Janice Kay - Because Of A Girl

He stalked across her unkempt lawn and swung himself into his department-issue SUV.

The woman was still a cross between a suspect, an informant and a witness. He couldn’t yet rule out the possibility that she had a role in Sabra’s disappearance. He sure as hell hadn’t been able to prove she’d driven the girl to school the way she claimed.

From her glorious hair to eyes that betrayed her every thought to her ripe curves and quick movements, she did it for him physically, big-time; he couldn’t deny that. So what? He’d already made his decision. Beyond the purely physical, she was the absolute last kind of woman he’d want to get involved with.

With a snort, he fired up the engine. An artisan! And she’d said it with a straight face. What she did was a craft. One with a folk art charm, sure—but to call it work? Glorifying the pretty rugs she made gave her an excuse to play instead of keeping other commitments.

Something like anger roared through him. With a real job, she might be able to buy a decent car or get some work done on her house. Was “hooking” rugs going to pay for her kid’s college education? Or was she capable of thinking that far ahead?

She was pretty damned emotional, too, her eyes getting moist because her daughter was acting like every other fifteen-year-old in existence did. Who was she kidding?

Backing out of the driveway, he continued to brood over the woman he’d just left.

Yeah, she’d done a generous thing, taking in a troubled kid just because she was a friend of her daughter. The impulse was good, even if the execution had been as slapdash as he suspected everything else she did. She’d gotten nothing in writing. Letting the authorities know she had the girl? Why would she want to do that?

What annoyed Jack most was how she aroused his protective instincts. He’d had her on his mind all day, worrying about how hard the Child Protective Services worker would come down on her. He had flinched to see the pain in her eyes as her daughter flung angry words.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He would have to step carefully with her. Avoiding her would be best, but that probably wouldn’t be possible, if only because he couldn’t lean too heavily on Emily without her mother’s presence or permission.

And lean he would. Emily was key. If she didn’t know what was going on with Sabra, she suspected. Despite her mother’s denials, he’d put money on it. And, for no good reason, his gut was telling him that the pregnant girl was in trouble, if not already dead.

During the short drive back to the police station, unease just kept tugging at him, a taut line attached to something unseen. He told himself he was letting other people influence him. It was like an infection, passed first from the principal, with his obvious suspicion of Meg. And then there was Emily. Whatever she knew or didn’t, she was scared, just as her mother had said. At her age, she should believe in easy explanations. There were a lot of logical reasons for a teenager to go AWOL. Happened all the time. But Emily had known from the minute Sabra disappeared that she was in trouble.

Mulling it over, he decided Emily Harper’s fear had been the most contagious of all.

And part of what had him on edge? Teenagers would do a lot to protect a friend, a boyfriend. But despite their natural desire to pull back from parents, that loyalty ran deepest of all. Emily would be most likely to keep her mouth shut if she knew or feared something bad about her mother. She was angry at her mom, no question. Could be normal teenage rebellion. But what if her anger had a different cause?

If that was the case, breaking down her resistance wouldn’t be easy. Even abused kids wouldn’t speak out against a parent. The fear of the unknown was too great. In Emily’s case...he didn’t know if she had anyone else. Was her father in the picture? Aunts, uncles, grandparents? He’d have to find out.

Jack pulled into the lot behind the police station, parked and then sat there for a long time, frustrated and confused, uncomfortably aware he was stumbling over his own preconceptions when it came to Meg Harper—when he wasn’t imagining her naked instead. And he liked that even less, given the root of those preconceptions.

Groaning, he bumped his head a couple of times against the headrest.

So, okay. He knew what was eating at him. That meant he could adjust accordingly. Starting now.

Jack got out, locked his vehicle and, as he hunched his shoulders against a chill that did not feel like spring, tried to figure out what came next.

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