Debra looked away from Mason and her expression changed immediately. “Right.”
“You have to admit that coming to the station was better than waiting around outside,” Jolene said.
Mason couldn’t be sure, but he thought her tone seemed stiff. He must be imagining it—unless he’d offended her last night. He stepped away from the door and motioned for them both to come inside. “If I’d known she was there, I would have come to pick her up. I hope this didn’t inconvenience you.”
Debra plowed through the door and escaped into her bedroom. Jolene stopped just inside the doorway. “Not really. My shift was almost over when she showed up.”
“I’m glad of that, at least. I was just opening a Coke. Can I talk you into joining me?”
The uncertainty on her face did nothing to boost his male ego, but after a moment she nodded. “Sure, why not?”
Wow. She ought to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground. He left her in the living room while he filled two glasses with ice and grabbed two cans from the fridge. By the time he got back she’d made herself comfortable on the couch, pensively studying the box of research Ike still hadn’t come by to pick up.
She was so lost in thought, she didn’t notice him until he was only a few feet away. She made an effort to smile when he handed her a glass, but the shadows didn’t leave her eyes.
“You seem distracted tonight.” Considering her lack of enthusiasm for his company, Mason avoided the couch and took his favorite wing chair instead. “Is everything okay?”
She nodded and sat back against the cushions. “I’m fine. Just a little tired. It was a long weekend. I probably shouldn’t even be here, but I wanted to talk with you about Debra.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. “What about her?”
“She talked to me at the station this afternoon. This is none of my business, so if I’m overstepping, please say so. But are you aware that she’s interested in learning about her Cherokee heritage?”
Everything inside him grew cold. “You’re right. It’s none of your business.”
“She thinks you’re prejudiced—against her. Do you realize that?”
“Against her?” Mason barked a laugh and cracked open his Coke. “How I feel about my past has nothing to do with Debra.”
“Well, that’s how she sees it. I wouldn’t say anything, but you seem worried about her and I thought you should know. I think she may be acting out because she thinks you’re ashamed of her.”
He waved away her concern. “That’s ridiculous. She knows better.”
“I’m not sure she does.” Jolene leaned to put her glass on the coffee table. “She told me she thinks you’re prejudiced. That was her word, not mine.”
Mason tried to laugh, but the sound died in his throat. “Against myself?”
“Believe it or not, it’s not that uncommon. I run into it in my line of work quite often. I’ve dealt with people who hate some aspect of the life they’ve led or they’re angry over the way people react to them, but they look around them and see other people from the same background doing or saying things that make the reaction they hate seem almost justified. They start thinking if it weren’t for that guy, I wouldn’t be treated this way, I guess.”
“And you think that’s what I’m doing.”
“I don’t know, and if it weren’t for Debra I wouldn’t care.”
She must have realized how cold that sounded because her face flushed and she backpedaled. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I just meant that I’m really not the type of person to come barging into your house, telling you how I think you should feel. I’m really only mildly obnoxious.”
He actually caught himself smiling at that—surprising, considering how uptight the subject usually made him. “For what it’s worth, I’m not ashamed of my daughter, but I have good reasons for avoiding my past.”
“I’m sure you do.” She took a deep breath and reached for her glass again, but she stared at it for a long time as if she was trying to come to some decision. “I see that the box is still here,” she said at last. “I wonder if you’d let me look at that article I saw the other day.”
“Which article is that?”
“The one about the people who founded the Cherokee Communal Center. There was a picture of your—of the guy who raised you. And a couple—?”
Mason nodded. “I remember, I just don’t understand.”
Jolene smiled wryly. “Don’t feel bad, you’re not alone. Would you mind?”
More than she could possibly imagine, but he didn’t think refusing would make him sound reasonable and intelligent. He dug through the paperwork for the clipping she wanted and glanced at it as he passed it to her, curious.
The slight trembling of her hand as she took the clipping from him made him even more curious. She studied the images intently for a long time, before she looked up, startled, as if she’d just remembered that she wasn’t alone. “Would it be possible to get a copy of this?”
“Anything’s possible. Do you mind if I ask why you want it?”
Very slowly, Jolene put the clipping on the table in front of her. “I’d rather not say.”
Mason watched her expression carefully. “Is it about a case?”
Her eyes registered surprise. “No. Nothing like that.”
“You know one of the people in the photograph?”
“I—” She broke off and shook her head. “No.” The flush on her cheeks made Mason suspect she wasn’t being entirely honest. “I thought maybe I knew one of the people in the picture, but I was mistaken.”
Billy Starr was probably dead before she was born, and Mason figured he knew everybody Henry did, so that narrowed it down somewhat. “You know where to find Billy Starr’s wife?” Ike would love that. Maybe it would even get Mason off the hook.
Jolene looked as if she might deny it, then said. “I might.”
“Why didn’t you say something the other night?”
“I didn’t realize who she was at the time.”
“But you’re sure now?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know her well? Do you think she’d talk to Ike? He’d think the gods were smiling on him for sure if he could get an interview with her.”
Jolene’s hesitation turned to something a lot stronger. “I don’t think she’d want to be interviewed. She’s…moved on with her life, and I don’t think she’d welcome the intrusion.”
“You could ask, couldn’t you?”
Jolene shook her head again and stood. “Forget I said anything, okay? It’s really not something I can talk about.”
Mason was intrigued by her discomfort and dying to know what had caused it, but she’d allowed him his privacy so he couldn’t very well badger her. “I’m sorry I pressured you. Sit down. Finish your Coke, at least.”
“No. Thanks. I shouldn’t have bothered you in the first place. It was a mistake.”
She was across the room and out the door before he could stop her. For the second time in less than a week, Mason watched her rush down the stairs. A minute later, he saw her 4Runner heading toward the opposite side of the complex.
Interesting. Something had spooked her, that was for sure. But what?
And what possible interest could she have in the Center and its founders?
THREE MINUTES LATER, Jolene pulled into her covered parking space and pounded the steering wheel with the heels of her hands. Once wasn’t enough, so she did it again. And again—this time hard enough to make her wince.
What was wrong with her? The look on Mason’s face when she left had said it all. He thought she was crazy. Even worse, he felt sorry for her. There was nothing Jolene hated as much as pity. Except, maybe, being lied to. And feeling out of control.
Overwhelmed she hit the steering wheel once more, and sank against the seat. Her eyes burned with the tears she’d been fighting for the past two days, but she refused to give in to them. Anger she could handle. She knew what to do wit
h it, how to channel it, how to come out on the other side of it in one piece. This incredible, painful sadness that filled her twenty-four hours a day was new to her, and she had no idea how to live with it.
From inside her pocket, her cell phone rang. She dug it out and snarled, “Preston.”
“It’s about time,” Trevor said. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home forever. Where are you?”
Instantly wary, Jolene sat up and checked the cars parked nearby. Sure enough, one row over she spotted Trevor’s truck. The cab looked empty, so she took a chance that he hadn’t seen her, jerked the 4Runner into gear and pointed it toward the street. “Running errands. Where are you?”
“Sitting on your front porch. I’ve been trying to call you since Saturday. Why haven’t you called me back?”
“Because I know why you’re calling, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Mom’s been crying since you left. Nonstop.”
“I saw her this morning,” Jolene said, pulling out of the parking lot and into traffic.
“Yeah, she said you practically kicked her out.”
“We’d said everything there was to say. Don’t feel too sorry for her. She’s hardly the victim here.”
“Yeah. I know. Look, Jo, I’m sorry. I really don’t know what to say. But it doesn’t make any difference. You know that, don’t you?”
“Maybe not to you, but it makes a pretty big difference to me.”
“Okay. Granted. But it doesn’t make any difference in how I feel about you, or how Mom does. Or Dad, either. I mean, it’s always been this way, it’s just that you didn’t know—right?”
Jolene’s heart turned over in her chest. “Did you know?”
“No, but they did. That’s all I meant. Dad’s always known that you weren’t—you know what I mean.”
“That I’m not his?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. “Yeah,” Trevor said at last. “I guess so. But come on, Jo, you know how Dad feels about you.”
“Said the guy who didn’t just find out that Dad’s not even related to him.” Something large and hard lodged in her throat.
“But nothing’s changed.”
It was the same thing her mother had said, but how could they be so blind? “Everything’s changed,” Jolene argued. “Can’t you understand that? I’m not even your sister, I’m your half sister. I’m not related to Aunt Betty or Grandma and Grandpa or the cousins. I’ve got the blood of some stranger running through my veins, and the people I’m related to I’ve never even seen before.” Her frustration grew to match the lump in her throat. “Even my medical history isn’t really mine. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“I know it’s hard—”
“It’s not ‘hard,’” Jolene snapped. “It’s impossible.” She turned a corner too fast and slammed on her brakes to avoid rear-ending a slow-moving Saturn. “I can’t deal with this, Trevor, especially not while I’m driving. I don’t know what to think and I don’t know what to feel except that sometimes I’m so angry I can’t even stand to be inside my own skin. When I let myself really think about it, I want to hurt something. I’ve never felt like this before, and it scares me.”
“I know, but if you’d just come out to the house and talk to them…”
She pulled to the side of the road and leaned her head back against the seat. “I can’t go back to that house, and I’m not ready to talk to them again. I have nothing to say.” Sadness overwhelmed her when she realized how true that was. There really was nothing she wanted to say to the parents who had raised her and who, until just a few days ago, she would have done anything for.
“You’re going to have to talk to them sometime,” Trevor said gently. “You might as well do it now. Let’s work this out as a family, the way we always do.”
Jolene pressed her forehead against the cool steering wheel. It felt so good, she turned her head and leaned her cheek on it. “I know you think I’m wrong, but I can’t change what I feel. They lied to me about the biggest thing there is, and they would have kept lying if I hadn’t stumbled across the truth.”
“Jolene—”
But she was finished. There was nothing more to say, and she was through repeating herself. They weren’t listening anyway.
Jolene wedged her cell phone into the cup holder between the seats. Aware of a pulsing pain in her hands and another in her head, she shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.
The tires squealed in protest, but she ignored them. She knew what she was doing. Driving had always been a release for her, and it wasn’t as if she was driving recklessly. There was hardly any traffic along this street, anyway.
She jammed her foot down on the accelerator and tightened her grip on the wheel, waiting for the rush of adrenaline that usually came when she drove a little too fast or pushed the envelope in some other way.
Her cell phone rang again, but she ignored it and the call eventually transferred to voice mail. That would mean another message. More guilt, more anger, more confusion.
Jolene would give anything if she could just turn back the clock. If she could wake up tomorrow morning and discover that the past few days had been a nightmare. She’d always been a realist, and she’d always been proud of that, but she would have changed happily if it meant she could get her life back.
Up ahead, a traffic light changed. Jolene judged the distance, decided she was too close to stop, and pressed the accelerator harder. The car shot forward just as the light turned red, but she sailed through the intersection before the drivers on the cross street could get their feet on the gas.
She pulled her foot from the accelerator and the car began to slow, but not before a cop in a black-and-white unit half a block behind flipped on his overhead lights and siren, and pulled into the sparse traffic behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
NEARLY AN HOUR LATER, Jolene crossed the smoke-filled interior of McGillicuddy’s Lounge and tossed the ticket “Officer Friendly” had given her onto the bar. There were bars closer to the station, but Ryan preferred McGillicuddy’s. It was close to home and far enough from work to let him make the emotional shift from hard-ass narcotics officer to loving husband and daddy.
She hadn’t consciously planned on coming here, but after driving away with the ticket, she’d made a detour on the chance that Ryan would still be here.
She hitched herself onto a faded Naugahyde stool while Ryan gave the ticket a quick once-over and turned a quizzical glance on her. “What’s this?”
“Speeding ticket.” Ron, the burly biker-type who owned the bar, came to see what she wanted. Now that her spirits were even further down the toilet, she ordered a margarita instead of something more sensible like beer.
“You were going twenty over,” Ryan pointed out, as if maybe she didn’t know that already. “And you ran a red light?”
“The light turned yellow. I judged the distance and thought I was too close to stop. Officer Friendly saw things a little differently.”
Laughing through his nose, Ryan tossed the ticket back to her. “Captain Eisley’s going to pass a kidney stone when he finds out. You know that, don’t you?”
Her drink arrived, so she pushed a ten across the bar toward Ron, got rid of the straw and filled her mouth with tequila, crushed ice and salt. “Gee, thanks, Ryan,” she said when she could speak again. “I forgot all about his rule that we keep our noses clean. But you can’t blame me really. He only says it a hundred times a day.”
She took another drink and wondered what Ryan would do if she just hauled off and hit him. On second thought, forget that. Ryan would hit back.
He drained the last of his beer, signaled for another, and leaned on the bar. “Ready to talk to me?”
A margarita on an empty stomach was a bad idea, so she leaned across the bar to grab a bag of chips, held it up to show Ron and dropped a dollar on the counter.
“Jo? What is it?”
She tore open the bag. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
“There’s something eating at you. What is it?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I just wish we’d been able to nail Zika the other night. All that work down the drain because of some kids. I hate that.”
Ryan nodded slowly, but he didn’t look convinced. “Yeah. We all do. But we’ll get him. His luck can’t hold forever.”
Jolene laughed bitterly. “Why? Because we’re the good guys?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re a dreamer, Ryan. We don’t get to win just because we wear the white hats. Life doesn’t work that way.”
“You used to think it did.”
She made a face. “I was never that naive.”
“I didn’t say you were naive,” Ryan said. “I just meant that you had faith in the system. The good guys win, the bad guys go to jail. It’s why we’re here, doing what we do.”
Jolene laughed and studied the lime in her glass. “We’re here doing what we do because somebody has to.”
“And that’s us.” Ryan pushed his beer out of the way and hitched his stool closer. “You’ve been acting weird for a couple of days. Now you’re speeding and running red lights…What’s going on?”
Maybe she should tell him. He was her partner. Her friend. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about this. Sure, admitting that she had doubts and insecurities might make her look weak in Ryan’s eyes, but so would going off her game for no apparent reason. And wouldn’t anybody in her shoes be thrown by the things she’d been told this week? Even Captain Eisley might do a double take if somebody told him to stop celebrating Oktoberfest and do a war dance instead.
She pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, you’re right. There is something—” Before she could finish, a shout erupted somewhere behind her followed by the unmistakable sounds of a scuffle.
Ryan was on his feet in half a second, their conversation forgotten. He was a good cop. A week ago, Jolene would have been on her feet right beside him. Today, she had to drag her attention away from the turmoil inside her just to register the trouble.
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