Mac’s tongue licked slowly into her mouth as they carefully leaned back on the ground.
She was seventeen and Mac was going to be the first boy she ever had sex with. Tonight. Her shirt came off and his hand cupped her breast, and that was a first, too. He peeled off his T-shirt. He was lean and beautiful and her fingers touched him, traced the muscles of his chest, his stomach. It was all new.
This didn’t change what would happen tomorrow. But tonight, in the moonlight, held tightly against Mac’s body, she was able to pretend it didn’t matter.
CHAPTER ONE
Present day
OH, BOY, RACHEL FILMORE thought as she paused in the doorway and watched her friend Olivia Hernandez work herself right into a mental health crisis, it’s like watching a train wreck.
“Hello?” She knocked on the door as quietly as she could, but Olivia still jumped out of her seat.
“Stop doing that,” Olivia breathed, clutching the ruffled neck of her pink T-shirt.
“It’s knocking, sweetheart, and it’s polite.” Rachel smiled and leaned against the door frame of her boss’s office.
“Give me five more minutes,” Olivia said, then swiveled toward her computer screen.
“You said that twenty minutes ago,” Rachel reminded her.
“I know, I know, but I’m right in the middle—”
“Code red,” Rachel interrupted, and Olivia’s head snapped up.
“Realmente?” Olivia looked around at the towering stacks of files as if they had just appeared. “Code red?”
“Yep.”
Olivia knew better than to fight code red. Or at least Rachel hoped she did. In six years of working together, code red—their personal cue that one of them was close to burnout—was one thing that they never argued over.
“Your husband called and asked me to make sure his real wife came home, not the ghost he’s been living with for two weeks.” Rachel lifted an eyebrow, daring Olivia to deny that she’d been working like a woman possessed.
Olivia blew a black curl off her forehead. “It’s just been so crazy with Frank leaving.”
“I know, but you’re not doing any good working like this.” Rachel was sympathetic and had been helping as much as possible, but frankly she would rather eat the files than look at any more of them right now.
“Did Nick really call you or are you just making that up so I’ll go have lunch with you?” Olivia narrowed her eyes.
“He called three times.”
“You think you could have told me sooner?”
“You think I haven’t tried?”
“You’re right.” Olivia grabbed a plastic bag from the bottom drawer of her government-regulation metal desk. “I’ve been working too much.” She fished around for her shoes and finally stood, pulling down the hem of her T-shirt. “Let’s go have some lunch.”
Rachel swallowed a sigh of relief. Olivia could be stubborn, and the workload had been making her already fiery temper even hotter these days.
“But I am going to take a few of these.” Olivia grabbed the top five files from the stack on the corner of her desk and Rachel wasn’t all that surprised.
Rachel had one from her own stack under her arm as well.
Every day was a constant struggle to avoid code red.
“Just so long as you actually see daylight,” Rachel said. Rachel looked down at the stack Olivia had grabbed and her heart beat hard. The top folder had been flagged with an interoffice red arrow, indicating the child needed to be removed from the home.
What is Olivia trying to do? she wondered. Olivia, after a month of debating back and forth, had decided to take the promotion into administration that Frank Monroe’s retirement had created and leave behind the stress of fieldwork. Of the cases Olivia had already split up there had been no red arrows, and Rachel wondered if Olivia was going to try to take that family on as well as her increased administrative duties.
Not if I can help it. Those red arrows meant about forty percent more work and Liv had a family.
Rachel had an ex-boyfriend and a fish.
Rachel actually liked the red-arrow cases. Not their existence, of course. But they were a challenge to her, a call to arms. She felt as though she was really doing her job—catching bad guys and helping kids—when she took one on.
Olivia gave Rachel a hard hug. “Thanks, Rach,” she whispered into her hair.
“You’d do it for me.” Rachel hugged her friend back and followed Olivia through the maze of stuffy and small public offices toward the exit and sunshine.
They settled down onto their usual bench in one of the many manicured courtyards of the county government building compound.
Rachel rolled her shoulders and let the perfumed California sunshine melt away her tension. She hovered at about a code yellow these days. Frank’s sudden and disorganized departure had been tough on everyone in the office.
Olivia turned sideways on their bench and licked the residual yogurt from the aluminum cover she’d peeled off. “How are you handling the new cases?”
Rachel kicked off her black slides and crossed her legs at the ankle. “I am surviving,” she said honestly. “I mean, it’s a slog. Frank really got sloppy toward the end. He screwed up some names between files and he’s gotten a lot of dates wrong, but it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be.”
Olivia laughed, but it, too, sounded stressed. “I wish I could say the same. I feel like I am being chased by a million loose ends. I can’t even remember why I wanted Frank’s job.”
“Ten years in the field, you were ready to burn out, Liv.”
“Still, at least it was simpler. This management thing is making me crazy.”
Rachel forced her eyes not to roll. They’d discussed the pros and cons of this move to death, but she could hit the highlight reel.
“You were breaking the Golden Rule.”
“What Golden Rule?”
“Mine.”
“Rachel Filmore has a Golden Rule? This should be good,” Olivia hooted. “Is it never, ever pay full price for anything? Oh wait, never, ever talk about family or, God forbid, marriage—”
“The Golden Rule states,” Rachel interrupted, “thou shalt not become too involved.” She waved her fork with a little flair. “And you, my dear friend, were getting too involved all over the place.”
“Ha! Like I’ve never caught you crying under your desk. You’ve had your fair share of code red moments.”
She’d had two. In six years. Not a bad average. “You’re totally exaggerating.” Rachel would never in this lifetime cry at work, or in front of anyone, for that matter. Any crying she did was by herself. Alone. In a dark room. She was that kind of crier. “And you are missing the important part. Too. Don’t get too wrapped up in the cases.”
It’s not that she didn’t care, or cared less than Olivia, it’s that she had learned to care the smart way. The way that did good rather than made you crazy. Rachel cared with her head and tried very hard to keep her heart out of it.
It was the only way to stay sane.
“In the six years I’ve been here—”
“You’re still a child, a baby.” Olivia had celebrated her ten-year anniversary with the Department of Child