Fragile

by Shiloh Walker

  “I probably won’t be around much, but you’re welcome to bunk here for a while.” Luke grinned. “Where are you?”

  “About twenty miles away.”

  Luke snorted. “Great notice, man.”

  “Better than just showing up on your doorstep. How come you’re not going to be around?”

  Luke was quiet for a minute. “I’m going to be staying with Devon. Probably moving in with her.”

  “For real?”

  “Yeah.” He closed his eyes, weariness dragging at him. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since Wednesday. He was used to getting by on little sleep and functioned pretty damn well that way, but he did need some time to recharge, and he hadn’t taken it in close to a week. “Talked to Jeb the other day.”

  Quinn’s voice had a weird ring to it when he responded. “He doing okay?”

  “Same old, same old. Said he’s been trying to get in touch with you.”

  “Yeah. I’ve gotten the phone calls. If I wanted to talk to him, I’d answer when he calls.”

  “So why don’t you want to talk to him?” And there was a reason; Luke could feel it. Quinn wasn’t telling Luke something. Luke didn’t know what, and he also knew that if he pushed, Quinn would just shut down more.

  “No reason to. I’m done with that part of my life.” His voice was brusque, and the unspoken words came through loud and clear.

  Leave it alone.

  But Luke wasn’t ready to do that just yet. Quinn had opened the door—just a little, but it was there. “You never did tell me why you quit.”

  Through the phone, Luke could hear Quinn’s harsh sigh. “Didn’t think I’d need to, Luke. Adam died; everything went straight to hell after you left. I just don’t have it in me anymore.”

  Luke could understand that, and if he didn’t know his brother so well, he might have even believed it. But there was a weight in Quinn’s voice, something hinting at a bigger story. One that included this still-unknown girl who had died during the same op where Adam was killed.

  “Just one day, you go and figure that out? Hell, it took me damn near getting my leg blown off to figure that out,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice light, teasing. Light—keep it light, easy. Dealing with Quinn was sometimes like dealing with a stray; if he pushed too hard, Quinn would shut him out completely.

  Quinn was quiet for a while, almost too long, and Luke started to think he’d pushed too far. But then Quinn sighed and murmured, “Maybe that’s what started it, seeing you hurt. I don’t know. But I just didn’t want it anymore, Luke. I’m tired of it. I didn’t think it would ever happen, but it did.”

  “Something happened, Quinn. I know it. I wish you’d tell me.” Come on, man . . . talk to me.

  Quinn was quiet for so long that Luke didn’t think he’d answer. But finally, Quinn murmured, “Yeah, something happened.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “Can . . . Physically, yeah, I can. Technically, I ain’t supposed to. I couldn’t give a flying fuck what I’m technically supposed to do—but I’m not going to tell you, Luke. Bad enough I got this shit inside my head. I’m not putting it inside yours.”

  For Quinn, it was a record. He probably went days on end without saying that much. The underlying throb of anger and helplessness was as clear as crystal to Luke, and he wanted to push, wanted to demand Quinn tell him what was going on.

  But he didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew it would only make things worse. If he pushed, Quinn would lock him out. But if he just waited, maybe Quinn would talk when he was ready. “When you need to talk, I’m here. If it’s that bad, you probably need to talk.”

  Quinn snorted. “Yeah, that’s what the fucking shrink says.”

  Warning bells went off. Luke straightened up slowly, tension bleeding into his muscles and tightening his entire body. “Shrink?”

  “Didn’t Jeb tell you, big brother? I had to start seeing a fucking head doctor. They cut me loose when I told them I wanted out, but they had a couple of conditions—mostly me talking to a psychiatrist until the shrink is satisfied I’m steady.”

  Slowly, Luke blew out a breath. A fucking shrink. Damn it. Not good. Not good at all. He shifted to the side of the bed, his legs hanging over the side. Under his feet, the hardwood floor felt cold, but it was nothing compared to the ice coursing through his veins. “Why are you seeing a shrink, Quinn? And why in the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” Quinn asked softly. “Tell you that your fucked-up brother is even more fucked-up than normal?”

  “You’re not fucked-up,” Luke snapped. Shoving off the bed, he started to pace the room. “Damn it, Quinn. I want to know what in the hell is going on.”

  “Nothing.” Quinn’s voice was flat and level, about as close to comforting as the jackass could probably manage. “I’m fine, okay? Don’t go getting freaked out over any of this shit. Hell, I figured since Jeb was calling you to check up on me, he would have let that little detail slip.”

  “No, he didn’t say jack shit about that little detail, but you sure as hell are getting ready to.”

  Quinn was silent. Through that strange, indefinable bond, Luke could sense his twin’s anger, a deep depression, something that until now, Luke hadn’t been aware of. Because Quinn had been blocking him out, he realized. When Quinn finally spoke, his voice all but vibrated with fury. “I think I might have loved her, Luke. She . . . she said she loved me, and I think I might have loved her, too, but now I’ll never know.”

  Quinn’s voice broke. A spasm of pain twisted Luke’s heart—a pain that came from Quinn. “She died, Luke. She died because I fucked up.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Save it,” Quinn muttered brusquely. “I need to go.”

  Troubled but knowing better than to push, Luke asked, “I’m not done with this, Quinn. You and me, we’re going to talk more about this when you get here.”

  “No. We won’t.”

  The finality in Quinn’s voice had Luke scowling. “You aren’t coming, are you?”

  Even without his twin being there, Luke could see Quinn’s angry scowl. “No. I got better things to do than have you hovering over me.”

  “Quinn.”

  “Damn it, would you stop? I’m not a fucking kid that needs a pat on the head. I’ve got some shit inside me. I’ll deal with it. I got enough people feeling sorry for me or worrying about me. I don’t need it from you.”

  Luke reached up, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “What do you expect me to do, Quinn? Not care that you’re going through hell?”

  “I expect you to let me deal with it.” He was quiet for a minute, and then he sighed. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “Please. Just let me deal with it. I’ll be okay.”

  “You can’t expect me not to worry.”

  Quinn laughed. “You stop worrying about me, that will be the day they bury you—or me. Whichever comes first. I need to go. I . . . I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”

  “You better.”

  Luke lowered the phone, started to disconnect. But then he lifted the phone back to his ear, right as Quinn said, “Luke.”

  “I’m still here.”

  “That lady of yours . . . you two serious?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You ever figure out if you’re in love with her?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

  “Good. Good for you . . . Take care of her, Luke.” There was an odd note in Quinn’s voice, but before Luke could figure it out, Quinn had disconnected, and Luke stood there, listening to dead air.

  Closing his fist around the phone, he squeezed; the plastic casing popped. Hurling the phone toward his bed, he leaned forward, head slumped and hands braced on his dresser. Talk about feeling torn.

  If it wasn’t for Devon, he’d go after Quinn and figure out what the hell was going on. But there was Devon, and the danger to her right now was physical—and possibly imminent.

&n
bsp; Quinn could take care of himself. Didn’t matter how screwed up in the head he was feeling. Quinn could handle himself.

  Whatever demons haunted Quinn weren’t a threat to his physical well-being.

  At least not yet.

  “YOU’RE not home.” Luke’s voice sounded a bit irritated.

  She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and smiled at Tim. “I need a few minutes, okay?”

  His only response was a tiny nod. Tim sat on the narrow hospital bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face pale. His eyes were wide-open, and he jumped at every little sound.

  It had taken her half the afternoon to convince the boy he needed to come to the emergency room. The only thing that had made him follow through was the plain, ugly truth: if he didn’t help them, they’d have a hard time proving his father had done a damn thing to him, and they couldn’t legally keep the man from taking Tim home.

  A series of X-rays had already been done, and now they were waiting for somebody from Psych to come and talk to the boy. The X-rays had told an ugly story, even uglier than Devon had expected. Easily ten different broken bones, all of them old.

  “You’re not going to leave, are you?” he asked, his voice reedy and thin.

  With a gentle smile, Devon promised, “No, Tim. I won’t leave.”

  “Devon.”

  She grimaced at Luke’s hard, flat voice. Slipping outside, she closed the door and leaned back against it. “Sorry, Luke. I’m here.”

  “What I want to know is why you aren’t here.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she looked through the glass-windowed door at Tim. “Had a bit of an emergency come up. Can’t be helped.”

  “Where are you?”

  “University Hospital.” Blowing out a sigh, she shoved away from the door and paced—exactly five steps away and then five steps back. The restless, caged energy in her had Devon wishing she could move farther, faster. She wanted to run. Needed to move, needed some sort of action other than waiting. The legal wheels needed to protect Tim had already been put in motion, but Tim’s dad already had his own wheels spinning.

  He’d retained a lawyer, and even now, one of the child advocates was in front of a judge, blocking the attempts to have Tim returned home.

  “I assume this is one of those things that can’t wait and that nobody else can handle for you,” Luke said.

  “You assume right. It’s about one of my kids. He’s in a bad place, and he finally gave in, asked for help.”

  “How long is this going to take?”

  Devon pretended to think that over for a minute. In an overly bright tone, she replied, “Hours?”

  Over the line, she could hear his disgusted sigh. “Damn it, Devon.”

  “It can’t be helped, Luke.”

  “Then I’m coming over.”

  Devon rolled her eyes. “There’s no reason for that, Luke.”

  “Bullshit.”

  She heard a door slam on the other end of the phone, and then another. “Since you’re already in the car, I guess it’s pointless to argue with you.” She glanced down the hallway and saw a familiar face. “I need to go.”

  “You leave that hospital before I get there, I’m going to be pissed.”

  Devon smirked. “Gee, really?” She disconnected before he could say anything else. As she put the phone away, she looked at Dr. Max Schrader. “Please tell me that you’re here for me.”

  He gave her a faint smile. “Unless there’s another caseworker by the name of Ms. Manning here, then I’m here for you.” He glanced at the chart in his hand and grimaced. “You can’t ever come bearing good news and cheer, can you?”

  “Sure. At the holidays. I’ll drop by with some Christmas cookies.”

  Max grunted under his breath and flipped through the chart. Considering they’d only been in the hospital for less than two hours, there sure as hell was a thick stack of papers in it. “Looks like this boy of yours has had a number of beatings over the years. Spiral fractures—two of them, one in each arm.”

  The low burn of fury in her gut threatened to rage out of control, but she kept it throttled down. Years of practice. She’d scream later if she had to, but not now. She’d break later, if she had to—when she had Luke’s arms wrapped around her, when he could help put her back together after she fell apart.

  But those luxuries would have to wait. “I’ve talked with all his teachers. Nobody has reported any signs of abuse,” she said softly. She glanced back through the window at Tim and sighed. He had his face turned away from the window. The anger inside the boy was usually so dominant, it made him seem bigger, older than he really was. The fear was in control right now, and all she could see was a helpless, scared kid.

  She hadn’t been wrong. Devon had suspected abuse with Tim almost from the first. The typical physical signs of abuse weren’t there, and to be honest, she hadn’t gotten that vibe from his dad, either. She hadn’t really liked him, but she hadn’t pegged him as an abuser, either.

  At least not right away.

  Because he’d learned to hide it.

  Smoothing a stray lock of hair back from her face, she looked back at Max. “I need some concrete information from him, something we can use in court. His dad already has an attorney trying to get us to return the boy.”

  Max slid her a glance. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Giving him a wry smile, she said, “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.” There was no possible way for things to get wrapped up here before Luke showed up. But even if that impossible miracle happened, and Devon tried to leave without Luke, he’d strangle her.

  Considering the time of day, the time of year, traffic in Lexington was going to be slow-moving, and Luke wouldn’t make it to the hospital in less than forty-five minutes. More like an hour.

  So with time to kill, Devon snagged a chair in the small family lounge just a little down from the exam room. If she was lucky, Tim would bare his soul to Max, and soon. If she wasn’t lucky, she was going to be around for a good long while.

  IT ended up being somewhere in between soon and a good long while. The next morning, she was bleary-eyed as she skimmed the e-mail the child advocate had sent her. Exhausted, but satisfied.

  It had been nearly ten before Max got the information he needed, but it had been worth it. Devon had spent the time contacting some of the couples she worked with who would take kids on short notice. Only one family had been able to take the troubled teen, but Devon knew he was going into good hands—a local minister who was used to dealing with abused kids and his wife. The Grants had met Devon at the door with smiles, even though it had been nearing midnight before Devon got Tim to their house—and after midnight before she convinced him that he was safe, and no, he couldn’t come home with her.

  All worth it, every last sleepless minute. Even with Luke shadowing her every movement. Devon couldn’t decide whether to be frustrated or not. Luke had followed her to the Grants’ home, he’d followed her home, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if he’d decided to follow her to work that morning.

  “You look strangely satisfied and totally exhausted.”

  Devon smiled as Noelle propped a hip on the edge of her cluttered desk. “I’m very satisfied, and I’m very exhausted.”

  Noelle craned her head around and glanced at the e-mail still visible on Devon’s screen. “Tim Wilder.” Her brow creased and then smoothed as she managed to assign a name to a face. “One of our budding repeat offenders.” She finished skimming the e-mail, and then she sighed. “Damn. Looks like there’s a serious history of abuse there—but we’ve never had any contact with the family until recently?”

  Shaking her head, Devon replied, “Nope. But I have a feeling somebody has had contact.”

  “Speaking of contact . . .” Noelle looked down, studied her nails. They were painted a smooth, glossy pink that matched Noelle’s silk shirt and her lips. “I heard you had some unusual contact of your own this weekend.”

  Tongue
in cheek, Devon murmured, “My, you are subtle, aren’t you, Noelle?”

  When it came to the kids, Noelle was made of pure steel; she never let her nerves show, her anger, or her worry. But outside of the job, when Noelle was nervous, she fussed. She buffed her nails, she smoothed her clothing, she plucked away invisible lint. Right now she was studying her cuticles with single-minded focus. When she spoke, she didn’t once look up at Devon. “Cliff and me had a date this weekend. He mentioned he heard your name come up at work. Mutilated pets, Devon . . . that’s pretty sick.”

  Shrugging restlessly, Devon said, “Yeah, I know.” She glanced at the opening of her cubicle and then back at Noelle. “You haven’t mentioned this to Dawson, have you?”

  Noelle lifted a brow. “No. But you need to. Could be related to a case.”

  Just barely, Devon managed to keep from rolling her eyes. “Yeah, that occurred to me.”

  Judging by the look on Noelle’s face, Devon didn’t do a good job suppressing the sarcasm. Noelle made a face at her and then shoved off the desk, slid her hands into the pockets of her black blazer. “I’m worried about you, Devon. This is sick. This is weird. You could be in danger. You live alone . . .”

  Devon shot Noelle a narrow look and then wished she hadn’t as Noelle’s brows arched. “You do live alone . . . right?” When Devon didn’t respond right away, a wide grin split her friend’s face. “You little tramp. You’re shacking up with that gorgeous doctor, aren’t you?”

  Her face flamed red, and Devon glanced around—like she could see anybody through the cubicle walls. “Would you shut up? I don’t want everybody and their brother hearing about my personal life.”

  With an unrepentant smile, Noelle said, “Hey, you know about everybody else’s personal life; now it’s their turn.” She grabbed the hard, uncomfortable chair from in front of Devon’s desk and hauled it around to the side. Perching on the end of it, she leaned forward and said, “So spill. How long have you two been living together?”

  Giving Noelle a withering look, Devon said, “We’re not exactly living together. He’s just staying at my place for a few days.” The she blew out a breath and leaned back in her chair. “He went all macho and possessive after Thursday.”