Instead, she said, “I’m sorry.”
The words seemed trite and for some reason, that made her feel worse. The poor girls. Their father was in prison, their mother gone. Their future was even shakier than Dana had imagined.
“Yeah, me, too.” He smiled. Despite the even teeth, the crinkling eyes and the deep dimples, Dana didn’t believe it for a second. He tucked the pain somewhere behind that smile. Somehow, she knew he worked just as hard as she did, so he wouldn’t have to think about the past.
“Is that why you haven’t seen the girls?” She leaned against the back of a chair. She chose her words with care, sending them out as an exploratory probe.
“Partly.” He stood up and turned to stare at her wall of student art. “I’ve been busy.”
Usually such a rebuff would make Dana back off, but for some reason, she said, “It must be hard to be in law enforcement and have a brother in prison.”
She kept her voice soft. She’d found a kindred spirit in this man who kept as much hidden as she did.
“It happens.” He strode across to the kitchen and put the coffee cup in the sink. Then, as if compelled, he rinsed it.
Dana didn’t want to press, but needed to know one piece of information, “The girls’ father, your brother, isn’t in jail for hurting—” Her voice faltered. She couldn’t bear the idea that those little girls had suffered in other ways, as well.
The “No!” exploded out of Brady, but his back was still toward her. He took a deep breath and then turned around. His mask was on again and his voice reasonable when he spoke. “No. He’s not in jail for any kind of violent crime. It’s—” He didn’t finish.
Dana didn’t blame him. She could feel how tired he was, and her own fatigue responded to it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
He shook his head and waved a hand. He pushed himself away from the counter, the smile back on his face. “It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything. In fact, I should be thanking you for all that you’ve done for the girls.”
“So what happens now?” Dana asked.
“What happens is that I let you go to sleep and I’ll come back in the morning. Maybe by then Bev will have found her way home.”
Dana took a deep breath, relieved that he was planning to return. Having another person around would make this easier.
She stood and started to move toward the front door, pleasantries dying on her lips as a terrified scream came from the bedroom.
CHAPTER THREE
DANA TURNED at the screech of pure anguish coming from the girls’ bedroom. She ran down the hall with Brady right behind her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“I don’t know.”
He stepped in front of the door and rattled the knob. “It’s locked.”
“It can’t be. There isn’t a lock on it.” Dana pushed Brady out of the way. “Karen! Open up.” She shoved the door with her shoulder. “There’s a chair or something against it.”
“Karen, take the chair away from the door,” Brady called.
“No. It’s okay.” Karen’s voice trembled.
“It’s not okay,” Dana said in her best teacher voice. “You need to open this door. We need to see if anyone’s hurt.”
“No one’s hurt,” Karen said with a little more confidence. “You can go away. Sorry to bother you.”
The screaming got louder.
“Who is that?” Brady asked Dana in an undertone.
She listened at the door, trying to figure out what was going on. She could hear Ollie making soothing sounds. “Jean,” she concluded.
“Karen,” Brady cajoled. “Open the door so Miss Ritchie can take care of Jean.”
“It’s okay.” Karen’s brave little voice came through the door. “Jean just had a bad dream, that’s all.”
“Let us in,” Dana pleaded.
“It’s okay,” the girl repeated.
“It’s not okay until I see Jean,” Dana said. She turned to Brady, unfortunately finding him close enough for her face to brush against his chest. She looked down and asked, “So do you have a way of kicking in the door?”
“I’m not going to kick in the door.” Brady was adamant.
She rattled the handle.
“Ollie,” she called. “Take the chair away from the door.”
“Don’t do it!” Karen’s order to Ollie was loud and clear.
“Maybe she can help Jean,” Ollie said.
“No. She’s just going to get into trouble.” This was said so low that Dana had to strain to hear it.
“Ollie, let me in. No one’s going to get into trouble. Honest,” Dana coaxed.
“What’s going on?” Brady asked in her ear. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“They think they’re going to get into trouble because Jean’s screaming.”
“She’s nice,” Ollie argued. Dana could tell that she’d moved next to the door.
“But he’s out there.” That was ominous.
“They’re worried about you,” Dana explained to Brady in a whisper.
“Me?”
Dana glanced up at him, surprised that he looked hurt. “You can’t take it personally. You look, uh, intimidating—as if you’re going to take them to jail.”
He knocked on the door. “We both promise that no one will get into trouble.” He had to shout, because the agonized screeches that had started to subside into heartbreaking whimpering were getting louder as Karen and Ollie argued.
“I’m going to open it,” Ollie declared.
They heard a fumbling at the door and then it swung open. Jean—her face contorted with terror—was curled in the corner of the sofa bed that Dana had pulled out for the girls to share.
Karen tried to block their view of Jean. “She’s going to be okay. If you have to put someone in the closet, then it should be me. You can’t put Jean in the closet. She doesn’t mean to have bad dreams.”
Dana shook her head, wanting to believe there was some other reason that Karen had come to this conclusion. “Why would we want to put any of you in the closet?”
“That’s what you do.” Karen’s arms were firmly planted on her skinny hips, leaving no one with any doubt that she would defend her sister to the last. The sight broke Dana’s heart. No eleven-year-old should have to bear that much responsibility.
“I don’t. I just want to see what’s wrong with Miss Jean,” Dana scooted around Karen and pulled the shrieking girl into her arms. Sitting on the bed, she nestled Jean on her lap and began to rock, resting her cheek on the child’s grubby head.
JEAN CRIED HARDER as she huddled into the safety of the schoolteacher’s arms. Brady couldn’t remember ever feeling such anger before. In his fifteen years as a deputy sheriff, he’d seen a lot of horrible things, but the neglect and abuse of kids was the worst. True innocents at the mercy of the adults in their lives. If he thought about it enough, he would never go to work.
He made an effort to unclench his hands as he added Karen’s words to the growing pile of evidence against Bev. Something would