Unable to repress a sigh, she got out. She was already afraid she was going to have the hots for him, and now she’d succumbed to his house before she even stepped inside.

  I am unbiased, she reminded herself firmly. I’m being paid to think of Tito first, last and always.

  She rang the doorbell and, as she waited, listened to the delicate music played by an unusual wind chime, long, thin shards of obsidian suspended from a branch of driftwood. It distracted her enough that she was startled when the door opened. She gave a betraying jerk, then felt her cheeks warm when she most wanted to be completely poised.

  The man filling the doorway studied her thoroughly. “No wonder you opened the store. You were a dancer,” he said, in the deep, somehow 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 and gave them a chance to avoid having a conviction on their records.

  “I could have,” MacLachlan agreed. More slowly he said, “I probably should have.” He frowned. “He looks like he’s about ten years old.”

  Jane hadn’t yet met Tito. She didn’t say anything.

  After a minute, MacLachlan released a sound that might have been a sigh. “I have two younger brothers who got in trouble with the law as juveniles. Tito reminded me of them. I thought I could make a difference for him.”

  The gruff, unemotional voice was completely at odds with what he’d said. With his actions. Given all the pressure of his job, he had still somehow found time to spend with a troubled twelve-year-old boy.

  Unless, of course… He was unmarried.

  Her eyes must have narrowed. His facial muscles tightened. “No, Ms. Brooks, I am not sexually attracted to boys. Or men, for that matter.”

  Oh, man. Now her face had to be flaming red. It didn’t even occur to her to deny that the possibility had crossed her mind.

  “I’m sorry…”

  He shook his head. “I’d think you were naive if it hadn’t occurred to you. If you’ve been at this long, you’ve seen enough horrors that you should wonder,” he said, with surprising gentleness.

  “It does alter the way you look at people.”

  “Try my job,” he said dryly.

  “I can imagine.” She hesitated. “I suppose that’s why I was so surprised that you were making time for Tito.”

  “I’ve made more than I intended.” MacLachlan was quiet for a moment. “I’ve had a good time with him.”

  “What do the two of you do?”

  He shrugged. “Sports. Shoot some hoops, kick around a soccer ball. I feed him. I’ve eaten more pizza and cheeseburgers since I met Tito than I’d had in months.” He sounded rueful. “He’s so damn scrawny, I keep feeling compelled to try to fatten him up.”

  “His sister is petite.”

  “Yeah, the dad is short and the mother even shorter from what he says. I think some of the kids give him a hard time. PE has been tough for him.”

  “His grades aren’t very good.” Jane shuffled through her folder and found the most recent report card, which she handed to the captain. Their fingers touched, and it took determination for her not to react. Dumb.

  He glanced at it, grimaced, then tossed it on the coffee table. So their hands wouldn’t brush again? Jane picked it up and inserted it in the folder.

  “He’s a good kid,” he said finally.

  “Despite his nocturnal activities.”

  “According to him, his one-and-only adventure.” A quick grin did amazing things to his face. “I scared the crap out of him.”

  Heart drumming, she thought, you scare me, too.

  Unclipping the pen from her folder, she held it poised above the notepad. “Please give me your impressions of Tito.”

  “I won’t betray his confidences.”

  Their gazes clashed.

  “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

  Although reluctant, he did talk. There were no great revelations here; if he was to be believed, Tito was a funny, smart boy who sometimes acted younger than his age as well as looked it.

  “Hasn’t reached puberty,” she diagnosed.

  MacLachlan nodded. “Definitely not. No sign of beard growth or a change in his voice. He sure isn’t adding any muscle.”

  “I suppose puberty is as hard for boys as it is for girls.”

  “It can be.” There was that faint, rueful tone again, the one that made him unexpectedly likable. “Not for the guy who is shaving by the time he’s in eighth grade and has all the moves on the girls. He’s not the one hoping no one notices him when he sneaks in and out of the shower after gym, or the one who’s trailing the pack on cross-country runs. The one shorter than all the girls.”

  She chuckled. “That sounds personal.”

  “No. It was my youngest brother. I suspect his lagging maturity contributed to him getting in trouble.”

  “Trying to prove himself.”

  He inclined his head. “The same way Tito was.”

  “Did you tell him about your brother?”

  MacLachlan shook his head. “We’re men. Men don’t talk about our bodies or how deep our voices are.”

  She had to laugh. “Unless you’re taunting each other.”

  Another flash of a grin came and went so fast she almost missed it. “Yeah. Unless.”

  She bent her head and, in self-defense, concentrated quite hard on her notes. “Is there anything else you’d like to add, Captain MacLachlan?”

  “Duncan.”

  She looked up in surprise. “What?”

  “You can call me Duncan.”

  “Oh.” The name did suit him, sounding as gruff as the man. “Duncan.”

  “What’s the next step?” he asked.

  “I interview teachers, any of his other siblings, any other adults. Scout leaders, Boys & Girls Club employees and the like.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think he’s involved in anything like that. My impression is, he’s been forced to be a loner. His sister is too busy to push him into activities that might change that.”

  “Perhaps their priest…”

  “She does drag him to church.”

  “Of course I’ll be sitting down with his father. And, naturally, Tito himself.” She hesitated. Maybe she didn’t have to say this, but she felt compelled, anyway. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t discuss my visit with him. Or attempt to prejudice him in any way.”

  “You mean, suggest he might be better living with someone besides his ex-con father.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  His face had returned to its earlier granite facade. “I think I can manage to keep my mouth shut, Ms. Brooks. Is the hearing date set?”

  “Yes.” She told him when.

  He nodded and rose to his feet. “If that’s all…?”

  It was completely ridiculous to feel hurt because he was eager to get rid of her. Especially since she was relieved at the prospect of escape, too.

  “Thank you for the coffee,” she said formally, although she’d scarcely taken a sip.

  He didn’t bother with an insincere “You’re welcome.” All he did was walk her to the front door, say, “Ms. Brooks” and close the door firmly in her face.

  Cheeks flushed again, this time with both humiliation and aggravation, Jane hurried to her car. Jerk, she thought, and refused to let herself remember those two astonishing grins.

  WHEN SOMEONE HE DIDN’T KNOW wanted to talk to him like this, Tito knew it meant something bad was happening. After Mama went away and then Papa was arrested, lots of social workers came to talk to Tito and Lupe. Mostly they ignored Tito, though, even when they were supposedly asking him questions. He could tell that, in their eyes, he was only a little kid, so they didn’t care what he said.

  This time it was because Papa would be getting out of that place soon. Tito knew his father thought Tito would be living with him. He didn’t know how he felt about that. Three years was a long time. He’d been so young the last time he lived with his father. He hated going down there, to the prison. Tito hadn’t admitted to Lupe how much he hated it. He always slumped in the chair and mumbled when Papa asked about school or friends or whether his sister was taking good care of him and feeding him enough. Tito could tell Papa thought she wasn’t, and that made him feel bad.

  And now Lupe had taken him to the public library to meet with this Miss Brooks, who Lupe said had already come by the apartment to talk to her. Tito burned with resentment because Miss Brooks didn’t know anything but would be able to decide things about his life. It made him mad that she’d talked to his sister at least a week ago but not to him until now.

  “Tito,” she said, when they went straight to the table in a quiet corner of the library where she had already been sitting. She gave him a big smile. He’d seen smiles like that before. He didn’t return it.

  “Lupe, thank you,” she said. “Do you mind if I talk to Tito alone?”

  This woman did speak Spanish, at least, he thought grudgingly. Lupe seemed to like her, but then she liked everyone except for that idioto, Raul, who lied every month and said he couldn’t find a job only so he didn’t have to pay child support. What kind of man did that make him? Not much of one. Tito worried that Lupe needed the money the state paid her to take care of him.

  He sat down unhappily, across the table from the social worker woman, and his sister left them.

  Miss Brooks said, “Tito, you can call me Jane. Would you rather speak in Spanish, or English?”

  He shrugged and focused on the tabletop. Someone had written some bad words in ink. He rubbed a finger over them, and they smeared.

  “Then let’s make it English,” she said, switching. “Since that’s what you have to speak at school.”

  He shrugged again.

  “You know your father will be released in two weeks.”

  She waited and waited, until he finally mumbled, “Yes.”

  She explained that the judge had asked her to talk to him and his family members and any adult friends—even his teachers—and recommend where she thought he should live.

  “I know you’re used to living with your sister now,” she said, in a nice voice. “But she doesn’t have much room, and she works evenings. It would be better if you had someone who could spend more time with you.”

  He did wish Lupe worked days instead. Tito didn’t like Señora Ruiz, the neighbor who came over evenings. She ignored him and mostly paid attention to the little kids.

  “How do you feel about it?”

  Tito looked up at last. “What do you care?”