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“You don’t know shit about the real world. You’re a cop . . . in Mystic. ” She pulled out a cigarette and lit up. Her gaze cut to the no-smoking sign behind her and she grinned, daring Nick to do something.
He saw the challenge in her eyes as she exhaled a stream of smoke. He cocked his head toward the open doors. “Follow me. ”
Without looking back, he crossed the hall and went outside. He was mildly surprised to find that Gina had followed him. He sat down on the top step.
She sat cross-legged a few feet away. “Yeah? What?”
“When I was your age, I lived on the streets. ”
She snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m one of the Spice Girls. ”
“My mom was an alcoholic who used to prostitute herself for booze. It was a lovely life . . . normal for an addict with no formal education and no particular job skills. She dropped out of school at sixteen when she got pregnant with me. My old man dumped her pretty fast—and she didn’t have anywhere to go after that. ”
Gina went very still. The cigarette sagged in her black-painted lips. “No way,” she said, but this time there wasn’t much conviction in her voice.
“We couldn’t afford to pay rent—that’s another thing addiction does. It takes your money, fast, then your will and your pride. Pretty soon you don’t care that you live in an old Chevy Impala and that your son has no winter coat. All you care about is getting high or drunk. You’ll sleep under a sheet of newspaper on a park bench and not even know you’re freezing or that some time in the middle of the night you threw up all over yourself. ”
“You’re trying to scare me. ”
“You’re damn right I am. The road you’re on leads three places, Gina—to a park bench or a jail cell or a coffin. You think about it. ”
She slowly lifted her gaze to his. He could see that she was scared. For a split second, he thought she was going to reach out for help.
Come on, Gina, he thought. You can do it. He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Call me. Anytime. ”
“I—”
“Hey, Gino, what’re you doin’ talkin’ to that jerk in blue?”
Gina drew back as if stung and lurched to her feet. The white business card fluttered to the gray stone steps at her feet. She turned and waved at the green-haired boy who was bounding up the courthouse steps. Chains jangled from his ears and pockets, and a thin silver hoop glittered in his eyebrow. He slipped an arm around Gina and pulled her close. Taking the cigarette from her mouth, he took a long drag and exhaled slowly. “You’re here to send Gino to lockup, aren’t you?”
Nick stared at the boy, Drew Doro. A bad seed who’d first come into contact with the law at age ten, when he’d burned down his family garage. Two years ago, his parents had quietly, and with broken hearts, given up on him. It was only a matter of time before this kid was doing time in Monroe. He was Gina’s first boyfriend.
“I’m here to give the family court judge my opinion, Drew. That’s all. It’s not a trial. ” He glanced at Gina. “Not yet, anyway. ”
Gina took a step toward Nick. The uncertainty in her eyes reminded Nick that underneath all that black mascara and attitude, she was still just a kid, scared and trying to find her way in a confusing world. “What are you gonna tell the judge?”
He wished he could lie to her right now, tell her what she wanted to hear. “I’m going to tell her that you present a threat to yourself and others. You left me no choice. ”
The uncertainty was replaced by a flash of pure hatred. “Screw you, Delacroix. It wasn’t my coke. ”
Slowly, Nick stood. “If you need help, Gina . . . you know where to find me. ”
“Why in the hell would she need your help?” Drew laughed. “She’s got tons of friends who really care about her. You’re just a low-rent cop in this backwater dump of a town. All you’re good for is getting cats outta trees. Come on, Gina. ”
Nick watched them walk away. He hadn’t expected Gina to listen to him. Hoped, perhaps—it was that uncontrollable surge of hope that had chewed viciously through his life. He couldn’t seem to completely walk away from it.
He’d had the same talk with a dozen teens over the years and none of them ever listened. None of them ever changed. Most of them died young and violently and far away from the families who loved them.
Just once, he thought dully. It would be nice to actually protect and serve. Just once.
He saw Gina, loitering outside the front door, finishing her cigarette.
“You remember that park bench,” he called out.
Gina’s answer was an all-too-familiar hand gesture.
By the time Nick finally got home from work—late, as usual—Annie was exhausted. She drove home and stumbled into bed. Almost immediately, she fell into a deep sleep, but sometime in the middle of the night she awoke and reached out for Blake.
