Between Love and Duty (11 page)

No, because by then he was a police officer, rising in the hierarchy, accepting new responsibilities. By then he’d seen so much that was grim, learned to view people in such a cynical light, feeling light,
fun
, was next to impossible.

And he and Jane weren’t here to have a good time, he reminded himself. They were here to keep Tito safe. He’d done that.

To hell with Hector. Jane needed to get real.

They’d covered a distance while he brooded. He surfaced when she stopped and, like a child, squatted to peer into a shallow, rocky tide pool. A vividly colored starfish clung to one side and small pale crabs scuttled along the edge. Purplish barnacles grew from the rocks.

It wasn’t the tide pool Duncan looked at, though. It was Jane, her face transformed by the simple pleasure of the moment. He felt something strange, and far more complicated than desire for a graceful, pretty woman. It reminded him unpleasantly of the stomach-clenching instant when he saw a speeding car swerving in and out of traffic and knew with absolutely certainty that an accident was going to happen and he had no way to stop it.

CHAPTER SIX

TITO HAD CARRIED A POCKET of happiness with him since yesterday, when Mr. Munro had handed out the graded quizzes in math class. It had stayed in his belly, a warm spot. He didn’t usually have anything to brag about, but today he did.

He kept remembering the wait. Since Mr. Munro had started on the other side of the room, it took him a long time to get to Tito.

Usually Tito wouldn’t care about the quiz. Half the time, he didn’t bother doing the assignments. They weren’t that hard, but he’d always thought they were boring. This week, though, Duncan had taken Tito home with him one evening and they had sat working on his math homework. Most of the time Tito didn’t see what use any of the math they taught would ever be to him, but Duncan had showed him how he used the stuff Tito was learning right now all the time, and that had made him look at it differently.

Mr. Munro had finally reached him and laid the quiz in front of him on the desk. A big red A appeared at the top, along with the words “Good going, Tito!”

“Perfect score,” the teacher said, with a friendly nod that made Tito flush with happiness. He shrugged and ducked his head to hide how he felt. But he carefully tucked the quiz in his book bag. He would pay attention next week, too.

Today he and Papa were to play soccer. Tito finally had his moment when they were walking toward the field and his father asked, “How was school this week?”

“I got an A on the test in math,” Tito told him.

Papa gave him a big smile and laid a hand on his shoulder. “That’s good!”

Tito could hear Jane and Duncan talking behind him and Papa. He wished he could tell Duncan about the A, too, maybe even show him the quiz, but he wasn’t that stupid. His father wouldn’t like it. To Papa, Duncan was like the police officers who had arrested him and the guards who had tried to humiliate him in the prison. They were all the enemy. Papa wouldn’t be smiling if he knew Tito had gotten that A because Duncan helped him.

He’d had a chance to spend time with Duncan again only because Papa had gotten caught taking Tito over to the school unsupervised. Now they saw each other only twice a week. Once on the weekend, and once in the evening during the week. He didn’t want anybody to know he was a little relieved. He liked knowing he could also shoot baskets with Duncan or even be by himself.

Who would care how he felt, anyway? he asked himself.

His father believed all should be the same as before he went away, but it wasn’t. Tito wasn’t a little kid anymore. He knew Lupe hoped he would go live with Papa, because her life was hard enough already. He understood, but it meant he couldn’t talk to her. And even though Jane said she would listen to him, Tito didn’t fool himself that he had any real choice. Everything happened
to
him, whether he liked it or not.

Mostly he was okay with it. Family was family. He knew that. So what if sometimes he thought he liked Duncan better than he did his own father? He didn’t even know why Duncan bothered with him, or how long he would.

Right then his father, laughing, stole the ball from Tito. He’d rather play basketball. But, of course, they couldn’t. Papa wasn’t willing to play a sport that he wasn’t so good at in front of Duncan. Tito knew that’s why he made excuses and it was always soccer, soccer, soccer.

Lagging behind his father, wondering what Jane and Duncan were talking about, Tito suddenly realized he’d lost the happiness he had been hugging to himself. He didn’t totally understand why, but knew it had to do with all these adults who each wanted something different from him.

Which Tito am I tonight?
he asked himself, and now the glow in his belly was a smolder of resentment instead.

“MAYBE WE SHOULD START bringing our own soccer ball,” Jane suggested, half-seriously. “We could take over the other half of the field.”

“What?”

Good to know Duncan had forgotten she was even there. She’d been so conscious of him, she’d had the uncomfortable feeling that every cell in her body had swiveled his way, as if he called to her. True north. Meantime, his mind had been somewhere else entirely.

She repeated what she’d said.

He cast her an unreadable glance. “You play?”

“Anyone can kick a ball.”

“You don’t play.”

Feeling inexplicably sulky, she said, “Forget it, okay?”

Great. Now he was noticing her. She kept her gaze stubbornly forward, but felt the familiar intensity of his assessment.

“Did you play any sports when you were a kid?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Does it matter?” They’d reached the sideline. “I’m going to walk tonight instead of sitting. If I circle the field, I can keep an eye on Tito and get some exercise, too.” Fingers crossed that he’d stay behind, she turned and walked away.

But no. He fell into step with her.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll miss something?” she asked grumpily.

“Aren’t you afraid Hector and I’ll go at it if you don’t stick around to supervise?” he asked, sounding curious and possibly amused.

“If you do, I can get you banned from these expeditions. That doesn’t sound all bad right now.”

“You’re in a mood.”

They reached the corner of the field and turned left. Jane could now see Tito and his father again. Tito was apparently playing goalie. She saw him make a halfhearted attempt at a save.

Odd, because she’d thought he was in good spirits when she picked him up at Lupe’s. Had Hector said something that upset him? Tito’s last glance over his shoulder before he joined his father on the field had been sullen, now that she thought about it.

She and Duncan reached the next corner and she turned sharply left again, walking fast. It annoyed her to realize that, with his longer legs, he was barely strolling while she’d probably end up puffing and panting in no time.

“No comment?” he prodded.

“About?”

“Why are you in such a pissy mood?”

She determined to make an effort. “I’m sorry if I seem that way. I have things on my mind, that’s all.”

Which was true. She’d been busy at work today; local dance schools were having recitals in the next month, and providing the costumes was lucrative for her. She loved watching giggling girls try on extravagant pink-and-purple leotards with stiff tutus, staring at themselves in wonder in the wall of mirrors. When she was that age, she’d dreamed of wearing something like that, of dancing on stage. She had known with all her being that she would be the epitomy of grace if only she could have ballet shoes. She would float like a downy seed head being lifted by a gentle breeze. Oh, how vividly she’d been able to see herself, knowing all the time that her dreams would never be real.

But her disposition had more to do with the nasty message that had arrived in the mail today. It had been a folded piece of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven colored paper, stapled to keep it closed. She’d torn it open assuming it was a flyer advertising a special at a local business, or perhaps a fundraiser for some nonprofit. Grateful to have a quiet moment to eat her sandwich and open the mail, she wasn’t paying that much attention. And then she’d laid the paper flat and seen the message.

Bitch you think you can do anything you want but youll be sorry

It wasn’t so much the words that had momentarily raised goose bumps; it was the fact that, in the best tradition of threatening notes, the letters had been individually cut out of magazines and newspapers and glued down. No punctuation. As she shivered, she had imagined someone—she had to believe a man—bent over a kitchen table, cutting each letter out with angry slashes. He’d have worn latex gloves, wouldn’t he? Anyone who watched TV knew about fingerprints.

Nonetheless, Jane had lifted the message by the edges and dropped it into a manila envelope, which she tucked into a drawer. In case more messages came, and the tone became uglier.

“What kind of things?” Duncan asked, and she blinked, having to rewind her thoughts to remember what she’d last said.

I have things on my mind.

Oh, how tempting it was to tell him. She wished she hadn’t had to see him so soon. For all the antagonism Duncan aroused in her, he also exuded strength. It had been a long time since she’d even dreamed of someone sheltering her, but she had a feeling Duncan would if she asked.

But…she still believed the message sender was only venting. “You’ll be sorry” could mean anything, including “God will get you for this someday, when you’re eighty-five years old and your time comes naturally.” Whoever this was hadn’t said “
I’ll
make you sorry,” which might have really scared her.

That wasn’t really what was stopping her, however. It was the bad feeling she knew what Duncan’s immediate assumption would be.

Hector.

And even though Hector Ortez was obviously volatile, she couldn’t see him anonymously threatening a woman.

Frowning, she admitted even that wasn’t what kept her quiet. What she didn’t like was the implication that she couldn’t take care of herself, that she needed a man—a dominant, dictatorial man, no less—to keep her safe. To meekly accept his authority in return for his protection.

No.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Her heart pounded hard at the very thought. She would never place herself in that kind of subservient role again. It alarmed her that she’d ever felt the temptation. Was there actually a part of her that
wanted
to reclaim any part of her hideous childhood?

“Oh… I’m finishing up my recommendation on another case. It’s not like Tito’s. Everybody hates everybody. They all have attorneys,” she said in a deliberately distracted tone. She shrugged.

“Don’t tell me you’re suffering doubts.” The mockery in his voice was subtle, but it was there, confirming her decision not to confide in him—and ticking her off royally, too, even as she was shatteringly aware that it hurt to be reminded how little he thought of her.

Would he
sympathize
with the message writer?

Concentrating fiercely on the anger, Jane stopped dead, planted her knuckles on her hips and waited until he noticed and turned to face her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

He raised his eyebrows. “It was a question.”

“Sure it was.” She was really steaming now. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

Those cool gray eyes studied her. He wasn’t sneering, she’d give him that. In fact, his expression was odd, as though he was disconcerted in some way. After a discernible pause, he said, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Jane snorted and started walking again. A good case of mad covered the hurt she refused to acknowledge and sped her steps until she was almost jogging.

She and Duncan were now circling behind the goal Tito was still guarding. At that moment, Tito threw his body in front of the ball, and Jane called, “Great stop!”

He flashed her a grin, and she saw that he was starting to get into it. Despite her own mood, she was glad. Hector was trying, and this wasn’t easy for either of them.

“You don’t have to keep walking with me, ” she said frigidly.

“That’s okay.” He didn’t sound bothered by their sharp exchange. “I don’t mind stretching my legs.”

They circled the field an entire time without speaking at all. Jane’s tension gradually seeped away. Exercise was doing her good. She hadn’t made it to a dance class in two weeks, which she hated. The half hour or less of stretching she was managing about every other day at home wasn’t enough.

On the third circuit, Duncan asked out of the blue, “Did you grow up around here?”

“Are we going to make conversation?”

“Something like that,” he said.

Suspicious of his motives, Jane couldn’t think of any reason not to answer. “I’m from the Midwest. Iowa.”

“Rural?”

“Small town.”

“No Little League? Girl’s soccer? Camp Fire girls?”

“Did I say I wasn’t a Camp Fire girl?”

“Only guessing,” he said mildly.

“You’re right. I wasn’t.”

The silence wasn’t at all relaxing now. She marched the length of the soccer field, Duncan effortlessly pacing her, before he nudged, “What did you do as a little girl?”