Page 13 of Delivering David

They reached the steps, and Kristopher instinctively offered her his arm and a protective wave ran over him as she touched him.

“No ice,” she commented as they descended. “That’s good, ‘cause I don’t think these boots were made for climbing down slippery stairs.”

“I won’t let you fall,” Kristopher promised. “Ice or no ice.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

At the bottom, they stood in silence for several moments, watching the boy, and Kristopher was unexpectedly pleased that she was still holding on to his arm and even more at the warmth coursing through him. The only sound was the soft whir of speeding wheels, the pop of the board lifting off the surface and thethunkas it hit the pavement again. His movements were smooth, graceful and confident, his focus solely on his actions. He launched himself again and landed a good twenty feet away from them. He pivoted on the board and stopped but kept it rocking back and forth with his feet, his balance perfect. Oversized sunglasses covered his eyes, but he was smiling, obviously pleased with himself and his skill.

“Your move,” Kristopher told her. “After all, this was your idea.”

Her gaze slanted up at him. “Does your boss have enough money to bail us out of jail if Grant Miller arrests us for doing what he told us not to do?”

“Oil tycoons and billionaires from around the world come to him for loans,” Kristopher said solemnly.

“Really,” Suzanne asked incredulously.

“No. I was just joking,” he replied. “Do you want me to go with you?”

She shook her head. “This kid may not have heard about what happened yet. And if it turns out not to be T.J., then we’ll excuse ourselves and go to your safehouse. No harm, no foul, right?”

Her answer surprised him, but then he knew next to nothing about this woman. “Are you a sports fan?”

“Season ticket holder for the Lady Vols, but we can talk about that over lunch too. Wait here.”

She headed for the skater and the familiar pricking at the base of his spine started, warning Kristopher not to stand down, but stand ready and he touched the service revolver in his jacket’s inner pocket and waited.

CHAPTER 12

Suzanne walked towards the skater,keeping her hands deep in her coat pockets and then stopping where the arena began. “Excuse me,” she called.

The kid remained silent but kept on rocking his skateboard. Either he was too focused on his moves to notice her, or he was pretending not to see her. She would put her money on the latter. Elaine always said Suzanne’s pink coat could lead in ships lost in a foggy sea

“‘Scuse me,” she said again, taking another step forward. “Are you T.J. Fielding?”

“Who wants to know?” His tone was the bored, I-know-and-have-seen-it-all of fifteen-year-olds everywhere and Suzanne was very glad that age was far behind her.

“A friend of Mercy and David Phillips,” she answered. “My name is Suzanne Bennett. Do you remember me? I think we met at the ‘Meet, Greet and Eat’ a few weeks ago.”

He stopped rocking and pulled down his sunglasses just enough to appraise her. “You’re that social worker.” It was more of an accusation than a question, one strongly laced with contempt.

“For adults,” she offered, as if this might make her admission less offending to his sensibilities. Social workers were too often the enemy of kids in foster care, the one who took you from your parents, even if it were for your own good. “I help them find good jobs and housing.”

“Since when does that make a difference?” he sneered. “Bunch of do-gooders who think they can save the world, acting like they care about kids and other folks when they’re just doing it for the money.”

Determined not to let him get to her, Suzanne laughed. “That’s good,” she said. “Most folks I know who do this kind of work could use a big raise.”

“Boo-hoo. Like I’m crying.” He slid his sunglasses back in place.

“Have you seen David this morning?” Suzanne asked, keeping her expression determinedly friendly.

“Nope. Got better things to do than hang out with little kids.” He continued to rock the skateboard from side to side, folding his arms across his chest. His confidence bordered on arrogance, and Suzanne wished for one iota of Mercy’s skill at talking to unhappy kids. Unhappiness was written all over this boy.

“I thought you two looked pretty tight at the Meet-Greet,” Suzanne persisted. “You spent a lot of time shooting hoops and talking.”

She reached into her coat pocket, pulled out a photo of him and David and held it up to him. “His mom took this and gave me a copy. It sure does look like you’re having a good time together.”

“Well, I guess you were wrong, weren’t you?” The rocking started again, and Suzanne involuntarily stepped back as the boy added, “Just being nice to the kid but it was a bore. Like you’re boring me now.”

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