The Word of a Child Read Online Free Page B

her way
blindly through the office and out the double doors to the parking lot.
    But the ones that were not content to murmur, that clawed
deep, had nothing to do with a high school computer teacher. Always, always,
they had to do with Simon, the man she had loved.
    If he had done what they said—of course he hadn't, but if he
had—would he one day touch Zofie in a way no father should?
    She got into her car, locked the door and rested her
forehead on the steering wheel. She tasted the salt of her own tears.
    "What else could I do?" she asked aloud, and
didn't even know if she was talking about Simon or Gerald Tanner.

----
    Chapter
2
    « ^ »
    C onnor took a long swallow of beer and announced, "I'm starting to hate my
job."
    He and his brothers, policemen all, had gathered for their
traditional weekly dinner and couple of beers at John's. John was the only one
of them with children and a wife, which meant the sofa coordinated with the
leather chair and the Persian rug, the kitchen table wasn't covered with old
pizza boxes and takeout Chinese cartons, and instead of an overflowing hamper,
the bathroom had clean, matching towels and, tonight, even flowers in a
stoneware vase.
    Connor was beginning to think a life of domestic happiness
didn't look so bad. Not that he had any prospects for marriage, but … hell, he
could buy a house. A man didn't need a wife for that.
    Right now, the three were slouched in the living room.
Natalie, John's wife, had shooed them out of the kitchen and insisted that she
and their mother would clean up. The kids were doing homework upstairs. Whether
Mom was here or not, somehow Natalie always managed to give the brothers time
to talk. After finishing in the kitchen, Mom usually left, while Natalie was
likely to pop in long enough to kiss their cheeks and wish them good-night,
exchange a slow, deep look with her new husband, and disappear upstairs to read
in bed. And wait for John, who would start getting antsy in an hour or so. Who
could blame him, with a luscious woman like Natalie waiting?
    Even the idea of a wife wasn't sounding so bad to Connor.
Must be a symptom of age, he figured; his thirtieth birthday had come and gone.
    His comment about his job still hung in the air when his
mother appeared in the doorway. Voice sharp, she said, "Don't say things
you don't mean. You sound like a teenager, making too much of some little
complaint."
    Surprised by her agitation, Connor raised his brow.
"How do you know it's a little complaint?"
    In the act of snatching up a coffee mug left on the end
table, she demanded, "Well, isn't it?"
    He shrugged. "Just a case I was going to tell Hugh and
John about."
    "Hardly your 'job,' then," she chided him. A regal,
fine-boned woman, Ivy McLean departed for the kitchen.
    After a moment of silence during which none of the brothers
moved, Connor cleared his throat. "What's with Mom?"
    John gave him a look. "You know how important she
thinks our work is. You aren't supposed to bitch. You don't have a job,"
he said dryly. "You have a calling."
    "We're making the streets safe, et cetera, et
cetera," Hugh added.
    Connor grunted. As a kid, he hadn't been conscious of
pressure from Mom to become a cop, the way John claimed to. He'd become one
because his big brother had. There was no question, however, that Mom was proud
of the fact all three sons were in law enforcement. And maybe she had no
understanding of the need to grumble. A stoic herself, she had raised her three
sons alone with grit and without whining.
    John gave himself a shake. "Back to your job. Why are
you starting to hate it?"
    Hugh, the youngest and best-looking of the three McLean brothers, slumped lower in his chair. "It's that fuzzy, did-he-or-didn't-he
crap," he announced. "Here's free advice—go back on patrol. Do some real police
work."
    John grabbed an empty and tossed it, connecting with Hugh's
chest. "You don't think raping a thirteen-year-old is a crime? Arresting a
rapist isn't real police