Hide The Child

Lips pinched together, Chloe shook her head.

On instinct, Trina kept talking, if only to fill the silence. “Maybe swim lessons are offered only during the summer.” She should know, but she tended to tune out when colleagues and friends who had children started talking about things like that. Had Chloe been disturbed only because she was afraid to put her face in the water? But Trina didn’t buy that. Taking a wild guess, she said, “Were you supposed to go to the pool that day? When the bad things happened?”

Suddenly, tears were rolling down the little girl’s cheeks. Seeming unaware of them, she nodded.

“Were you going to learn to swim?”

She shook her head.

“Brian?” Chloe’s brother had been six, a first grader.

She nodded again, her eyes shimmering with the tears that kept falling.

“Had you just not left yet?”

Another shake of the head. Trina had a helpless moment that gave her new sympathy for Detective Risvold’s frustration.

But then Chloe whispered, “Brian pooked.”

Pooked. “Puked? He was sick?”

She gave a forlorn sniff. “Uh-huh.”

“Did you see who came to your house, pumpkin?”

Chloe buried her face in Trina’s scrub top. Her whole body trembled.

Trina wrapped her in her arms and laid her cheek against the little girl’s wet head. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry. You don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready. I promise.”

Worried when there was no response, she used a hand towel to dry Chloe’s cheeks, had her blow her nose with a wad of toilet paper, then briskly dried her and pulled the My Little Pony nightgown she’d found in the duffel over her head. “Okay, let’s brush your hair.”

She found no hair dryer in the drawers and thought about asking Gabe if he had one in his bathroom, but then realized how pointless that would be. All he’d have to do was rub a towel over his head. He probably didn’t even bother to comb his hair.

Well, it didn’t hurt anyone to go to bed with wet hair.

She’d give a lot to have a pile of picture books to read to Chloe to give her something else to think about before she snuggled down to sleep, but she had to find another way.

So she tucked Chloe in, refrained from commenting on the thumb in her mouth, and began singing softly, starting with a lullaby. She knew the words to a couple of country-western songs, a song from Phantom of the Opera, and ended up with Christmas carols. After the first verse of “Silent Night,” she saw that Chloe’s mouth had softened and her thumb had fallen out.

Trina clicked off the lamp and had turned to slip out when she saw the big man lounging in the doorway. When she got closer to him, she couldn’t miss the smile in his eyes.

So she couldn’t carry a tune. Chloe didn’t mind.

He murmured, “Grab your duffel if it has what we’ll need in it.”

What they’d need. Alarmed by her very sexual response to that low, faintly rumbly voice, Trina took a minute to understand. Ointment. Bandages. He wasn’t suggesting whatever she’d been thinking.

Trying to regain her dignity, she detoured to pick up the bag and followed him as he backed into the hall. “My room,” he said, just as quietly, and indicated an open door.

The idea of taking off her shirt and pulling down her pants for him had seemed mildly embarrassing when they first met. Now her whole body flushed at the idea.

Seeing his big bed—it had to be king-size—didn’t help. Faced with that bed, she was only vaguely aware of bare walls, wooden floors and a couple of pieces of plain furniture.

“This going to be messy? Maybe you should lie on a towel,” he suggested, more gravel in his voice than usual. When she stayed speechless, he went into his bathroom. By the time he’d reappeared, she had set out a big package of gauze and one of several tubes of ointment a nurse had picked up at the pharmacy for her.

Gabe pulled back the covers, exposing forest green flannel sheets, and spread a huge towel for her to lie on.

She stared at it, all too conscious of him standing less than a foot away. This was the first time since she’d woken up that she’d lost all awareness of the pain.

Feeling silly, she still asked, “Um...would you mind turning your back?”

Without a word, he swung away.

Trina squirmed to get out of her scrub top. She’d been feeling the discomfort of not wearing a bra, but even if she’d had one, it would be days before she could actually stand to wear it. All but throwing herself down on his bed, she mumbled, “I’m ready.” Except for baring her butt. Well, she’d let him start at her shoulders and work his way down.

His weight depressed the mattress when he sat down at her side. While he peeled off the gauze covering, she turned her head to stare at the far wall and tried to bite back groans.

He swore. “This has to hurt like hell.”

“It does,” she mumbled.

There was a long pause. She heard him take a deep breath...and then he touched her. Stroked her.

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