HUNTING (PAVAD)

by Calle J. Brookes

  He could so derail her from her plans. Oh, not her plans for Ruthie. Nothing could change those. But she had a clear cut roadmap for the rest of her life, and it didn’t include a detour affair with someone like him. That way could only lay trouble. And she told him so. “I don’t want a relationship. I don’t want what George has, or Ana has. I’m not good at that. With Rick, it was hard enough. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  ***

  He didn’t have to like it, but Malachi had to respect her decision. Still, her delivery could have used some serious work. “I see.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.” She shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t. And it wouldn’t be fair to Ruthie or you for me to even try.”

  “I can’t regret this, sweetheart. And I won’t.”

  “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to understand why I can’t do it again.”

  Fear. Fear was the main reason she was backing away. And how could he blame her? She’d watched the man she loved die right in front of her eyes. Why wouldn’t she be afraid to love someone else again?

  Or afraid to even take the chance a casual relationship could develop into something deeper. And hadn’t he long suspected Julia of those kinds of fears? Wasn’t that why she pulled away from everyone who cared about her in some way or another?

  Why wouldn’t a sexual romantic relationship terrify her far more than the type of relationship she shared with Al or Paige, Georgia, or Ana? It would. Far more. He tried not to take it personally, though it was hard. He knew he was the first since her husband’s death—didn’t that count for something?

  He wanted her. He couldn’t deny that. And he wouldn’t. “I want you. I will take you in any way you can give yourself. But I won’t lie about it, and I won’t hide it. And since that’s not something you can do. Tonight is it. We’ll go back to being who we were first thing in the morning. You’ll hide out in the morgue and I’ll go out chasing UNSUBs. And we’ll just forget about this, and what could have been between us. About the chance to build something here, and the fact that we decided against it. And I hope someday we don’t regret that.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  * * *

  She already did. Malachi had turned away from her and grabbed his clothes. He’d settled onto the couch and basically ignored her after that.

  That hurt her. Far more than she’d thought possible.

  But Jules had been hurt before, and once morning finally came, she came to a resolution. She’d put it behind her, and focus on Ruthie and building their new life together. There really wasn’t room in her world for a man like Malachi Perfect Brockman. How could there be? He’d want the whole deal—a relationship with a woman who trusted him and was willing to take those kinds of chances. Chances she’d never take again.

  She just wasn’t good at romantic relationships.

  Rick had been a one-time thing, a chance that she’d taken. And that chance had been one of the hardest steps she’d ever forced herself to take. And it had ended in more pain than she ever wanted to repeat. A man like Malachi would bring even more hurt. Because every time he left the PAVAD building there would be a chance that he would never come back. It was hard enough knowing Georgia and the rest of her friends faced such odds, but a man she loved? Or could love?

  No Jules couldn’t do it. Wouldn’t do it. And it was best if they just cut the wound raw now instead of dragging it out and slowing leaching their souls through even attempting to be together.

  It hurt now, but she’d get over it.

  And so would he.

  He was quiet through the morning and she couldn’t blame him. She wanted him to go back to St. Louis, let her visit with Ruthie while he got back to his life.

  Her cell rang and she picked it without checking the number first. “Hello?”

  “Dr. Bellows? This is Colleen Ashbury.” The woman’s voice was louder than Jules expected. She held the phone away from her ear, aware that Malachi was able to hear every bit of the conversation. Oh, well, what did it matter? At this point, she had few secrets from the man, anyway.

  “Yes, how are you, Ms. Ashbury?” Jules straightened where she sat on the couch. Malachi was buttoning his shirt and he paused to watch her. Jules tried to ignore him. But how did you ignore a six-foot-four man like Malachi Brockman? “What time are we meeting today?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. We had a situation yesterday.”

  “Excuse me? Is Ruthie alright?” Jules knew the worry was in her tone. Malachi stopped buttoning his shirt and sat beside her. Jules fought every instinct to scoot closer to him. He was big, strong, warm, and there. Like he’d been in that basement and like he’d been just hours ago. There when she needed him. Why did that bother her so much?

  “Ruthie is fine, but the new placement isn’t working out. We’re moving Ruthie today.”

  “Again? That’s ridiculous!” Anger was quick to surface—Ruthie didn’t need another move. How can a placement for a three-year-old not work out? Especially a sweet, lovable child like Ruthie?

  “The only other option is we transition her to your care today.”

  “How, when, and where?” A strange calm came over Jules and she knew this was right. She laced the fingers of her free hand through Malachi’s without realizing she done it. He leaned his shoulder against hers. Once again a solid wall of support.

  Jules wrote down the address of the airport and the time of the flight. “I’ll need to get a car seat. But I’ll be there.”

  Two minutes later she was shaking as she finished brushing her hair.

  Malachi hadn’t said a word since the call, but she could sense he was about to. “Are you ready for this?”

  “This wasn’t what I’d planned, no.” And she’d always struggled when things went off plan. But she supposed she’d have to get used to that—weren’t children supposed to completely disrupt your plans from the very beginning? “This sucks. For Ruthie.”

  “Yes, it does. How long has she been in this placement?”

  “Three weeks. It wasn’t ideal, but it was working.” First the Lakes, then a group home for two weeks, and then the Newtons. Poor Ruthie, she had to be terrified. “But at least I get to take her home today. She’ll be where she’s wanted from now on. I’d planned to bring Georgia with me when I picked her up the final time. Or Ed and Marianna. Part of her family, you know? This changes things.”

  “Exactly. So this was meant to happen today and in just this way.” He surprised her by grabbing her shoulders and dropping a fast kiss on her forehead. He held her for a moment, and she let him. What did that say about her resolve? “You’ll do just fine. We’d better get a carseat.”

  “We?” She thought he’d be on his own way to the airport shortly. Didn’t he have to get back to St. Louis? “What do you mean?”

  “I checked your ticket while you were in the shower. Didn’t you know? We’re on the same flight back. I already called the airport and requested a seat next to you. Just my luck one was available.” He grinned, then sobered. “You’re going to have to book her a seat.”

  “Shit. I didn’t think about that. What am I going to do when I get her back to St. Louis? I only have about half the stuff I need—and no carseat.”

  “I think you’ll do just fine.” He stood, and then reached a hand out to her. She took it for the peace offering she knew he meant it as. He pulled her to her feet. “Come on, Mommy. I’m sure there’s a Wal-Mart around here somewhere.”

  She’d never admit it to him, but at that exact moment he was exactly what she needed. And at least she wasn’t going it all alone today. Not today, one of the biggest of her life.

  To her, that meant something.

  Chapter Thirty

  * * *

  She’d been numb for so long. Cold, empty, feeling nothing. And she’d been fine with that. She didn’t need anything more. More meant hurt. More meant remembering Rick and the things they used to do together. Remembering how
she’d failed to help him, and then failed to help the only family Rick had cared about besides her. Remembered the feel of Rick and his brother’s blood on her hands there on a hot July pavement. More meant unfair, unstopping, hurt.

  She couldn’t feel that deeply again, yet as the little girl stepped off the plane, holding Colleen Ashbury’s hand and clutching the stuffed teddy bear that went everywhere, a rush of sharp pain hit her chest and almost had her doubling over.

  Regret? Fear? Guilt, because she didn’t know if she was doing this for her sake or for that child’s? What was it? Why couldn’t she understand it?

  A warm hand settled onto her shoulder. “It’s ok to be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous.” They both knew she lied. And knew it was worse because he was there. Why was he there? What had possessed her to let him accompany her to the airport to meet Ruthie and the social worker? Was it because they were simply in South Dakota together or because she had feared doing this alone?

  Dammit, was she changing her mind now?

  He muttered something that sounded like stubborn damned woman but she ignored him. She couldn’t deal with what she was feeling plus him; not right now. Not with the acid burning her throat as the tiny little girl—barely bigger than an average sized child half her age—got closer.

  Part of her—the biggest, most cowardly part—wanted to turn around and run back to the rental car waiting for them outside.

  It was tempting, oh so very tempting. But something stopped her, and it wasn’t the hand he still had on her shoulder.

  It was the fear on the little girl’s face.

  If there was one thing Jules knew intimately, it was fear.

  Ruthie didn’t want to enter through the glass door; Jules had no difficulty seeing that, even though a good span of space separated them. The rural airport was not large, and the few passenger planes were small ranch planes like the one Ruthie had just exited. It was cold, damp, muddy, and just generally nasty where they were. And once again that wasn’t fair to the kid in front of her.

  Why hadn’t Jules insisted they meet somewhere else besides this little rundown shack of a place?

  Hadn’t Ruthie deserved better?

  The man behind her seemed to echo her thoughts. “Once we leave here, let’s take her someplace nice to eat. Someplace a child would enjoy.”

  What would a three-year-old want? What would Ruthie want? What did Jules really know about this little girl, anyway? Jules ruthlessly tamped down the rising panic. “We can do that. If she wants.”

  Ms. Ashbury led Ruthie through the glass doors, and smiled when she saw Jules. Surprise was on the other woman’s face when she saw the man standing with her.

  He shook the woman’s hand, and introduced himself. Jules barely noticed, her attention focused on the little girl in the denim jumper who was staring at her with wary blue eyes. Had she ever seen such fear and distrust in a child’s face?

  The weight on her chest expanded. What on earth was she going to do with this child, this tiny human who had no one else to depend on but…her?

  Ruthie clung to the social worker’s pant leg, staring up at Jules. Jules felt incredibly awkward when she went to one knee in front of Ruthie. “Hi. Do you remember me?”

  Ruthie nodded very somberly. “Dr. Jules. I seen you before.”

  “Yes, a few times. Do you know why you’re here today?” How much had social services, the other foster parents, told her?

  She nodded again. “I’m going to be staying with you now. You’re my new momma now.”

  “Yes. I am. Would you like that?” Jules’ stomach tightened when the little girl said nothing for the longest moment.

  Ruthie stepped away from the social worker and held out her hand. Jules took it, marveling again at how small Ruthie was. How tiny to have faced such trauma in so short a time.

  She stood, and before she thought it through or took the time to question, she lifted the little girl into her arms like she had Matthew so many times before. Ruthie didn’t even weigh half what the now six-year-old boy did. So small, so needy. She tightened her arms around Ruthie, and ran a hand down pale blonde hair.

  Ruthie was still in her arms, but she didn’t pull away, and after a moment, Jules felt little fingers dig into the material covering her arms. Ruthie clung to her, and Jules closed her eyes for a long moment, forgetting the two people watching them, forgetting the ramshackle country airport, forgetting the fact that she, Malachi, and Ruthie had another four hour-plus flight in just a few hours. All she knew was the feel of the child in her arms.

  The child she was about to assume complete and total responsibility for.

  ***

  Mal felt a punch of emotion he’d never have expected, watching as Julia held the little girl for the first time in his presence. Why did his heart hurt for the both of them?

  The moment was so awkward he almost forced himself to turn away like the social worker had. The woman had a composed expression on her face, and Mal speculated she’d witnessed many such events in her job. Still, didn’t it get to the woman at all?

  His curiosity must have been on his face. The social worker smiled at him. “These moments are never the same. Every family or new placement is different.”

  “How do you do it? What are the odds that the placements work out?”

  “It depends on the child and the placement, really. Ruthie is one of the lucky ones I’ve worked with. She’s been in the system for less than a year, has had only three placements, and is now in a permanent foster-to-adopt situation. Many kids don’t have the same opportunities as Ruthie.”

  “And her three brothers?” Travis and Theresa Byrum had had four living children at the time of their arrests—Ruthie, and her three older brothers, ages five, nine, and eleven.

  “Remain with relatives.”

  “But not Ruthie.”

  “No. Only the boys. And once parental rights are terminated, Ruthie will be able for final adoption.”

  “And that should happen quickly.”

  “A bit quicker than average considering the nature of their crimes, and that Ruthie’s mother isn’t fighting the process where Ruthie is concerned.”

  “I see.” He didn’t, not really. He understood that mothers turning on their children was nothing new, having happened as far back as ancient times, but still… “So permanency is likely.”

  “Very probable. Though there are no guarantees.” She handed him a battered bag, no bigger than his smallest gym bag. “These are her things. I checked the bag on the plane; she has two spare outfits, three pairs of underwear, and the clothes and shoes she’s wearing now. Plus that teddy bear and the few toys inside.”

  He winced. “That’s it?”

  “That’s all her previous foster mother gave me when I picked her up this morning.”

  “I’ll take her shopping as soon as we get back to St. Louis.” Mal followed Julia’s gaze. She was staring at the bag in his hand with disgust. He understood.

  “Then this is it, until the next steps in the process are completed. There will be some follow up visits, as well as a final court decision. We’ve discussed this, and it’s in the file. I put a copy of everything in Ruthie’s bag. Please, call me if you need anything. Or have any questions.”

  She said goodbye to Ruthie, patted Julia on the back, and shook hands with Malachi. Helped Julia with the paperwork. Then she was gone.

  He turned toward the woman and child. “We have two hours until our flight leaves. What would you ladies like to do?”

  “Find a store. Any kind of store.” Julia looked over Ruthie’s head and straight into his eyes. “These clothes probably need a good washing.”

  Her tone told him Ruthie probably needed a good washing, too. He got her message loud and clear. “So someplace that sells children’s clothing. Would you like that, Ruthie-bug?”

  Blue eyes peeked up at him from where her head rested against Julia’s shoulder. She stared at him, and then popped her finger into her m
outh. She never answered his question, but he acted as if she did. “Ladies, let’s go.”

  Ten minutes later he was maneuvering the rental car toward the town fifteen minutes from the airport. He’d gotten directions at the airport to the nearest town, and was told there were a grocery and a Dollar Store nearby.

  It would have to do.

  “Does the Dollar Store sell children’s clothing?” He’d never noticed.

  “I think so. Hopefully we can find her something to wear. At least until I can get the things in that bag washed. I have a feeling she may be attached to those.”

  “Because they are all she has. I understand.” Even though she was young she had to have some understanding of possessions. “You’d think the foster mother would have sent her with clean clothes.”

  “I’ve never seen her this way. I’m curious why the placement disrupted. It will be in her file. I’m going to have my case worker forward me a copy.” She glanced over her shoulder at the little girl currently huddled in the carseat.

  A disruption. That explained a few things. “What did they tell you about the new placement?”

  “Not much. Just that it was a relatively new foster home, and Ruthie should have been fine there.” Anger tinged her words, and how could he blame her? He’d seen the state the girl was in for himself. Julia might not realize it yet, but she’d let the little girl in to her heart. And that was a wonderful first step for her.

  Did she even realize how she still kept everyone—including Georgia and Matthew—at a bit of a distance? She was a master at pushing people away, and he understood her reasons. But kids had a way of getting through a person’s strongest defenses.

  Especially a woman like Julia Bellows. So achingly soft on the inside, despite the brittle exterior. This was a woman so capable of love it had his heart hurting. Was that what it was that drew him to her?

  They found the Dollar Store, which thankfully had some sweatshirts and cheap jeans, socks, underwear, and shoes that fit Ruthie. And a better coat than the too small one she was wearing.