Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, March 16, 4:20 p.m.
Dani willed her hands to be steady as she checked Michael’s stitches to make sure they were intact after he’d raked his fingers through his hair. On the outside, she was confident and calm, just as a good doctor needed to be. Inside she was still trembling.
Michael’s sobs had rattled her, but it was the blood on the exam table that had left her shaken. She’d seen it as soon as she’d taken the boy into her arms as he’d cried his poor heart out. She’d felt helpless and angry at his mother and whoever else had hurt him. And then she’d seen the blood spreading on the white paper and she’d wanted to kill his stepfather.
She’d wanted to strangle the bastard with her bare hands.
She swallowed hard, focusing on his stitches, on her own breathing. In and out. Stay calm. Stay steady. But it was difficult. He’d hurt Michael. He’d put that hunted look in the boy’s eyes. And if Michael had killed the man while defending himself, she’d fight for him like a mother bear protecting her cub.
And now she had to ask him about it. In front of a nurse, an interpreter, and a cop. Both her nurse and the interpreter were bound to confidentiality, but Kendra would have to report it. Michael had been through enough hell already, and now she’d have to ask him about it in front of witnesses.
The presence of the interpreter was a necessary burden that was one of the many difficulties that came with deafness. There was no privacy when dealing with the hearing, nonsigning world. There was almost always an interpreter involved. Very few doctors signed. Even fewer therapists. So even when Michael was physically recovered, he’d probably still have to deal with an interpreter when he got therapy.
And this boy will get therapy. I’ll make sure of it.
Of course, the presence of a cop was all on the heads of his mother and stepfather—the two people who should have taken care of him. Who had instead thrown a bowl at his head and assaulted him, causing rectal bleeding.
She glanced over at the interpreter. Maria was a nice person, evidenced through many previous encounters. She had interpreted for Greg more than once over the years and Dani was happy that she was the one assigned to Michael today.
Maria was watching Michael carefully, waiting for the smallest twitch of the boy’s hands that signaled communication.
“Your stitches are still intact,” Dani said. “Keep your hands out of your hair, okay? I’ll bandage you up and then I’ll check your shoulder.”
Maria interpreted exactly what Dani had said, then voiced, “Then I’ll go with the cops?” when Michael replied.
“We’ll go with the cops,” Dani corrected. She covered the wound with a bandage, placing the tape carefully. “I had to shave a little of your hair, but when you comb it, nobody will know.”
“So not bald like Coach Diesel?” Michael signed with a nervous roll of his eyes.
Dani forced herself to smile, even though she wanted to cry. Michael was trying so hard not to fall apart. “Certainly not.” She handed the suture tray to Jenny, removing the gloves she’d worn and putting on the new ones Jenny handed her. “I can take it from here,” she told her nurse. “Dr. Kristoff should be here soon to take the rest of my shift. Can you make sure he’s up to speed?”
“Of course. We’ve got a patient scheduled for a well-baby in five minutes. I’ll get them settled.” Jenny moved to the back corner to throw the gloves and bloody gauze in the biohazard bag, but then she stopped, her gaze fixed on the bloody paper covering the exam table. She looked at Dani, her eyes sad. “I’ll take care of everything else,” she added, touching her pants, indicating that she’d find a clean set of scrubs for Michael.
“Thanks.” Jenny was an amazing nurse. She knew exactly what people needed before they asked. But her departure from the room meant one less person to bear witness to Michael’s pain. Dani wished she could get rid of the interpreter and Kendra, too, but that wasn’t possible. She returned her attention to Michael. “Let me take a look at your shoulder now. Can you take off your shirt?”
He nodded, grimacing as he did so. Dani’s heart clenched. He was so thin. She’d felt his sharp edges when she’d held him, but she hadn’t realized how bad it was until she saw his ribs so very clearly.
And there were bruises on his chest. Faded, but still visible. She sighed. “I’m going to need to document the bruises, Michael.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I fell down.”
Right. If she had a nickel for every abuse victim to say those words . . . Especially because two of the darkest bruises had the distinct shape of the toe of a boot. She’d seen that before, too.
She met his eyes for a long moment. Finally he looked away. “Whatever.”
She snapped a few photos. “What happened here?” She pointed at healing cuts on his upper arm.
“Was running. Fell down.”
“Running without a shirt? In this weather?” she asked and he shrugged again. She sighed and probed his shoulder, listening for his sharp intake of breath. “Probably just a strained muscle. We can ice it when I take you and Joshua home with me. You’re a little underweight.” A lot underweight. “Have you been feeling okay otherwise?”
A one-shouldered shrug. “I’m fine. I just haven’t felt like eating.”
Oh, honey. “Okay. You can put your shirt back on.” It wasn’t bloody, at least.
He quickly pulled his shirt on. “Are we done?”
“No.” She drew a breath and looked him in the eye. “I need to get you some pants to wear,” she signed without voicing.
Behind her, Maria voiced her words quietly for Kendra’s benefit.
All the remaining color drained from Michael’s face. “No. Please.”
Dani’s heart shattered a little more. She knew he wasn’t refusing to change his clothes. He was begging for her words not to be true. “You’ve bled through these.”
Michael’s gaze flew to Kendra before returning to meet Dani’s. His eyes were wild and afraid. “No more doctors. Please.”
“I can’t promise that, Michael. Not without knowing a little bit more. How long have you been bleeding?”
He dropped his gaze to his hands. “Two weeks.” When he looked up, it was only enough to see Dani’s hands.
“Steady or off and on?”
“Off and on.”
“Is it worse after you have a bowel movement or is it random?”
Even with his head bowed, Dani could see his pale face flush with humiliation. “When I use the bathroom.”
“Okay, then.” Dani exhaled quietly. “Who did this to you, Michael?”
Michael’s chin jerked up, his gaze flying once again to Kendra. He shook his head hard. No communication was necessary. He wasn’t telling.
“All right,” Dani said, voicing as she signed. “I’m going to need to clean the area and pack it with gauze.”
Michael turned his face away, new tears sliding down his cheeks.
Goddammit. She hated causing the boy more pain and humiliation. She relented. If he bled primarily after a bowel movement—or a six-mile run followed by the extreme stress of being accused of murder, not to mention the body-racking sobs—this was probably a minor fissure that would repair itself.
She tapped his arm gently, waiting until he looked at her miserably. “I understand. I’ll find you something to wear and leave you some gauze. We’ll give you privacy to clean yourself up. When we get to my house, I’ll give you some fiber supplements. It’ll help you not to strain, which will help you heal. But if you don’t heal, we’ll need to see a specialist.”
He nodded, looking away again. “Okay,” he signed, his fingers barely moving. “Thank you.”
Dani patted his knee. “Let me get you the scrubs.”
“You’re going to report this?” he asked, glancing at her.
She sighed. “I have to. I’m sorry.”
He nodded once. “I know.”
Dani turned to Kendra. “Is this sufficient?”
Kendra’s nod was grim. “Oh, yeah.” She reached for the doorknob. “If he lets you document the rectal tearing, we can add it to the report.” She looked like she wanted to say more, but pursed her lips and left the room.
The interpreter hesitated, then walked into Michael’s line of sight. She quickly relayed Kendra’s closing comments, then gave Michael her card. “Text me or video-call me if you need help. I’ll come.”
Michael took the card and closed his eyes. He looked so damn tired.
Dani motioned for the interpreter to leave first, then she followed, closing the door behind her. There was a heavy silence in the reception area. Deacon, Adam, and Diesel waited, seeming to realize that the women needed a moment to center themselves.
Kendra sat on the edge of the intake desk, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The interpreter sank into the chair, her skin appearing gray under the harsh lights.
Stripping the gloves from her hands, Dani rested her weight against the exam room door, closing her eyes, feeling as weary as Michael had looked. Normally she went to her office to cry in private after a stressful exam such as this one, but today she had an audience. “Where is Maddie?” she asked, realizing the social worker was not with them. “And Joshua?”
“In your office,” Diesel said quietly, his voice suddenly much closer than it should have been.
Dani’s eyes flew open to find him standing in front of her, his expression concerned. And his eyes . . . They were red. He’d been crying. He must have heard Michael’s sobs and been moved to tears.
Dani lost another piece of her heart to the gentle giant. Dammit. She didn’t want to want him. But she did. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to lay her head on that solid chest and feel those muscled arms wrap around her.
That wasn’t going to happen, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember why. She stared up at him helplessly. “He needs some pants,” she whispered.
Diesel’s throat worked, his gulp audible. His red-rimmed eyes filled with the pain of understanding. “I have an extra pair of sweats in my truck, but they’ll swallow him whole,” he whispered back. “He’ll know that I know.”
God, he did understand. Dani found herself leaning into him, resting her forehead on his chest. Their bodies touched nowhere else. Until he brought a trembling hand to her hair and stroked it. It felt so good. Too good. So good that she should make him stop. But she didn’t.
She couldn’t.
“He’ll be okay,” Diesel murmured into her ear. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Tell him there is no “we.” Tell him. But she didn’t. Instead she nodded unsteadily before straightening her back. His hand fell to his side and she had to force herself not to grab it and put it back on her hair.
She moistened her lips, nervous now, because his eyes were drinking her in. “Can you take Joshua somewhere for a little while? We need to go to the police station and I don’t think Michael will want him to know about this. Or for you to know, either,” she added, one side of her mouth lifting. “I think he’s got a case of hero worship where you’re concerned.”
Diesel nodded. “I’ll take Joshua to the Ledger. Marcus is out buying crayons. He might be buying candy, too.”
She smiled. “I think a little candy sounds like a good plan. I’ll let you know when we’re done at the police station. I will be taking Michael home with me. He will not be kept at the police station.” She threw a stern glance at her brother and cousin, who hadn’t said a word—not with their mouths, anyway. Both sets of eyes were full of questions as they looked from her to Diesel and back again.
Gossips, all of them.
Diesel chuckled, bringing her attention back to him. “I pity anyone who even tries to keep him from you. You have my cell phone number?”
“Yes,” she said simply, unwilling to admit that she’d memorized it long ago.
“Then I’ll get out of here for a little while.” He went into her office and closed the door.
Dani rubbed her temples. “Jenny?” she called.
Jenny came out of the storeroom, a set of scrubs in her hand. “They’ll be a little short on him. They’re mine.”
Deacon drew in a breath when he saw the clothing in Jenny’s hands. “Give me a minute. I’ve got a pair of Greg’s sweats in my trunk. He and Michael are about the same size. And they’re actually clean. His baseball practice got canceled yesterday and he left his gym bag in my car. Does Michael need anything else?”
“Thanks,” Dani told him. “Just the sweats will be fine. And if Michael asks, I had them in my car, okay?”
Deacon saluted as he headed out the door. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her office door opened and Diesel appeared, a sniffling Joshua riding on his hip, the little boy’s arms tight around Diesel’s neck. “He heard Michael crying,” Diesel murmured.
Dani rubbed Joshua’s back. “I’m taking care of him, okay?”
Joshua nodded, his face pressed to Diesel’s strong chest.
“I’ll see you and Coach Diesel in a little while.”
Joshua lifted his head, his face tearstained. “You won’t let him go to jail?”
“I’m going to fight my hardest,” Dani promised.
“That’s what Coach Diesel said.” Joshua studied her hair solemnly. “Are you an X-Man?”
Dani laughed. “I wish I were.” She touched the white streak in her hair. “But I wouldn’t be Rogue, because she hurts people with her touch. I’d hate to do that.”
“Yeah,” Joshua agreed. “That would suck. She has to wear gloves.” He pointedly glanced at the purple exam gloves she still clutched in one hand. “Like you do.”
Dani sighed. She did have to wear gloves when she administered exams. That was standard practice. But she sometimes wore them while simply talking to patients as well, usually at their request.
She knew the facts about HIV. She was a doctor, for God’s sake. She knew exactly how the disease was transmitted. She also knew that her levels were undetectable, that she was as unlikely to infect anyone as any other member of the population. But some of her patients weren’t so certain about her.
It wasn’t a secret that she was HIV positive. Patients at the free clinic couldn’t afford to boycott her services, but many still recoiled from her touch.
So I guess Rogue and I have something in common after all.
She chanced a glance up to see Diesel studying her through narrowed eyes, like he was trying to figure her out. Good luck with that, buddy.
She patted Joshua’s back. “You go with Coach Diesel, sweetheart. He’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of Michael. I promise.”
Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, March 16, 5:00 p.m.
Michael clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering. He was so cold, even though the inside of the detectives’ car was warm. They had the heater on high, at Dr. Dani’s request. Still, he shivered uncontrollably.
He stared out the window as the buildings went by. They were taking him to the police station. To question him. About Brewer’s murder.
Tell them the truth.
God, he wanted to. But his hands were shaking, too. He shoved them into the pockets of his jacket and closed his eyes, misery overwhelming him.
Misery and humiliation. And fear. They knew. The doctor had to have told them that his ass was bleeding. She was obligated. By law.
He hunched into himself, wishing he could just . . . die. It would be easier. So much easier. They were going to say he’d killed that bastard Brewer and they’d put Joshua in foster care somewhere. The doctor couldn’t keep him forever. She was only an emergency foster parent.
He jumped when Dr. Dani touched him, a brief graze of her fingertips over his cheek. He turned to look at her, focusing on her mismatched eyes. “What?” he voiced. He knew he sounded snarky and ungrateful.
She smiled at him. Sweetly. Not meanly. Not like his mother did. Dr. Dani’s smile made him want to believe her. He slowly drew his right hand from his pocket.
“Sorry,” he signed.
“It’s okay,” she signed back. Her mouth wasn’t moving at all. “I don’t want you to sign anything or say anything when we get there. There will be reporters outside the police station. Probably cameras. They’re not waiting for you specifically. They’re waiting for a statement from the cops on the body that was found this morning, but they may take pictures and video of you. You’re a minor, so they most likely won’t use the photos or your name, but you never can tell about the media these days. They’ll want to provoke us into saying something, especially when they see Deacon and Adam. Do not respond to them. Do not make eye contact. Don’t even sign to me. Nothing will be private until we get to an interview room. Got it?”
He nodded, huffing out a choked breath. Most likely? He could end up on TV and then everyone would know he’d been accused of murdering his piece-of-shit stepfather. But he’d worry about that later. For now, he was too terrified about being dragged off in handcuffs. “Are they going to put me in jail?”
“No. They don’t have any evidence. Right now they have your stepfather’s body, your mother’s accusation, and the gun you hid under your pillow.”
“How do you know?”
She tilted her head. “Did you do it?”
“No.” He snapped the sign.
“Did you ever fire that gun?”
“No.”
She looked like she wanted to ask more questions, but the car was slowing down. And stopping. In front of the police department.
Michael stared at the neat lettering at the front of the building. CINCINNATI POLICE. They were going to put him in jail. He was going to jail. With real criminals. Who’d . . . He choked out a sob as his gut roiled.
He hunched tighter into himself. God. “I’m going to throw up.”
Dr. Dani wrapped her fingers around his wrist, pressing his pulse point gently with her thumb until he turned his head to look up at her. “No, you’re not going to throw up,” she signed with her free hand. “You’re going to breathe with me. Just like we did before. Okay?”
He nodded, too scared to refuse. She put her hand on her chest, lifting and lowering it as she breathed deeply. Within a few breaths he was matching her rate and she let go of his wrist.
“Better?” she asked.
He blinked at her. He was still terrified, but he no longer felt like he’d hurl. At least there’s that. “A little.”
“Okay. I saw about twenty reporters waiting outside the police department. They’re going to be yelling at you and you might see flashes of light from their cameras. You’re not going to look at them. You’re going to keep your hands in your pockets until we get inside. You’ll go through a metal detector inside the door, and they’ll tell you to take your hands out of your pockets. Detective Kimble told them you were coming and that you’d have an interpreter, so nobody’s going to get in your face inside.”
“Will it be the same woman as before?”
“No, she had to go to another appointment. But I know this interpreter and he’s nice, too. He’s interpreted for my brother a few times. He’s one of the only interpreters in the city certified to interpret in legal situations. He’s good.”
Not the same woman. That’s good. But a man? Shit. At least this guy didn’t know. Not yet, anyway. “Okay.”
“When you’ve gone through the metal detectors, you put your hands back in your pockets. You have no privacy until we get to the interview room. Got it?”
He nodded. “Yeah. No privacy.” He was used to that.
She stuck her hand into her big purse and pulled out two baseball caps—one had the Bengals logo, the other the Cincinnati Reds. She handed him one. “Put this on. Keep your head down. Lobby security will make us take our caps off, but let’s not make it easy for these reporters to take pictures of you, okay?” She twisted her long hair into a knot and put her cap on over it, hiding the white streaks in her hair. “I’m recognizable. I don’t want anyone tracking you to my house afterward, because that’s where we’ll be going. Got it?”
He nodded and put his own cap on. He hoped she was right, that they’d be going to her house. Please don’t let them put me in jail. Please.
One of the men in the front must have said something to her, because she nodded. “We’re ready.”
It was just like Dr. Dani had said, from the moment they got out of the car until they were through the metal detector. Reporters and flashing lights. He kept his head down and put one foot in front of the other.
Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
A guy about thirty years old was waiting just inside the door and quickly introduced himself as Andrew, the interpreter. He smoothed the way, going through the metal detector first, then standing where Michael could see him as he interpreted the officer’s instructions.
It was . . . calm. The reporters outside had been yelling. He hadn’t heard them, but he could see their mouths and their faces. He’d seen enough yelling people in his life to know. They had taken video and film, but Dr. Dani never left his side, her hand on his back the whole way. Detective Kimble had walked on Michael’s left, Agent Novak on the doctor’s right. Protecting him. All of them had protected him.
At least no one had gotten in his face. Nothing freaked him out faster than people getting in his face.
Unless it was seeing his stepfather being murdered.
Tell them. The words chanted in his mind with every step he took through the hallways that seemed endless, walking past cops who turned to watch as he was escorted toward what he hoped was the interview room.
No. He looked around him frantically. He needed a restroom. Because he was feeling like he was going to throw up again. But Dr. Dani put her hand on his good shoulder, squeezing until he glanced up at her.
They’d stopped outside a doorway that looked like all the other doorways they’d passed. “Breathe,” she mouthed, her hand on her chest.
Once more he breathed with her until he felt better. He started to take his hand from his pocket to tell her that he was okay, but remembered what she’d said and shoved it back in. She gave him a nod of approval.
Detective Kimble pointed to a door at the far end of the hallway. “That’s where we’re going.”
It was another hundred feet. It felt like a thousand, even with Dr. Dani’s hand on his back. Don’t let them put me in jail. Please.
He’d heard stories of what happened to deaf kids in lockup. No one could communicate with them, no one would protect them. They couldn’t hear who was coming and got beaten up. Or worse.
By the time Detective Kimble opened the door to the interview room, Michael was shaking so hard he could barely walk. Dr. Dani helped him to a chair and knelt in front of him so that she was directly in his line of sight. He dragged his trembling hands from his pockets, shoved them through his hair. The tug on the bandaged stitches made him wince as he held his head in his hands. He was rocking himself and he hadn’t even planned to. He couldn’t make himself stop.
“You’re scared,” she signed. “I get it. But you’re making yourself sick.” She squeezed his knees lightly. “Can you trust me?”
He blinked away tears. “I’m so scared,” he voiced, his fingers clutching his hair.
Gently she took his hands from his hair and put them in his lap. “You have pretty hair, Michael. Don’t yank it out or you’ll look like Coach Diesel after all.”
He snorted a shocked laugh, which was probably what she’d been going for, because she smirked before looking over her shoulder. Sitting at the table were Miss Maddie the social worker, Andrew the interpreter, and a man he’d never seen before. About Coach Diesel’s age, he thought, but dressed in a suit that had an actual vest. With a pocket watch chain.
“Who is that?” he asked Dr. Dani.
“Your lawyer. His name is Rex Clausing.” She spelled out the name carefully. “He’s a friend of Coach Diesel’s. Diesel says you can trust him.”
“Do you know him?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before.”
Michael frowned. “Then how do you know who he is?”
“Because he said his name when we came in.”
When she’d looked over her shoulder at him. Okay. That made sense. But the man did not look like a friend Coach Diesel would have. Coach was big and rough and looked like he should be in a motorcycle gang or lifting weights in a sweaty gym. The lawyer—Rex Clausing—looked like a professor.
He was too neat. Too smart-looking. Too . . . something that Michael didn’t trust.
Dr. Dani squeezed his knees again to get his attention. “What?” she asked. “Your face went pale again.”
“What do I have to tell him?”
Dr. Dani’s expression softened. “You tell him everything that you can.”
Michael swallowed, glancing over at the lawyer again before returning his focus to the doctor. “I can’t.” He leaned forward and she shifted so that no one could see what he signed. Giving him privacy. “He’ll think I did it. He’ll think I hated Brewer because . . .” He swallowed again. “You know.”
“I know. But he can’t protect you if he doesn’t know. I’ll stay with you.”
“What about the cops? Don’t I get to talk to the lawyer without them first?”
Dani’s lips curved. “You watch TV cop shows, too, huh? They’re going to leave so that you can talk to Mr. Clausing. In private.”
He glanced again at the lawyer, who sat patiently. He looked calm.
But I still don’t like it. I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him.
“He’s too fancy to be Coach Diesel’s friend.”
Dr. Dani’s eyes widened. “What? No, honey. Coach has all kinds of fancy friends. Some of his best friends are super-rich.”
“Can you ask him again? Please? Make sure this guy is who he says he is.”
Dr. Dani hesitated. “Do you want Coach here with you when you talk to the lawyer? Would that make you feel better?”
Michael wanted to say no. He didn’t want Coach to know. He didn’t want anyone to know. He was surrounded by people that he’d never met before this afternoon and they were expecting him to trust them. Just like that.
He wanted to trust them. He really wanted to. But if they put him in jail, Joshua would be alone. Coach had helped them. He’d taken care of Joshua.
He made Michael feel safe.
He jerked a nod, blinking back new tears. Dammit, he hated to cry. Especially in front of all these cops. “But he’s with Joshua. I don’t want Joshua here. Not in the police station.”
“I agree. Let me see what I can do.”
Michael dropped his chin. “They’ll be mad if they have to wait. The lawyer might leave.”
“I think they can all wait a little while longer. I’m more worried about you. You need to be able to think and communicate. And you can’t do that if you’re afraid.”
Michael nodded slowly. “Okay. Call him. Please?”
She stroked his cheek and he leaned into her touch. “I will. Right now.”