Shattered Justice (16 page)

Shelby straightened, leaning back against the seat. “I’m afraid if we don’t reach him soon …”

“You’ll lose him.”

She nodded, and he saw how that grieved her.

“Well, then—” he plucked what was left of his pickle from her fingers, downing it in one decisive bite—“we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL A GOURMET MEAL.”

Dan couldn’t restrain a guffaw. “A hamburger and fries qualifies as gourmet?”

Shelby folded her hands in front of her. “Not just any burger and fries, of course, but Lou’s burger and fries?” She dipped the last fry on her plate in a concoction she’d made by mixing mayo and catsup together, then popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes as she chewed. “Mmm. Definitely gourmet.” She opened her eyes and licked her lips. “You’ll have to bring Jayce here one of these days.”

“Yeah. Jayce.” Dan picked up his unused knife and drew circles on the tablecloth. “So tell me about this kid. Thirteen going on forty, you said?”

“Right.” She reached into her oversize purse and pulled out a manila folder. Opening it on the table in front of her, she slid
a picture across to Dan. “Deputy Justice, meet Jayce Dalton.”

He studied the photo, taking in the firm jaw, the short-cropped golden hair, the gleam of defiance in those unsmiling blue eyes. “This kid
looks
forty.”

“I know, but then, he hasn’t ever really been a child. His father worked in lumber before Jayce was born. After that industry collapsed and he lost his job, the father just drifted from one dead-end job to another. Couldn’t seem to hold anything for more than a month or two. He finally gave up. Made ends meet by breaking into homes of very wealthy people.”

Dan paused, a French fry halfway to his mouth. “Brilliant.”

“Well, kind of, actually. Mr. Dalton had an uncanny knack for choosing homes containing small but especially valuable property. Apparently he made a pretty decent living.”

“Goody for him.”

A rueful smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Yes, well, never fear. While the man had excellent taste in choosing his targets, he was a sadly inept burglar. He managed to pull off three fairly substantial jobs, but on the fourth he found himself surrounded by police, guns drawn and aimed right at him.”

“Chalk one up for the good guys.”

Shelby chuckled, tucking Jayce’s picture back into the folder and closing it. “Indeed. To his credit, Mr. Dalton offered no resistance as they cuffed him—”

“Perps usually don’t when you’ve got your gun on ’em.”

She ignored that. “He just asked that he be allowed to call his mother so she could watch out for his boy. When the gavel fell at Mr. Dalton’s trial, he’d been sentenced to nearly twenty-five years in the Oregon state penitentiary.”

“And Jayce?”

“He moved in with his grandmother, who, despite a heart condition, did her best to raise him. Unfortunately, his early years gave him a bit of a bad taste for rules and regulations.”

“A rebel is born, eh?”

She slid the folder from the table and put it back in her
bag. “An unusually bright rebel, who found all kinds of creative ways to get into trouble. By the time he was in grade school, he was known as ‘that Dalton kid,’ an inveterate troublemaker. A reputation that’s still in force today.”

She reached for her check, but with one deft movement, Dan snagged it before her fingers made contact. Her brow furrowed. “Dan.”

He slid from the booth, pulling out his wallet. “Know what
my
daddy taught me? Never let a pretty woman pay.”

He held his hand out, pleased when she laid her hand in his and let him help her from the booth.

“Sounds like your daddy was a nice man.”

He liked the feel of her hand tucked in his. “The very best.”

“Explains where you get it from.”

Whether it was her words, her warm smile, or the gentle squeeze on his hand, Dan wasn’t certain. But he suddenly had the sense of being on unfamiliar—and unstable—territory. Dropping her hand, he turned and headed for the register.

By the time he paid their bills, he had regained a bit of composure. “So anything else you want me to know about Jayce?” He held the door open for her as they exited the restaurant and walked toward her car.

“Jayce was picked up for various minor offenses.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, you know, truancy, loitering—nothing big.” She paused beside her car, turning to face him. “But in the last few years, Jayce has gotten into increasing trouble, culminating in being picked up a few months ago for theft.”

Dan’s brows rose.

“That’s when his grandmother called Master’s Touch. It was clear she was pretty much at her wit’s end. She’s convinced Jayce is a good boy at heart; he’s just fallen in with the wrong crowd.”

Dan’s expression must have given him away, because Shelby poked him in the ribs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you skepticism isn’t attractive in a man?”

He rubbed the spot she’d poked. “Ouch.”

Her lips twitched. “Baby.”

“Bony fingers.”

“Brat.”

Dan laughed. “No denying that.” He leaned against her car. “About Jayce, you have to admit that’s what they all say. ‘Junior’s a saint; it’s the other kids who lead him wrong.’ ”

She conceded his point, though the uptilt of her lips told him she wasn’t in complete agreement. “You’re right, of course. But in this case …”

He slid his hands into his pockets. “You think Granny’s right.”

“I do. Have you encountered a boy yet named Marlin Murphy?”

“Yeah, I’ve met the kid. A bruiser who heads up a gang of bullies. I’ve gotten calls about them for vandalism and shoplifting, and most everyone figures these are the thugs blowing up mailboxes and outhouses.”

Shelby leaned her elbow on the top of her car and rested her chin in her hand. “And yet these bastions of society continue to roam the fair streets of Sanctuary.”

“I can’t exactly haul them in without hard evidence.”

“More’s the pity.”

“Don’t tell me that’s the group this Jayce kid is involved with.”

“One and the same.” She straightened, searching in her purse for her car keys. “Mrs. Dalton says Jayce seems to admire and want to please Marlin, which, of course, convinces her the boy’s in the fast lane to following in his daddy’s footsteps. So she’s determined to break his ties with our man Marlin and his—” she snickered—“ ‘gang of scallywags,’ as she called them.”

“That must have gone over big.”

“Like showing
Bambi
at an NRA meeting.”

His burst of laughter made her smile as well. “Anyway, after Mrs. Dalton and I talked, she asked if I’d go with her to tell
Jayce he was going to take part in our program.”

“Needed backup, did she?”

“Hardly. More like she wanted me to be there to haul him away if he didn’t agree. You should have seen her, Dan. She’s this little white-haired lady, but when Jayce started to give her grief, she just squared off with him, poked a bony finger in his chest, and told him, ‘It’s either that, boy, or I turn you over to this lady to take you to Family Services. Take your pick.’ ”

“Whoa.” Had to admire that kind of grit. “So what do you think? Is our boy a victim of bad environment and worse friends? Is there something worth salvaging in this kid?”

Shelby pursed her lips. “I’ve only been around Jayce a few weeks now, but I think something is really good about this boy. It’s just buried under a lot of garbage.” She unlocked her car door. “Which is where you come in.”

He straightened and bent one arm, flexing his muscle. “You want I should take out the trash?”

She swatted him. “I
want
you should help this kid see he’s got options.” Opening her car door, she slid in, turned the key in the ignition, and pressed the button to lower the window. She leaned on the still-open car door, looking up at him. “And maybe let Jayce get a glimpse of something really wonderful.”

“You mean me?”

She pulled the car door shut. “I mean God.”

All teasing was gone from Shelby’s expression. In its place was warmth. Trust. And something else.

Something that both soothed and unnerved him.

She put her hand over his where it rested on the car door. “First time I met you I knew I saw Him in your eyes, Dan. Jayce will see Him, too.”

As Shelby’s car pulled away, an echo whispered through Dan: “
I always saw God in your eyes
…”

But as Dan walked to his car, he couldn’t tell whose voice was speaking—Sarah’s …

Or Shelby’s.

FUNNY. THIS SEEMED LIKE SUCH A GOOD IDEA YESTERDAY
, as Dan looked into Shelby’s imploring eyes. Now?

Now it was a truly rotten idea.

Probably because the eyes he was looking into now were about as far from Shelby’s as it got.

Sure, they were blue. But where Shelby’s eyes glowed with warmth, these baby blues were pure ice. Crater Lake in January.

And hard? They made obsidian seem soft and cuddly.

Dan could hardly believe those eyes belonged to a kid. But then, like Shelby said, Jayce hadn’t had much of a chance to be a kid.

When Shelby had introduced them, Jayce didn’t say a word. He just stood there, hands stuffed in his pockets, those icy eyes fixed on Dan, watching. When Shelby walked away, saying she’d give them some time to get acquainted, Dan tried
to read the boy’s reaction. He looked like a rabbit about to bolt.

Either that, or a predator about to strike.

Dan was sure of this much: Jayce Dalton had a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount St. Helens. But who could blame him? How many adults in his short life had tried to gain his trust, to explain away the pain of his thirteen years, only to let him down?

How many more—his own mother included—had just gone straight to the letting down?

Not exactly solid ground for building friendship, trust. Much of anything.

“So—” Dan motioned toward the door with his head—“you wanna go shoot some hoops or something?” Master’s Touch had an outdoor recreation area. It wasn’t fancy, but the kids enjoyed it.

Jayce shrugged, looking away.

Now
there
was an action Dan recognized all too well. He’d seen it from Aaron many times, and the message was textbook teen:
You can make me be here, but you can’t make me enjoy it
.

Oddly enough, he found that encouraging. For all that Jayce had been through, he was still just a kid. Maybe the key wasn’t so much making up for his past as just treating him the way Dan tried to treat Aaron. With a firm hand balanced with respect and love.

Dan sat, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed them at the ankle. “Yeah, I hear you.”

The crease between Jayce’s eyes told Dan he’d achieved his first objective: confusion. Keep the kid off balance. “You don’t want to talk. Don’t want to be buddies. You’re here because you have to be. Well, same here.”

A cynical twist touched the boy’s mouth.

“Don’t believe me, huh?”

Jayce faced Dan, the beginnings of curiosity peeking out of his eyes. Of course, Dan had to look pretty hard to see it under the layers of scorn.

“Fine. Up to you. But I’m just telling you, your grandmother made you come; my mom made me.”

Jayce snorted. Well, not a snort so much as a huff. Or a hiss. Whatever. At least it was some kind of sound. That was a step up from stony silence.

“What? You think I’m too old to do what my mom says?”