Shadows in Death (In Death #51) - J.D. Robb Page 0,79

Give me your word on the program, and it’s yours. No one will say you stole it.”

“Why?” Suspicion darkened those sharp eyes as the boy stuck his hands in his pockets. “You looking for a BJ or something?”

“Ah Christ, do I look like I solicit underage boys for sex?”

Gee’s gaze held Roarke’s. “Plenty do who don’t look like it.”

“That’s true enough, isn’t it? Sign up for the program, take the guitar, and the only strings are the six on it. Take the deal, Gee. It’s a fine one.”

When the boy still hesitated, Roarke pushed. “There was a time in my life no one gave me a bloody thing either but a hard hand. Then someone did, and it changed my life. Take it, give the program, give the school a chance. See where it takes you.”

“I can just keep it?”

“That’s right. I’ll make sure Ms. Pickering and the rest of the staff know it’s yours.”

“I … Okay.” Gee pulled his hands out of his pockets, took the guitar, smoothed his fingers down the neck. “Can I keep it if I get booted?”

“It’s yours,” Roarke repeated. “Don’t get booted,” he added as he started out.

He barely made it through the door before the music rocked out again.

He hunted up Rochelle to tell her about the guitar, and the student.

“Gee.” Rochelle, in jeans and a peach-colored sweater chosen to give the day a more informal feel, consulted her PPC. “That would be Gregg Harding—I have thumbnails on here.”

Roarke smiled at her. “Of course you do.”

“Age fourteen. Father unknown, mother … Multiple citations for neglect, abuse, signed away her parental rights when he was eleven. Foster homes—runaway. Child Services picked him up again about five months ago. His social worker did some serious work with him, and pushed to get him enrolled. I can check the files for more details.”

“Not necessary for me. Just make sure he keeps his end of the deal. I’ll replace the guitar.”

“That’s our job—out of your budget. I’ll take care of it.” She put the PPC away. “It’s a good day, Roarke.”

“Is it that.”

“It’s going to be a good week, a good start. Middle grades coming in tomorrow, then the early grades follow that. I’m so proud to be a part of this. We’re changing lives here, and, I believe, saving some.”

So did he.

Before he left, he decided to walk up to the roof, to the gardens, the memorial for the lost girls, the air, and the open.

And there he found Quilla with her vid cam.

A sharp one, was Quilla, Roarke thought. She’d know where the boy Gee came from, how he’d gotten there, as she’d come from similar. Music wasn’t her skill, as far as Roarke knew. But observation was—and she wanted to use that skill to become a reporter.

Interning with Nadine Furst had, he supposed the term would be, polished her up a bit. She wore snug flowered pants and high-top sneaks with a loose purple T-shirt that matched the streaks in her hair.

Confidence—never a problem for Quilla—radiated as she panned the city for her vlog.

“And from here,” she said, “we can look out on where we came from, where one day we’ll go back. We’ll be smarter, we’ll be stronger, and we’ll make the city, maybe the world beyond it, a better place. This is Quilla, reporting for An Didean.”

She turned, jolted a little, then grinned at Roarke. “Hey. Didn’t hear you come up.”

“Hey yourself. I didn’t want to interrupt your report.”

“I have to edit the crap out of it. I got so much stuff! I figured to end the first part up here, you know, like the big visual.”

“You’re a clever one, Quilla.”

“Oh yeah. Anyway, probably Ms. Pickering’s going to want me to cut out the swear words and all—but that’s really censorship, right? Still, I want Nadine to see the raw footage. She has opinions.” She rolled her eyes, then laughed. “Really good ones mostly.

“I got some of you on here. Nothing, like, embarrassing or anything.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I kinda wanted to get some of Dallas.”

“She’s going to try to get by today.”

“Okay, frosty. Anyway … Nadine said she would maybe use some on her show—the Now! That would be beyond mag. If it’s good enough.”

“Show me some.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“Pick ten minutes,” he said, and sat on the bench by the memorial.

Clutching the vid cam, the ever-confident Quilla showed nerves.

“Will you be, like, totally honest? Even brutal? Nadine says if you pretend something’s good when it’s not, you’re not doing anybody any