This Good Man

She watched as he strolled away, seemingly in no hurry but, with those long legs, crossing the lobby quickly and disappearing into an elevator that seemed to sense his approach and open for his convenience without him so much as pushing the button.

Anna turned back to the desk sergeant and realized he had been watching the new captain, too.

She could feel his resentment when he produced a form from behind the counter and said, “Please repeat the boy’s name, ma’am.”

At least he was apparently planning to be polite, probably because he was afraid of Captain Reid Sawyer. Who could blame him? She’d been intimidated, and she was willing to take on anyone to protect the children who were her responsibility. Thus her unpopularity in too many quarters.

“Yancey Launders,” she repeated and began to give a description.

Fortunately, she was unlikely to have anything to do with Captain Reid Sawyer in the future. Even if one of her kids was murdered—or murdered someone—she’d be dealing with one of Captain Sawyer’s detectives, not the great man himself. She hoped. Anna didn’t like anyone who made her feel vulnerable, however fleetingly.

* * *

INTERESTING WOMAN, REID thought as the elevator doors closed, shutting off his last view of Ms. Anna Grant, social worker. It was her voice as much as what she had been saying that had caught his attention as he’d passed by the front counter. It had been an intriguing combination of martinet and seductress, both crisp and throaty. On hearing it, he’d had a fleeting fantasy of a school principal who ruled her fiefdom with an iron will, but went home to shed the gray suit and reveal black lace. He had been compelled to find out what the owner of that voice looked like.

Now he knew, although he kind of doubted she wore black lace, or whether it would suit her if she did. She looked about seventeen, although she must be in her late twenties to early thirties to have the kind of job she did. He wondered if she ever used her apparent youth to disarm opponents. His mouth curved at the thought. No, he thought it was safe to say Anna Grant was a woman who would despise the idea of employing subterfuge to get her way.

The elevator doors glided open and he strolled down the hall toward his office, nodding at a couple of people as he passed, but still thinking about the social worker.

Ghost-gray eyes were her greatest beauty. She’d probably been blonde as a kid, but her hair had darkened to a shade between honey and brown, straight and worn shoulder length and tucked behind her ears, nothing unusual except that it was thick and shiny. His fingers had tingled for a moment as he imagined the texture, a reaction he’d tamped down quickly. Ms. Grant was medium height or taller, but with a slight build. Almost...delicate, which contradicted a personality he judged to be bossy, even abrasive. Maybe caring, too, or maybe she was just the rigid kind who wanted everyone and everything in their place, and who didn’t accept no as an answer. She had definitely terrorized Sergeant Shroutt. Amusement awakened again; Reid doubted she’d needed his intervention, but as he’d walked toward her, he’d heard enough to ensure he gave it. Whatever her motivation, she was worried enough about that boy to raise hell and keep raising it until he had the help he needed.

Satisfied by his conclusion, Reid greeted the temp serving as his personal assistant until he hired a permanent one. He entered his office, stripping off his suit coat, and was surprised to realize he hadn’t succeeded in dismissing Ms. Grant from his thoughts. Instead, he wondered what she did wear under her businesslike slacks and blazer. Serviceable white? Scarlet satin? Sweetly feminine petal-pink with tiny lace flowers?

He grinned as he sank into his desk chair. Probably not sweetly feminine anything. That’d be like dressing a Doberman in a tutu.

But, damn it, he’d gotten himself half-aroused imagining her slender, pale body next thing to naked.

He booted up his computer and frowned at the lit monitor. He knew what his trouble was; he hadn’t hooked up with a woman in... He couldn’t remember, a bad sign. Six months? Eight months? He cast his mind back. Good God, longer than that. This was the middle of March. It was last spring when he’d been seeing that assistant prosecutor. Courtney something. Coulson. That was it. Unlike Ms. Grant, Courtney had had generous curves. Like most women, though, she wanted more than an occasional dinner followed by sex. She’d hinted, he had pretended to be oblivious, and eventually she’d told him she was seeing someone else. He hadn’t much minded. He never did, except for the inconvenience of no longer having someone he could call when he wanted sex.

He should check email. He got as far as reaching for the mouse but didn’t move it. Instead he kept frowning and thinking about the woman he’d just met downstairs. No ring; he’d noticed that. Was she the type to be interested in something casual, assuming she wasn’t already involved with a man? Once Yancey Launders was picked up, Reid could call her and ask how the boy was doing. Suggest a cup of coffee.

He remembered those eyes, though, and felt uneasy. He hadn’t thought ghost-gray because of the color, he realized belatedly. It was more as if, in looking into those eyes, he’d seen her ghosts. He tended to stick with uncomplicated women. The scrape of his own scars against someone else’s would be...uncomfortable.

Reid shifted in his chair, unhappily aware that he’d remained aroused because he was thinking about her. He hadn’t reacted this strongly to a woman in a long time, and couldn’t understand why he had now. Anna Grant didn’t advertise her sex appeal, that was for sure. And, truth was, she might not have much, as skinny as she was.

Delicate.

He mumbled a profanity, relieved when his internal phone line rang. What he needed was a distraction.

Once the caller identified herself, Reid said, “I’m free now, Lieutenant. If you are, too, why don’t we get an early start?”

She agreed, and he was finally able to turn his mind from Anna, thinking instead about Lieutenant Jane Renner, who supervised detectives and whose rank placed her immediately beneath him. They’d planned this time to talk. She was bringing personnel files to help him familiarize himself with the investigative division. He’d already met with several key people in the support division he also headed—crime-scene technicians, clerical and records staff, fleet maintenance and more. That was the part of this new job most unfamiliar to him, where his learning curve would be steepest.

He was curious about the young woman with a bouncy ponytail who’d risen to lieutenant over an entirely male group of detectives. So far, he was reserving judgment, although she’d seemed sharp when she participated in his initial interviews. Police Chief Alec Raynor had spoken highly of her. Reid knew she’d recently married a sergeant with the Butte County Sheriff’s Department. Passing some of his female clerical staff in the hall yesterday, he’d overheard whispered gossip that made him wonder if Lieutenant Renner might be pregnant. Of course, he couldn’t ask her; HR would have his hide if he did. Assuming it was true, he had to trust she wouldn’t wait until it was painfully apparent, especially if she intended to quit. He hoped there was someone under her who was competent to step in while she took maternity leave, at the very least.

At the knock on his door, he called, “Come in,” and rose to his feet with automatic courtesy. When he was done with this meeting, he decided, he’d drive out to the Hales’ place and spend a little time with Caleb, however awkward that time would feel for both of them.

On the way out, he might stop at the front desk and ask Sergeant Shroutt to let him know when Anna Grant’s wandering lamb was safely back in her care.

* * *

AFTER LEAVING THE downtown public safety building, Anna drove a route that led from Yancey’s foster home and eventually all the way out to Highway 97, the main north-south corridor through central Oregon. Turning her head constantly in search of one undersize boy, she kept her speed down enough to annoy drivers behind her, one of whom decided to crowd her bumper. She was oh-so-tempted to slam on her brakes, but she didn’t want the hassle of having to leave her car in an auto-body shop. And she’d have to deal with the police, who might not be feeling very fond of her right now.

Too bad. Somebody had to make them do their jobs.

Tension rising as the miles passed with no sight of Yancey, Anna went south on 97 and continued through La Pine. She’d reached Little River when her phone rang. As she pulled into a gas-station parking lot, she answered crisply, “Anna Grant.”

“Ms. Grant, this is Sergeant Shroutt. We’ve picked up the boy. He’s currently at Juvenile Hall.”

She sagged with the rush of relief. “Oh, thank goodness.”

“No, thank Officer Cherney,” the sergeant said drily. “Can we assume you’ll be picking up young Yancey and taking responsibility for him?”

“You may,” she told him. “And please do thank Officer Cherney.” She hesitated only briefly. “And thank you. He’s...a sad boy. I was worried about him.”

“I do understand. It’s our preference to help, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They left it at that. She put on her signal and waited while a semi lumbered onto the highway, wondering if Sergeant Shroutt would be any more cooperative the next time she came to him. In one way, it was a pity that Captain Sawyer wasn’t in charge of the patrol officers, as he might conceivably have turned out to be a useful ally. She’d be more convinced of that, though, if he had displayed even a tiny hint of real emotion. Plus, she’d been hit by sexual attraction, which he’d shown no sign of reciprocating. No, it was just as well that she wouldn’t have to deal with him often.

Making up her mind, she made a call rather than starting back toward Angel Butte.

“Carol? Anna Grant. Listen, I know you wanted a longer break before you took another kid, but is there any chance you’d house a boy for a day or two until I can find another place for him?”

Carol Vogt was, hands down, Anna’s favorite among the foster parents associated with AHYS. A widow whose own two boys were in their thirties, she worked magic on troubled teenagers.

“A day or two.” Carol snorted. “What you mean is, ‘Will you take him just long enough so you decide you didn’t really want that break anyway?’”

Anna grinned. “Guilty as charged. But I promise, I’ll move him if you ask me to. Yancey is only thirteen, and he’s being tormented by the older boys in the home I had him living in. Which was his second since he came into the system. He ran away today and the police just picked him up. I’ve got receiving homes, but...”

She didn’t have to finish. This was a kid who needed stability, not another way station.

A sigh gusted into her ear. “Fine,” Carol said. “But you owe me one.”

“I already owe you a few thousand,” Anna admitted. “Bless you. We’ll be an hour or two.”

“I’ll have his bedroom ready.”

Anna was smiling when she finally made the turn out onto the highway.

* * *

CALEB HOVERED AT the head of the stairs where he knew he couldn’t be seen. Voices drifted up from the kitchen.

“I’m not sure where he is.” That was Paula Hale, who with her husband ran this place. “Caleb’s been spending a lot of time with Diego. They’re probably over in the cabin Diego shares with another boy.”

“I’ll take that coffee, then. Thanks.” This time, Reid’s voice came to Caleb clearly. He must be facing the stairs. “Sugar?”

“You always did have a sweet tooth. And you can’t tell me you’ve forgotten where I keep the sugar bowl.”

Caleb’s brother gave a low chuckle. “I was being polite.”

“You weren’t polite when you lived here. Why start now?”

This time they both laughed.

Caleb felt weird, an unseen third presence. He knew Roger, Paula’s husband, was outside working on Cabin Five. This place was an old resort that must have been shut down, like, a century ago. Most of the boys were paired up in the small cabins. The Hales’ room was on the main floor in the lodge, and Caleb and another guy were in bedrooms upstairs. If there were any girls in residence, Caleb had been told, they always had the rooms upstairs in the lodge so they were near the Hales. Otherwise, those bedrooms were used for new boys, until they had “settled in.” That was how Paula put it. Caleb wasn’t sure how he would ever prove he had, or even if he wanted to. He didn’t like it here—but nothing on earth would make him go back to his father’s.

“You know he doesn’t have to be here.” Paula’s voice came especially clearly.

What did that mean?

Stiffening, Caleb strained to hear Reid’s answer. It was brief, an indistinguishable rumble.

What you need isn’t anything I have in me. Remembering the expressionless way his brother had said that, Caleb sneered. Was that what Reid was telling Paula?

He couldn’t catch the beginning of what Paula said in response, but the tail end made his heart thud. “...you could prove abuse if you wanted to.”

“You refusing to keep him here?” Reid asked more clearly.

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“He needs to know you want him.”

Caleb quit breathing through the long silence that followed. And then his brother’s voice was so soft, he came close to missing it.

“I do.” Pause. “And I don’t.”

A skim of ice hardened in Caleb’s chest. The I do part was a joke. The only honest part of that was I don’t.

Paula said something, and then Reid did, but their voices were fading. They must have left the kitchen for what Paula called the great room.

He needs to know you want him.

I don’t.

His brother had found him, rescued him, but then palmed him off on someone else because he couldn’t be bothered.

Caleb eased down the stairs, then out the kitchen door without even pausing to grab a parka.

* * *

“YOU DON’T?” PAULA SAID. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Reid made an impatient gesture. “Come on. You know what I mean. I’m not father material. I told Caleb I’m damaged, and it’s true.”

Paula didn’t take her gaze from his as she sat on one of the benches at the long tables where meals were served in the main room of the lodge.

Despite having stayed in touch and contributed financially, he hadn’t actually seen either of the Hales in something like ten years until the day he’d brought Caleb here. He had been shocked to see Paula’s long braid was turning gray. She’d always looked like an aging hippie to him, but that had been from the perspective of a boy. Now she really was aging. Roger’s dark hair and beard were shot with gray, too. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d imagined them, and this refuge they guarded, as eternally the same. Reid hated to think about the time when they couldn’t take in kids anymore.

“Damage heals,” Paula said calmly.

Straddling a bench across the table from her, he had the uneasy feeling she was seeing further below the surface than he wanted her to. He’d forgotten the way she could always do that.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself, Reid. You’ve changed your life for the sake of a boy you didn’t know a couple of months ago. What’s that but love?”

Love? He snorted. “I feel responsible.” So responsible, he’d started job hunting in central Oregon the minute he’d brought Caleb here. Left a job that satisfied him for one he wasn’t so sure he was going to like. Yeah, he’d gone out on a limb for this brother, but he’d rather call it guilt than love.

“Responsible? Why?”

He eyed her smile warily. “He’s my brother.”

“You’d never met him. It’s not as if you grew up with him.”

“I swore I’d know if that son of a bitch ever had another kid. Instead, I let it go. Caleb has gone through hell because I shut my eyes.”

“No,” she said, correcting him, “he’s gone through hell because your father is abusive. You have no responsibility for your father’s sins.”

He stared at her, baffled and frustrated by her refusal to understand what he was saying. “So I should have shrugged and gone on with my life?”

“Neither of us could have done that.”

“Then your point is?”

“Is this about Caleb at all, or are you trying to save yourself?”

Not reacting took an effort of will. “What kind of psychobabble is that?” he scoffed.

“Same kind I’ve always thrown at you.”

Reid gave a reluctant chuckle.

“Do you see yourself in Caleb?”

“Save the crap, Paula. I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’ll always be one of my kids.” Her voice had descended a register, letting him hear the tenderness, tying and untying a knot in his chest.

Reid cleared his throat. It didn’t do anything for the lump centered beneath his breastbone. “I’m sorry I haven’t been back to visit in so long.”

“Caleb made you revisit your past.”

Oh, crap. Here we go again. “I’m giving him the same chance I had, that’s all.”

“You’re doing more than that, or you wouldn’t have moved to Angel Butte,” she pointed out. “You’re trying to be family, Reid.” She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. “He needs you and you need him.”

He bent his head and looked at her hand, which was getting knobby with the beginnings of arthritis. So much smaller than his hand. Still so unfailingly...loving.

Shit. Did that mean he knew what the word meant after all? He’d have told anyone who asked that all he felt for Paula and Roger was gratitude and admiration, but...now he wasn’t sure that was true. He’d just as soon the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. Love had never been a safe emotion for him.

“Maybe so,” he said, hearing his own gruffness. “And I’d better go hunt him down before he decides I’m not here to see him at all.”

“Yes, you should.” She let him come around the table to her and lean over to kiss her cheek, but she grabbed his hand before he could turn away and looked at him with those penetrating eyes. “You’re a good man, Reid Sawyer. Trust yourself.”

He felt about seventeen again, as if his feet were still too big, and his cheeks turned red at any compliment. “I may be a decent man,” he said finally. “But good? No. You’re a good woman, Paula Hale. I don’t measure up.”

He tore himself away then. Her voice followed him. “You will, Reid. I have enough faith for both of us.”

Faith. Out of her hearing, he grunted. There was a word more foreign to him than love.

So, okay, she could be right that on some subconscious level he was seeing himself in this younger brother, who looked so much like him. Why else the cauldron of emotions he’d been feeling, the ingredients of which he didn’t even want to identify? That kind of transference was probably inevitable. He’d needed to be saved; now it was his turn to do the saving. Paying it forward was what people called it these days. That’s all I’m doing.

He didn’t think about why he was looking forward to seeing Caleb. Or why he was so disappointed when, twenty minutes later, he conceded defeat.

The disappearing act was so good, it was clear his brother didn’t want to see him. Reid told himself that was okay. The two of them hardly knew each other. When Reid had first come here, he’d been like a feral animal in a trap, suspicious of anything that looked like affection. He didn’t know why he’d expected different of Caleb.

The Hales had a gift for healing wounded, fearful young men. Paula was wrong; Caleb didn’t need his brother, the stranger.

Which raised the question, why had he turned his own life upside down to be nearby when he’d already fulfilled his responsibility? He could have stayed in touch long-distance well enough.

He laughed, short and harsh, as he climbed into his Ford Expedition. Taking a last look at the ramshackle lodge that anchored a line of even more run-down cabins strung along the bank of Bear Creek, he breathed in the distinctive odor of ponderosa-pine forest, sharp despite the near-freezing temperature. Trust Paula to get him analyzing his choices. One of her more irritating characteristics.

But he was a big boy now, capable of resisting. A big boy who, for whatever idiotic reason, had taken on a new job with more scope than he’d anticipated. What he needed to do was concentrate on that job, not hanker for some elusive connection he’d lived his whole damn life without.

CHAPTER TWO

“IT’S ARSON,” REID said flatly. He crouched and stared closely at the distinctive pattern of charring that climbed the interior wood-paneled wall of the cabin. He’d been lucky to find it, given the extent of the damage. “I’m no fire marshal,” he said, rising to his feet, “but I don’t have to be.”

Beside him, Roger Hale grunted. “I thought I smelled gasoline.”

“Hard to miss,” Reid agreed.

He hadn’t expected to hear from either of the Hales so soon after his Wednesday visit. On this fine Sunday morning, he’d been sprawled in bed trying to decide whether he could roll over and get some more sleep or was already too wide-awake when his phone had rung. Given his job, he kept the damn thing close, despite how often he cursed its existence. Hearing what Roger had to say had driven away any desire on his part to be lazy.

When he arrived half an hour ago, a cluster of boys had hovered on the front porch of the lodge. Caleb wasn’t among them.

Walking to greet Reid, Roger had seen where he was looking. “Probably his turn in the shower. We were all pretty filthy by the time we got the fire out.”

Paula had been the one to spot it, according to Roger. She’d gotten up to use the john and seen a strange orange glow out the small window. Roger had yanked on clothes and run outside to find the fire climbing the back wall of the last cabin in the row. Even as he’d hooked up hoses, he had yelled to awaken the boys.

“This wasn’t one of the occupied cabins,” Reid said, turning slowly to examine the interior. Frigid blue sky showed through a gaping hole in the roof. There hadn’t been much furniture in the cabin. No mattress—or at least no springs—but the wooden bed frame was so much half-burned firewood now. On instinct, he started picking through the debris.

“No, we haven’t put anyone in here in...oh, five or six years,” Roger replied. “I’d been thinking I either needed to raze it or do some serious work. But you know we never fill all the cabins.” His expression was troubled. “You’re saying our firebug didn’t want to hurt anyone.”

Yet. Reid didn’t like thinking that, but had to.

“No, this was done either for fun or to get some attention.”

He debated whether to say more, but suspected he didn’t have to. Roger was a smart, well-read man. He’d already been thinking hard, or he wouldn’t have summoned Reid to take a look.

Arson wasn’t like shoplifting or half a dozen other crimes Reid could think of, tried by a kid once out of curiosity or on a dare, then forgotten in a generally well-lived life. Famously, arson was one of the classic precursors of a serial killer. A budding pyromaniac, who set fires for the thrill, was bound to escalate in a different way.

This fire had been relatively harmless. The cabin hadn’t been close to any of the others, and given that the last snowfall had melted only a few days ago, sparks had been unlikely to find dry fuel in the surrounding woods.

Reid found what he’d sought and wordlessly held out what was left of the side rail of a bed for Roger to see. One end was seared; the other was freshly splintered. As he’d suspected, the bed had been broken up to serve as firewood that would give the blaze what it needed to grow until it had the size and heat to bite into the solid log walls.

Roger shook his head. “We’ve had our share of troubles, but never a kid who wanted to burn up the world.”

“There’s a first for everything.”

“We can’t be sure it’s one of the boys.”

Reid kept his mouth shut.