“It’s okay,” I soothed him. “I promise you Mrs. Durant and her daughter are not your responsibility.”
Tears welled up in his eyes, and I slid an arm around his shoulders. It took a moment, and then I had a sixteen-year-old boy sobbing all over me.
“My mom always said that it was our responsibility to take care of people who didn’t have all the blessings we had.”
His parents were killed in what was made to look like a home invasion but was really his father’s close friend and business partner, Charlton Stewart. Apparently he’d been skimming from their employees’ retirement fund and from their clients, and Jason’s father was a day away from finding out the truth. It would have been the perfect crime, but Jason came home early, saw his godfather, and fled. The people Stewart was giving the money to were not happy, and thus, WITSEC for Jason.
When Jason turned twenty-one, he had a hefty trust fund coming his way, but nothing, even the death of his parents, could change that he had to wait. It ended up lucky for him, though, with all the people who came after Stewart, and in turn Jason’s parents’ estate, to recoup their stolen money. The estate was picked clean but for the trust fund. I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Jason to go from private schools and country clubs to the inner city. Cullen, of course, saw a black boy and nothing else. She never considered for a moment how new and different the transition had to have been for him.
“Marshal?”
“Yes?” I said softly, rubbing circles on his back as his face stayed down on my shoulder, his arms wrapped around my waist.
“Can I go live somewhere else?”
“Yes, you most certainly can,” I sighed. “Let’s go upstairs and collect your things, all right?”
He cleared his throat as he leaned back to peer up at my face. “You’re sure it’s okay? Mrs. Durant won’t think I abandoned her?”
“No, buddy, I promise she won’t.”
He shuddered, and I could see he was relieved. “Maybe, uhm…. I’ve been staying at my friend Mark’s house a lot, and his mom said I could visit any time.”
“Where do they live?”
“In La Grange,” he told me. “I met him when he came to my school for a science fair.”
I nodded, and he smiled sheepishly.
“We’re both big nerds.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I assured him. “Let’s go upstairs and get your stuff.”
He was more than ready to do that.
MRS. APRIL Takashima, Mark’s mom, was very excited about the idea of keeping Jason. Her husband, a high school science teacher at a Montessori school in the area, was also thrilled by the prospect. And their oldest had just left for Yale, so they even had a bedroom open. The money for taking him in would be welcome, but more importantly, Jason was an excellent influence on Mark, who was, April told me, a bit of flibbertigibbet.
I nodded because she was very serious when she said it. Like not being able to focus was the worst thing she could think of.
As Redeker, Macin, and I walked down the long row of stairs that led from the Takashimas’ front door to the sidewalk, Macin explained it didn’t work like this.
“Whatzat?” I asked, rounding on her at the bottom.
“This doesn’t just happen,” she blurted, and I wasn’t sure if she was excited or irritated. It sounded like a bit of both. “You don’t just snap your fingers and abracadabra, new life.”
I was confused. “But that’s exactly what WITSEC does.”
She shook her head.
“You lost me.”
“You don’t move kids in one day! You don’t trust people you haven’t vetted to enroll kids in school, to just take them in and—who are you?”
“This is Custodial WITSEC,” I explained. “I have the authority to make any decisions I deem appropriate for the continued safety of my witnesses.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“This is all within the scope of the marshals service,” Redeker reminded her.
“I know that, but—”
“I don’t understand, then,” I said.
She gestured at me. “You don’t just poof foster parents into being.”
“What?”
“The Takashimas,” she explained. “It should take months to decide if they are a suitable fit for Jason. We have to run background checks and financials and—”
“We did all that,” I apprised her. “You saw me and Redeker on the phone.”
“I know! How the hell do you guys have access to someone’s whole life that fast?”
I looked at Redeker, who only shrugged before returning my focus to her. “We’re United States marshals, ma’am. We don’t wait for anything.”
She just stood there shaking her head in disbelief.
“We all missed lunch,” I announced into the silence. “I think we should have a late one. Who’s with me?”
“I saw an Indian place,” Redeker chimed in. “How’s that sound?”
She looked back and forth between us. “Things don’t happen this fast.”
“You keep saying that,” I apprised her. “But in my world,” I said, hand over my heart, “in his,” I continued, placing my hand on Redeker’s shoulder, “they do. They always have.”