Broken (Will Trent 4)

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Tessa countered. “Don’t deny yourself, Sara. Jeffrey wouldn’t want that.”

“Jeffrey wouldn’t want me to ever touch another man ever again and you know it.”

“You’re probably right.” Still, she said, “I think Will could be good for you.”

Sara shook her head, wishing Tessa would drop the subject. Even if Will was available—even if by some miracle he was interested—Sara would never date another cop again. She couldn’t have a man leave her bed every morning not knowing whether or not he would come back in one piece that night. “I told you. He’s married.”

“Now, there’s married and there’s married.” Tessa had dabbled in more than her share of trysts before settling down. She’d practically had a revolving door to her bedroom. “Where’d he get that scar on his lip?”

“I have no idea.”

“Makes you want to kiss his mouth.”

“Tess.”

“Did you know about him growing up in a home?”

“I thought you were in the kitchen when he talked about that.”

“I had my ear pressed to the door,” she explained. “He eats like the kids at the orphanage.”

“What do you mean?”

“The way he sort of wraps his arm around his plate so no one can steal his food.”

Sara hadn’t noticed, but now she realized it was true.

“I can’t imagine growing up without parents. I mean—” She laughed. “After tonight, it seems ideal, but it must’ve been hard for him.”

“Probably.”

“Ask him about it.”

“That would be rude.”

“Don’t you want to know more about him?”

“No,” Sara lied, because of course she did. She wanted to know about the scars. She wanted to know how he had entered the system as an infant and never been adopted. She wanted to know how he could stand in a room full of people and still seem completely alone.

“The kids in my orphanage are so happy,” Tessa said. “They miss their parents—there’s no question about that. But, they get to go to school. They get three meals a day, clean clothes. They don’t have to work. The other kids who still have parents are jealous.” She smoothed out her skirt. “Why don’t you ask Will what it was like for him?”

“It’s none of my business.”

“Give Mama another go at him and you’ll find out everything.” Tessa pointed her finger at Sara’s chest. “You have to admit she was at the top of her game tonight.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

Tessa affected their mother’s soft accent. “Tell me, Mr. Trent, do you prefer boxers or briefs?” Sara laughed, and Tessa continued, “Was your first sexual experience from a missionary position or more of a canine nature?”

Sara laughed so hard that her stomach ached. She wiped her eyes, thinking this was the first time she was actually happy to be home. “I’ve missed you, Tess.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Sissy.” Tessa struggled to stand. “But right now, I’d better go to the bathroom before I pee in my pants from all this laughing.” She made her way up the stairs, taking them one tread at a time. The door closed softly behind her.

Sara stared into the basement. Her mother’s rocking chair and lamp were in a corner by a small window. The ironing board was out, ready to be used. Plastic containers along the back wall held all of Sara and Tessa’s childhood mementos, at least the ones that her mother deemed worth keeping. Yearbooks, school photos, report cards, and class papers filled two boxes for each girl. Eventually, Tessa’s baby would get her own box. She would have baby shoes and flyers from school plays and piano recitals. Or soccer trophies, if Tessa got her way.

Sara couldn’t have children. An ectopic pregnancy while she was in medical school had taken away her ability. She’d been trying to adopt a child with Jeffrey, but that dream had disappeared the day he’d died. He had a son somewhere, a brilliant, strong young man who had never been told that Jeffrey was his real father. Jeffrey was just an honorary uncle, Sara an honorary aunt. She often thought about reaching out to the boy, but the decision was not hers. He had a mother and father who had done a very good job of raising him. Ruining that, telling him he had a father he could never talk to, seemed like an act of cruelty.

Except where Lena was concerned, Sara had an intense aversion to inflicting cruelty.

The dryer buzzed. The towels were ready enough, considering she had to walk outside in the pouring rain. She put on her jacket and left the house as quietly as she could. Outside, the rain had turned into a drizzle again. She glanced up at the night sky. Even with the dark clouds, she could see the stars. Sara had forgotten what it was like to be away from the lights of the city. The night was as black as coal. There were no sirens or screams or random gunshots piercing the air. There were only crickets and the occasional howl of a lonely dog.

Sara stood outside Will’s door, wondering if she should knock. It was late. He might have already gone to sleep.

He opened the door just as she turned around. Will certainly wasn’t looking at her all googly-eyed, as Tessa had stated. If anything, he seemed distracted.

“Towels,” she told him. “I’ll just leave them with you.”

“Wait.”

Sara held up her hand to keep the rain from pelting her in the eyes. She found herself staring at Will’s mouth, the scar above his lip.

“Please come in.” He stepped back so she could walk through the door.

Sara felt an unexplained wariness. Still, she went inside. “I am so sorry about my mother.”

“She should teach a class on interrogation at the academy.”

“I cannot apologize enough.”

He handed her one of the clean towels to wipe her face. “She loves you very much.”

Sara hadn’t expected his response. She supposed a man who had lost his mother at such a young age had a different perspective on Cathy’s obtrusiveness.

“Did you ever—” Sara stopped. “Never mind. I should let you get to sleep.”

“Ever what?”

“I mean …” Sara felt her cheeks redden again. “Were you in foster homes? Or …”

He nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Good ones?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Sara was thinking about the bruise on his belly—not a bruise at all, but something far more sinister. She had seen her share of electrical burns in the morgue. They left their own distinct mark, like a dusting of gunpowder that got under the skin and never washed away. The dark branding on Will’s body had faded with time. He’d probably been a child when it happened.

“Dr. Linton?”

She shook her head by way of apology. Instinctively, her hand went to his arm. “Can I get you anything else? I think there’s some extra blankets in the closet.”

“I’ve got some questions for you. If you have a few minutes?”

She had forgotten the reason she’d come up here in the first place. “Of course.”

He indicated the couch. Sara sank into the old cushion, which nearly swallowed her. She looked around the room, seeing it as Will might. There was nothing fancy about the space. A galley kitchen. A tiny bedroom with an even tinier bathroom. The shag carpet had seen better days. Buckled wood paneling covered every vertical surface. The couch was older than Sara. And it was big enough for two people to comfortably lie down on, which was why Cathy had moved it from the den to the upstairs apartment when Sara turned fifteen. Not that Sara had boys lining up to lie on the couch with her, but Tessa, three years younger, had.