects.
He returned with a tray and gestured her toward the sofa then sat across from her in a recliner that rocked forward as he added cream to his mug of coffee. Jane doctored her own with both sugar and cream then straightened.
“All right.” His tone was abrupt, his expression uncompromising. “What’s this about?”
She cleared her throat, going into professional mode. “Has Tito told you about his living situation?”
“I know he lives with his sister. I’ve talked to Lupe a couple of times.”
Jane nodded. “Apparently his parents split up and his mother moved back to Mexico four years ago. She took three of Tito’s sisters with her. There are a couple of other older siblings somewhere in the area. Tito stayed with his father.” She gave a small shrug. “They both thought that because he’s a boy, he needed a father more than a mother.”
MacLachlan grunted. She couldn’t tell what he thought about that rather traditional view.
“What happened to the father?” he asked.
“Three years ago, he was involved in a brawl at a tavern. He knifed another man, who died.”
The police captain’s face changed then. Hardened.
Jane continued, “He was convicted of manslaughter and given a five-year term. However, he’s done what he needed to be released early.”
He leaned forward and set down the mug with a sharp click. “Don’t tell me anyone’s thinking of returning custody to him.” His incredulity was plain.
“He has every right to regain custody of his minor children,” Jane said, as sharply. “There are no allegations of abuse or neglect. He was convicted of a crime unrelated to his family. He has continued to write and call Tito and likely his other children. He sees Tito as often as Lupe can drive him to Monroe.”
“He’s a convicted felon. A man with a demonstrated history of violence. Have you even met him?”
“Not yet.”
MacLachlan made a disgusted sound. “But already you’re his advocate.”
That annoyed Jane enough to have her setting down her mug, too, so decisively that coffee splashed onto the glass tabletop. “I neither said nor implied that. I have been asked to assess possible placements for Tito. It’s possible that his father will be his best bet. In case you’re unaware, his current placement with his sister is far from ideal. There may be other possibilities, and I will consider those, as well. At the moment, I’m keeping an open mind.” Unlike you, she didn’t have to say.
They glared at each other. After a moment he gave a choppy nod, and she felt a glow of satisfaction because he was the one who had to back down. She was right; he was wrong.
“What I’m doing,” she said crisply, “is making time to talk to any adults active in Tito’s life. Lupe gave me your name, although she seemed unclear on how you’d come to be involved with him.”
He was exceptionally good at hiding his thoughts, which perhaps wasn’t surprising for a cop. Jane found it disquieting to have to wait, however, while he watched her with those cool gray eyes and apparently decided what and how much he was going to tell her.
He reached for his coffee again and took a long swallow. Jane dragged her gaze from his strong, tanned throat, and she was dismayed to feel her cheeks warming again. She silently blasted herself. What was wrong with her? She never reacted to a man like this. Think how hideously embarrassing it would be if he noticed!
“He broke into my house.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “What?”
He gave the faintest of smiles, and she bristled at the realization that he had enjoyed shocking her. “You heard me.”
Jane opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. At last, she said cautiously, “That’s how you met.”
“Yes.” Another of those smiles, barely a twitch of the lips. “The house was dark. I’d had a crappy day. When the Mariners game ended, I turned it off and I guess I fell asleep right here in my recliner. I heard the window break. I got my hands on him, discovered he’s only twelve. He claimed that he’d been dared to break into a house. He insisted he’s never done anything like that before.” His shoulders moved in a barely there shrug. “I gambled he’s telling the truth and didn’t arrest him.”
“Soo…” She drew the word out. “You became buddies instead.”
This smile approached the real thing and she could have sworn she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. The combination was enough to make her glad she was already sitting down.
“Something like that. I told him I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. I could still arrest him at any time. I gave him a choice—spend some time with me and let me assess how honest he is, or be booked into juvie. Tito’s a smart boy.”
It seemed that Captain MacLachlan wasn’t quite as hard-assed as he was reputed to be. Tito had, somehow, some way, gotten to him.
“You could have arrested him and recommended him for diversion.” The diversion panels were made up of ordinary citizens who’d volunteered to serve. In lieu of a judge, they saw kids referred for minor crimes and were able to assign punishments. The program took a lot of pressure off the juvenile court, ensured young offenders had immediate consequences for their actions