Willing to Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“But she’s fragile. Emotionally in knots,” Pescoli said, not adding that she was also untrustworthy and probably lying to all of them. “What that girl witnessed, what she’s dealt with . . . We have to be very, very careful.”

Was she talking to Jeremy? Or herself?

“I was only trying to help,” he said, and narrowed his eyes, as if searching his mother’s face for a lie, a crack in her empathy.

Somehow she managed to hide it.

“Let’s just be smart about this,” she said, cajoling him even though she wanted to strangle him for being such a dimwit. “For her sake. Ivy’s in some trouble as it is until this whole thing is cleared up, so you and she need to cool it, keep everything aboveboard and don’t bring her up here. She’s only seventeen. You can see her in the main house.”

His face clouded over, features hard. He wanted to argue, but didn’t.

Tucker was starting to wail and she rocked him on her hip as she asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“I decided to cut today.” Because of Ivy.

“Maybe you should rethink that. Get moving and make the next one. And you’ve got work later, right?”

“You don’t need to remind me, Mom. God, I’m an adult.”

“And you’re still technically under my roof, rent-free while you’re in school and working, so I’d be careful if I were you. No reason to blow a good deal.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t like her, do you?”

“Ivy? I hardly know her. You hardly know her.”

“I know you’re trying to manipulate me. Pretending to be all worried about Ivy when you’re really trying to manipulate her, too. Doing the whole cop thing. Don’t you think I see that? Jesus, you’re so transparent.”

“No ‘trans’ about it. I’m a parent. Period. Your parent. And I don’t dislike Ivy. She’s my niece and she just lost her mother. I’ve lost a sister.”

“But you don’t trust her. Ivy, I mean. I see it in your eyes.” He was shaking his head, running a hand through his hair. The way his father, Joe, had done when he’d been frustrated, and he’d been frustrated a lot. At his young wife.

Her marriage to Joe Strand had been as passionate as it had been rocky. Mercurial emotions. At this age, Jeremy was the spitting image of his father, but thankfully he had a cooler head than either of his parents when they’d struggled through their early twenties.

“Right?” he prodded.

“I just don’t know what she’s going through,” Pescoli said as the baby started to really wail, wriggling in her arms.

Jeremy’s lips twisted wryly. “I knew it. That’s your problem, Mom. You don’t trust anyone. Not even someone in your own family.”

“Trust is earned,” she said, walking outside again. “You know that.” But his arrow had hit its mark, or pretty damned close. Pescoli had a problem trusting anyone. “You’d better get going. There’s still time to catch your next class.”

Taller than she, he stared down at her. “It’s just so damned cool to have a mom who knows your whole schedule.”

Her temper flared. “And it’s just awesome to find my son in bed with his cousin.” She gave him one last piece of advice. “Just keep it in your pants, Jeremy.”

“I said nothing happened!”

“Keep it that way.”

“Oh, like you did?”

She froze. The air went still for a second. He was right, of course. Twice she’d gotten pregnant before she’d married. Acts of passion she didn’t regret. But he had a point. Their gazes clashed and she whispered, “L

ow blow, Jer.”

“Yeah. Well. Now you know how I feel.” He slammed the door so hard it banged shut.

The garage shook.