Sierra nodded, as if to confirm Lucy’s suspicions. “His name is Jonathan Brenner. He’s running for sheriff. I found tons of pictures of him online. I look like him,” she said simply.
Dear God, she did, Lucy thought. That was why she hadn’t been able to look away from his photo.
Well, it was one of the reasons. The other was the disquieting fact that simply looking at him, even in black and white, had made her heart do an odd little skip and bump.
And she hadn’t been able to help noticing, in the article, that he wasn’t married.
As if, she’d told herself, folding the newspaper up and determinedly depositing it in the recycling bin, she would ever meet him.
“When I’m wrong,” she murmured, once Sierra had wandered away to the pair of cages that held two shelter cats awaiting adoption, “I’m wrong. Really wrong.”
Lucy had a strong suspicion that her role in the upcoming meeting was not going to endear her to the very upright, conservative Captain Jonathan Brenner.
“I’M NOT LETTING HIM BACK on the street until the investigation is complete,” Jon Brenner said flatly.
Eddie Prindle, the police union representative, said, “You don’t have grounds to put Deputy Chen on suspension. At this point, you have no evidence that the incident was his fault.”
They’d already said this. Several times. Jon abruptly lost patience.
“Then file a grievance.” He rose, but stayed behind his desk. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. I have another appointment.”
Prindle didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual. Jon didn’t hold out a hand. After a moment the other man stood, too. “You’ve gone too far,” he said. “Are you afraid voters will think you’re colluding to excuse a deputy’s malfeasance if you don’t come down hard enough on Deputy Chen? Whatever the truth of the incident?”
Jon didn’t allow his expression to change. “The election has nothing to do with this. Chen screwed up. I don’t know how badly yet. When I do, I’ll make a decision. I can tell you this. It’s to his benefit for me not to make that decision prematurely. You’re not doing him any favors, Prindle.”
“You’ll be hearing from us,” the union rep said. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.
Jon swung away to gaze out the window. On a clear day he had a glimpse of Mount Rainier from here. Today the mountain was wrapped in puffy clouds.
He was pissed off enough to mutter a couple of obscenities. At the very least, the young deputy had been hotdogging. At worst, he’d been criminally careless. No one had died in the incident that had resulted in his suspension, but that wasn’t thanks to him. Right now Jon was inclined to fire him, but there might turn out to be extenuating circumstances. And Chen was, while not a rookie, far from seasoned.
After a minute Jon rubbed the back of his neck and turned to his desk. There was a name on his calendar for three o’clock—Sierra Lind. A high-school kid, apparently. Something about the school newspaper. Which was strange in August, when school wasn’t in session. Probably she was an eager beaver who wanted to have an article on the election ready for the first issue. Jon didn’t have time for this kind of thing and he wasn’t in the mood right now, but it wasn’t optional. Community relations were too important.
Election or no election.
He touched the button on his intercom and said, “Dinah, is my next appointment here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send her in, please.”
He walked around the desk as the door opened. Two people entered, a girl and a woman. The girl caught his eye first, thanks to hair dyed a ridiculous color and a bunch of piercings. Nothing unusual there, but a shame all the same. She’d be prettier without metal impaled on her face. Unusually tall for a girl, maybe five foot ten or eleven, she was skinny and long legged. Had long arms, too, that hung awkwardly as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Blue eyes, strangely intense.
The woman who came in behind her didn’t look like any relation. The teacher in charge of the school newspaper, maybe? She was a good six inches or more shorter, with long wavy black hair, chocolate-brown eyes and a curvaceous figure. Plump by modern standards. Just right by his, he couldn’t help thinking, even though lusting after random visitors to his office wasn’t exactly appropriate.
Both of them were looking him over with unusual gravity. The girl seemed nervous, maybe even a little scared. The woman was wary, edging into hostile.
What the hell? he asked himself, even as he held out a hand to the girl, who was in the lead. “Welcome. I’m Captain Brenner. Are you Sierra Lind?”
“Yes.” Her voice squeaked, and she flushed. “Yes,” she repeated. She looked from his hand to his face and then back again before tentatively reaching out.
They shook, her long, slender fingers icy enough that he glanced down in surprise.
She retrieved her hand, and he smiled at the woman. “And you are…?”
“Lucia Malone.” Her voice was pleasantly husky. It didn’t go with a persona that seemed to bristle. “I’m Sierra’s foster mother. And chauffeur.”
“Ah.” He wanted to shake her hand, too, but she was gripping a large purse fiercely enough he had a feeling she might ignore his hand if he proffered it. Instead, he gestured toward the seating area separated from his desk by only a few feet. “Please.”
They sidled that way, not taking their eyes from him. Rather like a cautious doe and fawn unsure whether the other visitor to the water hole was a predator or not. Ruefully amused, he stayed where he was until they’d sat side by side. Then he chose a seat on the far side of the coffee table. No point in panicking them.
His gaze wanted to linger on Lucia Malone’s pretty face. Her first name, brown eyes and black hair suggested that she had Hispanic blood.
He dragged his attention to the teenager. She was the one who’d made the appointment.
“What can I do for you, Sierra?” he asked.
She gulped, then cast a panicky look at her foster mother. When she looked back at him, he thought idly that her eyes were as blue as his. They were several shades lighter than her hair dye.
In a rush she said, “I’m not really here to do an article for my school newspaper.” When he didn’t say anything immediately, she hurried on. “That’s what I said when I called. Because I thought then they’d let me in to see you.”
Feeling considerably more cautious now, he studied her. “All right. Why did you want to talk to me?”
She gnawed on her lower lip. After a moment Ms. Malone reached out and squeezed one of her hands. Jon’s gaze dropped to those clasped hands, one small and competent and warm skinned, the other very white and longer fingered. And yet, from the way those two hands clung, he could feel a connection beyond the physical. Reassurance. Love.
He met the girl’s eyes again and waited.
“The thing is,” she said, so fast the words tumbled over each other, “I think you’re my father.”
He stared. Either she was delusional or his recurring nightmare had just become real. He couldn’t seem to think. To figure how old she was. Whether she could be… But, goddamn it, how would she have found him?
The silence stretched, became painful.
“I know you may not want anything to do with me,” she said hurriedly, “and that’s okay. Really. I just, well, wanted to meet you. And see.”
He cleared his throat. “To say you’ve taken me by surprise is an understatement. Forgive me, but…do I know your mother?”
She shook