The Ballerina's Stand. Angel Smits

HEART POUNDED hard against her ribs. Sweat drenched her skin, and she leaned against the wall of the elevator. The cool metal felt blessedly good as the car descended. She had to catch her breath before she reached the lobby, had to get control of herself. She had to meet Dylan and Maxine in—she glanced at her watch—just over an hour.

      She needed to get it together.

      Jason was probably shaking his head, thinking she’d lost her mind. He’d been kind, and he was working so hard to understand her. The conversation they’d had was simple, mainly because it took too long to write anything complex.

      The dawning comprehension in Jason’s eyes when he’d understood her sign, the broad smile that transformed his face, had triggered too many memories. Her heart had hitched as he’d met her gaze. She’d nearly gotten lost in the hazel brightness.

      But ugly memories obliterated his image, reminding her of the pain that came with letting people in too close.

      The last time she’d let herself believe that she was someone to be interested in...

      Kenny had been in foster care with her. She’d thought of him as a friend, hoped for that anyway. She’d been about the same age as Tina was now. Kids didn’t need to talk as much as adults did. She’d hoped he was different, right up until he’d pushed her against the school yard fence.

      She’d run then, too. Run for everything she was worth. Escaped his painful grip. She hadn’t heard any of the foul things he’d suggested they do, but she’d seen them form on his lips. The lips that had come too close to hers.

      She’d run until she couldn’t run anymore. Blocks and blocks away from the school, in the opposite direction of her foster home. She didn’t stop until the sharp, painful stitch in her side made her. She hadn’t even known where she was. Darkness was falling, much like the afternoon shadows now. She shivered, remembering how she’d kept walking until she found an open grocery store. She’d gone inside and the manager had called the police.

      One of the few pluses of being a kid in foster care was that she was in the system. She already had a file.

      They’d taken her back to her foster home, and she’d tried to pretend nothing had happened, but Kenny’s behavior had turned awful. Teasing. Tormenting. Demeaning. “Sound like a dummy...you’re a moron who can’t talk right...”

      Her caseworker finally picked up on the bullying and had her moved. Any place was better than that place.

      Almost. That’s when she’d stopped trying to talk, refused speech therapy. Ultimately, she’d been placed with Maxine. But the damage was done and the half dozen in-betweens still hurt too much to think about.

      Jason’s suspicions about the Hancocks couldn’t be correct, could they? If there was something wrong, Dylan would have said something, wouldn’t he? She was positive of it. She wouldn’t let another foster kid suffer, especially one who couldn’t necessarily speak up for himself. No one was going to go through what she had. No one.

      This time, as she left Jason’s office, instead of waiting for the bus, she went over to the doorman and wrote a note asking him to help her get a taxi.

      She couldn’t wait a half hour for the bus. Not when the memories lurked, waiting to pounce. She stood at the lobby’s glass wall, in the bright light, watching for the yellow cab the doorman’s note had told her was on its way.

      * * *

      JASON WANTED TO kick himself. What was it about Lauren that made him do things he wouldn’t normally do? Going to her house. Taking a criminal case. Feeling an attraction to a client—amend that, potential client. He thought at first that he’d understood why she’d moved away from him just now, but her reaction was too strong. She really was upset. And while he couldn’t be positive, he was pretty sure he’d seen fear in her eyes.

      The idea that she had to be afraid of anything made his blood boil.

      He was a Hawkins. He took pride in that. His younger brother, DJ, was a marine who’d been injured in Afghanistan. His older brother, Wyatt, had stepped up when Dad died, and still took care of them all, including DJ’s son when DJ was hurt. His three sisters were no slackers, either, and were probably even more protective than he and his brothers combined.

      Jason was no different—he just chose other means to protect people. Legally. But right now, he wasn’t thinking very legal thoughts.