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  “A neighbor called 911 because of loud screams coming from your property, Mrs. Brody,” Sergeant Connor said. “Where is your foster child now?”

  “Oh, she’s hopeless,” Barbie groused. “If you had any idea of what we’ve gone through with that girl—”

  “Her whereabouts, Mrs. Brody? Mr. Brody?” Sergeant Connor’s voice grew sharper.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s out with that little tramp Gloria.” Barbie folded her arms across her chest.

  “Last I heard from Stephanie, she was hiding under the back porch,” Tierney said. Raising her chin, she returned Barbie’s furious gaze. “As her curfew is seven p.m., she’s not out partying.”

  “Hiding?” Sergeant Connor now turned completely toward Tierney. “Why?” She waved over two colleagues.

  “She’s afraid of the Brodys’ adopted son, Dylan, who’s a grown man. He harasses her, just like he did me, when we were both foster kids here.”

  “Davies, Crowe, go check under the back porch.” Connor tilted her head. “Since this girl knows you, you can go with them.” She turned back to the Brodys. “And I want to hear more about Dylan.”

  “He’s a gentle giant,” Barbie wailed. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s just misunderstood.”

  “And where is he?” Connor asked.

  Tierney didn’t hear Barbie’s reply as she hurried after the two cops. Rounding the house, she saw the garden where Barbie had made her work hours on end, maintaining the perfection she demanded. The multitude of colorful birdhouses lit by little LED lights was new. The cop closest to her, Crowe, turned on his flashlight, but Tierney held up her hand toward him. “Don’t use that.’ If you shine that into her face, she’ll freak out. Let me talk to her.”

  “All right.” Crowe motioned for Tierney to go ahead. “We’re right behind you.”

  “Thanks.” Not even remotely concerned with going down on all fours in Barbie’s perfect flowerbed, Tierney crawled toward the end of the porch, where there used to be a small hole. It had been her hideout when she just couldn’t take anymore. She hoped this was where Steph had squeezed in under the wooden porch. It was eerily dark and cold under the house. Her knees and hands sank into the soggy ground, and Tierney remembered huddling in here, praying nobody found out where she was. She had to have been much smaller then. Even if she wasn’t very tall now, it was still very cramped.

  “Steph? Hey, kiddo? It’s me, Tierney. Are you in here? You’re safe now. My friend Giselle and I drove down to make sure everyone took this seriously.”

  “T-Tierney?” a faint, trembling voice said from far under the house. “Is that really you?”

  “Sure is. Wait a sec.” Tierney turned around and called out to Crowe. “May I borrow your flashlight, Officer?”

  “Here you go, ma’am.” The small Maglite entered through the hole.

  Tierney switched it on and directed it to her face from a distance, so not to inadvertently do the scary mask by lighting it from below, like she’d done with her friends when telling ghost stories. “See. It’s me.”

  “Tierney!” A shuffling noise came from Steph’s direction.

  After only a few moments, Tierney held a cold, shivering, teenaged girl in her arms under the porch. Stephanie sobbed, heartbreaking dry sobs, as if her tears had long given out. “Thank you. Oh, thank you for coming. Don’t make me stay. Don’t let them make me stay.”

  “We have a rather terrific cop out front who’s questioning Barbie and Victor. Do you know where Dylan is?”

  “N-no? He’s been in the garden, calling my name, hissing at me. He may have started to suspect I was hiding underneath. Good thing he’s so big he can’t get under here. At least not fast enough to grab me.”

  “A really good thing. Now, why don’t we crawl out of here and get you a blanket. Two cops are outside, Officers Crowe and Davies. They seem nice.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Not sounding entirely convinced, Steph began to crawl along with Tierney. When they reached the opening, Tierney alerted Officer Crow. “Hey. We’re on our way out. Can you step back just a little bit? I’m sure you’re a great cop, but we foster kids aren’t the most trusting people you’ll ever meet.”

  “No problem, ma’am.”

  Ma’am? Tierney wasn’t used to anyone calling her that. When she was on the road, the best she could hope for was “Hey, you.” She opted to go through first so she could help Steph when she exited the cramped space. Having been in there for hours, the girl was bound to be stiff and cold.

  It was a relief to stand up and stretch her legs. The damp dirt under the house had permeated her clothes. She hoped Giselle wouldn’t mind if she messed up the seat in the car as she drove home. At least they were leather seats, and she would recondition the car until it looked brand-new as a thank you for helping her rescue Stephanie.

  Stephanie poked her head out and took Tierney’s hand. She rose on wobbly legs and wrapped her arms around Tierney’s waist. Officer Davies, a tall African-American woman, unfolded a blanket and put it around them. As they made their way around the house to the front, the shrill voice originating from Barbie met them.

  “There she is. Stephanie!” Barbie yelled and began walking toward them. “We’ve been so worried.”

  Stephanie pulled back, taking Tierney with her. “No!” Her voice was broken and terrified. “I can’t. I can’t.”

  “Step back, ma’am,” Sergeant Connor said and took Barbie by the arm. “Give the girl some space. She seems to know and trust Ms. Edwards.”

  “They’ve never even met!” Victor decided to meddle. “This kid, she needs a firm hand, and she doesn’t like Dylan because he’s a godsend when it comes to helping us with the current foster kids.”

  “You have this man, who clearly scares the living daylights out of the girl here, helping you raise these children who have been placed in your care?” The low growl in Sergeant Connor’s voice didn’t escape Tierney.

  “This man, as you put it, is our son!” Victor spat the words. “And what goes on in our house is no business of the police.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong again.” Sergeant Connor shook her head. Turning to Davies, she spoke in a forced calm tone. “Get ahold of Child Protective Services. After what I’ve heard from these people, this girl isn’t staying here.”

  Victor looked like he was about to object but instead turned to his wife. “I’m getting in touch with our lawyer. We’re not letting them keep her.”

  “You’re afraid of losing the only income you have, eh?” Tierney sneered as she kept her arm around Stephanie. “What about the other four kids in the house, Barbie?” She saw the surprise on Barbie’s face. “Yes. I know everything about them. Two boys, eleven and eight, and two girls, twins, who are, ten, wasn’t it, Steph?”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie whispered.

  “You little rat.” Barbie glowered at Stephanie. “That’s how you show loyalty? Telling tales about our family?”

  Stephanie was still shaking, but clearly Barbie’s words ignited a fire in her. “This is not my family, not even a family. It’s a business where you keep as many foster kids as CPS will place at your house, and you let the older kids take care of the younger ones. And do all the housework.”

  “Those are reasonable chores!” Victor was back and tucking a cellphone into his pants again.

  “Reasonable? You went to Mexico with Barbie for a week and left us alone with that disgusting oaf you call a son.” Suddenly looking unafraid, Stephanie broke free from Tierney’s arms and stalked up to Victor. “You have no idea what I had to do to keep him away from the kids. We put mattresses on the floor in the twins’ and my room and pushed the dresser across the doorway to make sure he didn’t get in while we were sleeping.”

  Sergeant Connor gently pulled Stephanie back from Victor, and Tierney thought it was probably just in the nick of time. Steph looked like she was about to clock the man. Pulling her radio to her lips, Connor called for backup. “We need more case workers from
the CPS,” she said into the radio. “We have five underage children here that need to be examined at the hospital to make sure they’re not undernourished or abused.” She turned to Barbie and Victor. “Where’s your son? Where’s Dylan?”

  “He’s a grown man,” Barbie said, averting her eyes. “He comes and goes as he pleases.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He has a curfew,” Stephanie said, her teeth beginning to clatter audibly again. “Dylan could be in the house. You need to go get the other kids.”

  “We’re doing that.” Connor pulled at the radio again but stopped in mid-motion when a loud growl echoed through the night. The closest neighbors took a step back toward their front door, and Tierney couldn’t blame them. The horrible noise had emanated from the Brody house.

  Staring in terror-filled fascination, Tierney saw a tall, burly man, whom she easily recognized as an aged version of Dylan, plow through the doorway, pushing the officers holding onto him away as if swatting at flies. Officer Davies was just returning from her patrol car and now pulled her Taser, aiming for the giant of a man. The wires shot through the air and hit Dylan on the side of his chest. At first the impact had hardly any effect, but then he went rigid and fell to the ground.

  Tierney thought Stephanie had seen more than enough. “I’m taking Steph back to my car. Why don’t you bring the other kids there while we wait for CPS?” She hoped Connor would see it her way. “The four younger ones probably rely on her, and I bet they’ll be less traumatized in a civilian car than a black-and-white.”

  “Good point.” Looking over to the Jeep, Connor asked, “Who’s in the passenger seat?”

  “That’s Giselle, my friend. It’s her car, actually.” Tierney began to walk toward the Jeep, pulling Stephanie with her. “Hey, kiddo, they’re going to bring the others to Giselle’s car. She’s really nice.”

  “Okay.” Stephanie’s voice was small again, and the fighting spirit she had demonstrated earlier was gone.

  As they reached the vehicle, Tierney heard the click showing that Giselle had disengaged the central locking system. Opening the passenger door on the driver’s side, Tierney motioned for Stephanie to get in. “Giselle, this is Stephanie. We’re just waiting for the other four kids.” She pleaded with her eyes for Giselle not to freak out.

  “Hello, Stephanie. It’s nice to meet you.” Giselle extended her hand.

  Stephanie shook it shyly. “Hi.” She stared at Giselle, looking close to awestruck in the middle of all this drama.

  “I see you have a blanket, and if you need more, you’ll find three more in the back of the Jeep. If you lean over the backrest, you can reach them.”

  “Thanks.” Stephanie pulled the blankets toward her and sat back down. Turning to Tierney, she whispered, “She’s very beautiful.”

  Tierney glanced at Giselle and then returned her gaze to Stephanie. “That she is, kiddo.”

  It took about ten minutes, during which they sat in silence, before the officers and Sergeant Connor brought four wide-eyed children to the Jeep. Stephanie opened the door, climbed out, and motioned for the younger children to crawl inside. There she wrapped the blankets around them. Stephanie closed the door but kept the window rolled down so they could talk to Connor.

  “Wow. It smells so good in here.” One of the twins sniffed the air. “Like cookies.”

  Tierney chuckled. “I think it’s Giselle’s perfume.”

  Giselle looked like she wanted to swat Tierney over the head for that comment, but she merely smiled at the children. “You warm enough? Tell us if you’re cold. We can start the car.”

  “I’m good with this fancy blanket,” the oldest boy said. “My name’s Lucas.” He didn’t extend his hand but merely wiggled his fingers just outside of the “fancy blanket.”

  “Lucas is eleven. This is Howie. He’s eight. Lizzie and Meg are twins. They’re ten.” Stephanie sat with her arms around the two children closest to her. “We’ve been together at the Brodys’ for almost one-and-a-half years.”

  “Are you okay, all of you?” Connor asked from outside the car. She had been talking into her radio on and off. “CPS is on its way. You won’t go back to the Brodys tonight. My officers are in there, packing your things.”

  “Barbie won’t let you take anything. She claims those clothes are really hers. She makes all the kids wear them, and then she keeps them when they leave.” Lucas spoke matter-of-factly. “I had a really nice jacket before that my brother gave me when he grew out of it. When he turned eighteen, we couldn’t be together anymore, but he’s coming back for me once he has a good apartment.” Jutting his chin out, Lucas defied anyone to contradict him. “The jacket is long gone. I think she sold it. It was made from real leather, and it smelled like him.” He blinked several times.

  “I could kill that woman,” Tierney whispered to Giselle, mindful of the kids. “The one thing he had of his brother’s.”

  “It is appalling.” Giselle’s eyes were darker than Tierney had ever seen them.

  They chatted with the children, and soon the youngest boy, Howie, fell asleep. The older three were restless and kept turning their heads, as if looking for any of the Brodys.

  “They can’t get to you in here,” Tierney said firmly. “Sergeant Connor is a good cop, and we’re inside a locked car. You’re safe.”

  “Unless the CPS has no open spots for us to go to, and they send us back. Dylan will be there.” Lucas chewed on his bottom lip.

  “I think they’ll try very hard to help you guys now.” Tierney wanted to promise him there would be foster homes, good ones, available to them, but it was impossible. The worst things for these children were broken promises.

  Tierney heard voices outside the car. She could see Sergeant Connor talking to a middle-aged woman wearing a jacket over her pajamas and holding a tray in her hands. Connor tapped on the now-rolled-up window. Stephanie lowered it.

  “This is Mrs. Lassiter. She has some cheese sandwiches and cartons of juice if anyone’s hungry.”

  “Oh, I am!” Howie was apparently awake and now sat up straight, looking with huge eyes behind glasses at the tray. “May I have one, please?”

  “Sure. Here, Stephanie. Take the tray. You’ll find straws to go with the juice.”

  Connor pushed the tray through the window. “Thank you, Mrs. Lassiter.”

  “Claire, please. My husband is bringing another tray for the grownups.”

  For some reason, this kindness from a neighbor that Tierney didn’t recognize from when she lived with the Brodys brought tears to her eyes. Clear drops hung from her eyelashes as she took a sandwich and handed one to Giselle. “Just when you think most people are scum, you run into someone like Claire Lassiter—or you.” Tierney took Giselle’s left hand in her free one.

  “Or you,” Giselle said, returning the compliment.

  Another knock on the door indicated that CPS had arrived. A large van was parked behind the Jeep, and now two women and one man talked to Connor. It took them about ten minutes to discuss the situation at hand, and then Connor walked back to the Jeep, tapping on Tierney’s window this time.

  “For the most part, things are looking up,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck.

  “For the most part?” Tierney looked suspiciously at Connor.

  “They have two different emergency foster homes that can take the four youngest. The girls in one, the boys in the other.”

  “And Stephanie?” Tierney gripped her sandwich harder, nearly poking her fingers straight through the slice of bread.

  “They don’t have a home for her yet. If nothing else comes up, we’ll move her into a group home.” Connor’s expression showed she didn’t like that solution one bit. “Who knows? A new placement can come available at any given time.”

  “Or not.” Stephanie had scooted forward and regarded Connor with opaque eyes. “I’m not going back. Even a group home is a million times better.” Her words were brave and she spoke with a firm tone, but a desolate expression ghosted o
ver her face.

  “Steph?” Howie said, clinging to her arm.

  “Shh, cutie. It’ll be all right.” Stephanie squeezed his shoulder. “You’re going to be fine, and me too.”

  “Yes, you are. Officer Connor, was it?” Giselle spoke, startling them all.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Connor nodded briskly.

  “My name is Giselle Bonnaire. I live outside East Quay. Is there any chance Stephanie can come home with us?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Giselle wasn’t entirely sure where her words originating from. Considering she had tried her hardest to ward off Tierney less than a week ago, asking if Stephanie—a complete stranger, and a troubled teen at that—could come home with them was crazy. In fact, she’d rather not contemplate too closely the fact that she even thought of it as “coming home with them.”

  Sergeant Connor looked hesitant. “As heartwarming as that is, I’m not sure this will fly with the CPS. We have no idea who you really are.”

  “Yet CPS was willing to place five kids with family-of-the-year over there.” Tierney motioned toward the Brodys, who stood together, still gesturing wildly in their direction.

  “Hey, I hear you, but I don’t call the shots when it comes to these matters.”

  Tierney sighed. “Giselle is a very famous composer and well known in the music industry, as well as in East Quay.”

  “Really?” Bending, Connor looked closely at Giselle, who wasn’t sure she approved of Tierney’s well-meant praise.

  “Really,” Giselle said. “If you, or the CPS, want references, you can call Manon Belmont, the president of the Belmont Foundation. I’m sure everyone in the state of Rhode Island has heard of her.”

  Connor nodded, looking impressed. “I sure have, ma’am. Let me check with CPS. They’re looking exasperated over there. You may just stand a chance.”

  “Tierney?” Stephanie murmured from the backseat. “Are you sure? And, ma’am, please don’t feel you have to do this. I’m just glad to get away from the Brodys. Especially Dylan.” She shuddered.