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And here we have it. I blank my expression at the perp—I mean, twerp. “Hurt her?”
His scowl rivals that of a mortal enemy, a people group I have in spades. He’s not the only guy who’d like to see me taken down. “Don’t mess with me, jerk.”
I cup my hand around my ear. “Come again?”
He sends out nuclear heat. “Don’t play dumb, Chavez. You mess with my mom and I’ll mess with you.”
Laugh or counterpunch? AndChavez? The kid’s got guts, I’ll hand him that. “That’s not the plan,son.”
As anticipated, the emanating heat blows out the sensors. “I am not your son!”
“Then it’s both our lucky day, isn’t it?”
Violence infuses his grunt as he faces down the oncoming traffic, fists balled on his thighs. Tension builds, like water filling a used glass in the sink, finally overflowing and tipping the thing. “She’s had enough crap happen in her life. If you make it worse, I’ll…I’ll…”
Silence pours into the SUV as the kid’s sincerity stalls the flippant retort I’d readied for launch.
So help me, I’m normally a great respecter of boundaries. Don’t mess in my business, I won’t mess in yours. Flipping the signal, I ease into the turn lane. “What kind of crap?”
The kid wads into a tight wad and stares out his window. “None of your business.”
Can’t argue there.
Feeling his studied attention, I find him eyeing me with the first flicker of uncertainty he’s shown since buckling up. “She hasn’t even told me, so I’m sure not telling you.”
“Told you what?”
He stares into the inky night where the only thing my headlamps pick up are waving weeds along the highway’s shoulder. His hand alternately flexes and balls. “She doesn’t think I know. But I do.”
We’ve sped past confusion. There’s subtext here that’s as disorienting as the darkness. Suddenly, it feels like we’ve steered offroad onto a rutted trail and there’s no telling where it leads. I’d expected some wrangling on this ride, sure, wrangling that came from me telling the kid to step up and grow up. And I anticipated some pushback after a strongly-worded admonition that he get serious about the criminal case against him because his junk is hurting the woman who brought his sorry behind into this world.
But the undertones I’m picking up run deeper than the present mess. I rub my jaw where it’s starting to ache beyond the norm. “Look, kid—”
“My dad’s in prison.”
The car wobbles in the lane as I snap around. “Yeah? What for?” I don’t believe Jacob fully intended to release that tidbit.
Sure enough, he spins, kind of panicky. “Don’t you dare tell her I said that!”
I raise my palm from the wheel in a hand shrug. “Hey, it’s none of my business.” Yet, the need to know is howling. Sweet Hollie with a criminal? My offensive, stereotyped presumptions aside, I can’t see her with any sort of individual who’d land behind bars.
Jacob sits back, easing off on the aggression, still nervous as ever. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Then why did you?”
He shrugs.
I can guess. People generally speak what’s closest to the surface.
I draw my hand along the back of my neck. The kid’s got a lot on his plate, and, much as being wrong galls my very soul, I concede that my initial perceptions about the kid were not entirely accurate.
Weren’t entirelyinaccurate, either, so I’m not sure which way to jump on this thing.
When did a single byte of this become my business, business that included jumping anywhere?
Hold on. Law enforcementismy business, and while I spend the majority of time taking down slime, protecting is also in my nature. I know how. That’s the extent of my role here.
Right?
