He kissed her forehead, and found saying the words to her helped settle him.
“I knew it was her when I was in that room. She told me where to hide. She took me there and showed me, so I knew. But only inside because . . .”
“She’s your mother.”
“Why doesn’t she love me?”
“I don’t know. But I do, Cate.”
“Does . . . does she have to live with us?”
“No, and she won’t. Ever.” It carved at him again, the shaky breath of relief his little girl let out.
“Do we have to live where we did? I don’t want to go back there anymore, and live where she did. I don’t—”
“Then we won’t. I think, for now, we could live with Grandpa and G-Lil. Until we find a place for just you and me.”
Hope, sweet and bright, lit her face. “Really?”
He made himself smile. “Sullivans stick together, right?”
She didn’t smile back, and her voice trembled. “Do I have to see her? Do I have to talk to her? Do I—”
“No.” He prayed he could make that the truth.
Her eyes, so blue, and now so robbed of innocence, looked into his. “She let them scare me, and hurt me. And I know what ‘lover’ means. She scared you, too, she hurt you, too. She doesn’t love us, and I don’t ever want to see her again. She’s not really my mother, because mothers don’t do that.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I don’t feel sad about it,” she claimed, even as tears started to roll. “I don’t care. I don’t love her either, so I don’t care.”
He said nothing; he understood completely. He felt exactly the same. Torn to bits, desperate not to care. So he just gathered her close, let her cry it out, cry herself to sleep.
And while she slept, he sat alone with her, watching the fire.
CHAPTER SIX
Deputy Michaela Wilson had pursued and accepted the job in Big Sur because she wanted a change, because she wanted community. And, though she wouldn’t admit it, because the man she’d lived with for two years, the man she thought she’d live with for the rest of her life, decided that being with a cop equaled too many complications.
She, a woman who believed to the marrow in law, order, rules, procedure, in justice, could admit she’d put the job ahead of their relationship more than once.
But to Michaela, that was the job.
She’d been an urbanite all her life, so the change of locations, of culture, of pace equaled an enormous personal challenge.
She’d wanted just that.
She wouldn’t deny that her first few weeks had tested her. She wouldn’t deny she thought of Red Buckman as Sheriff Dude. The man had a bikini-clad (well-endowed) woman riding a wave tattooed on his biceps.
He often wore an earring. Not to mention the hair.
All that added into the too laid back, in her opinion, too unbuttoned, and—she’d thought—too damn slow.
It wasn’t an easy matter for Michaela Lee Wilson to admit a mistake, especially one of judgment. But in the past eighteen hours or so, she’d had to admit this one.
He might look like a middle-aged surfer, but he was all cop.
She got another good dose of that cop when they sat in interview with Charlotte Dupont and her high-priced lawyer.
She didn’t know much about Charles Anthony Scarpetti, but she knew he’d flown up from L.A. in his private jet, wearing his sharp suit and Gucci shoes. And she knew—because Red had warned her—Scarpetti was the type who’d play to the media and pop up on Larry King.
Red sat placidly while Scarpetti pontificated in his slick lawyer way about motions for dismissal, about harassment, intimidation, filing for full custody of the minor child, spousal abuse.
Apparently he had a lot of rabbits in his lawyer hat. Red just let them hop around awhile.
Even twenty-four hours before, that placidity would have had Michaela metaphorically pulling her hair out. Now she saw it as carefully crafted strategy.
“I’ve got to say, Mr. Scarpetti, that’s a lot, and some really fine, shiny words in there, too. If you’re finished for now, I’ll tell you why you and your client are going to be disappointed.”
“Sheriff, I intend to have my client back in her home in Los Angeles, with her daughter, by this evening.”
“I know it. I get that clear impression. It’s not going to happen, and that’s a disappointment for both of you.” He leaned forward, but in a friendly way. “I have a really strong suspicion your client hasn’t been honest and