Leigh (29 page)

Now, she leaned down, kissed her daughter’s head, and then took her gloved hand. “I won’t be late again. Promise.”

“When’s Grandma Chloe coming?” Carly gave a little skip. “She’s still coming to my recital?” Carly always needed reassurance
about family visits. It was as if she couldn’t trust that family really
was
coming.

“I told you,” Leigh admonished her, hurrying against the cutting wind, “Grandma Chloe and Grandma Bette are coming the Friday
night before your recital.”

“Isn’t Aunt Dory coming, too?”

“No, she can’t come, honey. She’s going to be in Africa with the Peace Corps by then.”

“Mama, how come I don’t got any uncles?”

Where had that question come from? “Because I only had a sister. And it’s ‘have,’ not ‘got.’”

“Didn’t my daddy have any brothers?”

Leigh stilled inside. Every once in a while, Carly brought up “her daddy.” Her little girl had figured out at the tender age
of three that children were supposed to have a mommy and a daddy. And then she’d promptly demanded to know where her daddy
was. Had he gotten lost somewhere?

Leigh never knew how to answer these questions. She had never told Carly anything about her father except that he couldn’t
live with them. She hadn’t wanted to lie to her own daughter, but neither could she tell her the nasty truth. So the forbidden
topic remained wedged between her and her daughter. At these moments, guilt was a dull blade sawing, gouging her spirit.

Now Leigh did what she always did—she ignored the question.
I do my best for you, my sweet child. But all my
choices are second-best. I didn’t choose your father well I’m to blame.

Carly glanced up at her, studied her, and then wordlessly accepted that Leigh once again was not going to answer her question.
She changed topics. “And Aunt Kitty’s taking us all out to dinner afterward?”

Leigh was happy to answer this one. “Yes, Aunt Kitty is taking all of us to her favorite French restaurant to celebrate the
occasion.” Shivering, Leigh tugged Carly’s hand, and they both ran the last gloomy block to the subway. When Carly had been
around a year old, Aunt Kitty—now in her early eighties just as Grandma Chloe was—had sold her townhouse in San Francisco
and bought a two-apartment building near them. The much-loved older woman had become an indispensable part of Leigh and Carly’s
everyday life.

As they boarded the subway train, her daughter prattled on about her friend Katy and the dance recital. Swaying with the motion
of the train, Leigh answered automatically while the focus of her mind remained on why the detective wanted her to call him.

Later that evening, after supper at Kitty’s apartment and tucking Carly into bed back at home, Leigh dialed Nate Gallagher’s
number. She tingled with anticipation while it rang and rang. No answer. Disappointed, Leigh put back the receiver and walked
to the kitchen to boil water for a cup of herbal tea. Soon she took her warm mug of cinnamon-apple tea and stood by the window,
watching the street below. Had her anticipation as she dialed been from the hope she’d get help with the article or because
of her memory of his enticing masculinity?

Below her window by the light of the streetlamps, a
young couple was walking down the street holding hands. She sipped the hot tea, trying to deny the restlessness that sometimes
stirred inside her. Another evening home alone. Would she ever meet someone she trusted enough to love, or would she end up
like Kitty and live alone for most of her life?

From there her mind went back to the day’s question: What did Nate Gallagher want? But his face lingered longer in her mind
than her question.

Two days later, around three in the afternoon of another chilly day, Leigh shifted from one cold foot to the other at the
corner of a street of small stores with caged fronts. She was waiting for Gallagher as arranged. He’d said the meeting had
to do with her article, but had hung up before she could ask him how he even knew about the piece. She hoped he was going
to offer her help, and she’d find out soon enough. That’s all she wanted from him.

The scarred and dirty street where she waited was near a rough area of Brooklyn, Bedford-Stuyvesant. Pulling her scarf up
around her freezing ears, Leigh kept a wary eye out for trouble and gripped a can of Mace in her pocket. A dark-blue sedan
slowed and stopped in front of her. From the driver’s side, Gallagher leaned over and pushed open the passenger’s side door
and motioned for her to get in.

Studying him swiftly, Leigh slid inside and hooked her seat belt. “Hi.” She’d remembered Nate Gallagher accurately. With a
head of auburn hair, he looked to be of medium height and was solidly built. He was a man you’d like at your side in a fight.
But his clean, blue eyes had laugh crinkles around them and that reassured her.

“Hi.” Pie kept his eyes on the tricky traffic on the narrow
street. “I thought we’d drive around in Bedford-Sty to give you a firsthand look at some gang territory. And while I drive,
you tell me exactly what you’re looking for on your article about girls and gangs.”

She considered this, still guarded. “May I ask you two questions first?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “Sure.”

“How did you know what I was working on? And what’s in this for you?”

He grinned. “Easy answers. Someone at the station let me know who you were and why you were talking to Dorsey. Second, I’m
directly concerned about gang activity, especially recruitment. I’ve volunteered to work with city agencies to try to come
up with coordinated strategies to fight this. I wondered why the department didn’t refer you to me instead of Dorsey.”

She liked his grin, but kept herself on task. She could think of one reason for her being handed to Dorsey. The city didn’t
want a reporter horning in on what it considered
its
territory; municipal bureaucrats always feared uncomplimentary news coverage, and misdirection was a popular tactic. But
she didn’t voice this. She merely shrugged as she noted pinpoint snowflakes floating onto the windshield.

“I figured we’re on the same side,” Gallagher continued, “and an article by Leigh Sinclair could go a long way in convincing
the city fathers to allocate more funds for this type of prevention program.”

“Well…” She was a little taken aback at his reference to her name, as if he were aware of her writing.
Probably not. “
I’m glad to find an ally.”

“Same here. Now I’m going to point out some hot spots of gang life. But first you must promise me—
on your honor
—that you will not ever—never—come here as a lone pedestrian
and walk these streets without me.” He gave her a long look and then turned right at another corner.

The way he said this warning sent a chill through her. This was a man who would not make light of danger, so if he put it
that way, he meant business. But she was already aware of how dangerous gangs could be.
I read the newspapers, Gallagher.
But he didn’t know her. “I’m not a daredevil. I have a daughter I’m raising alone, and I don’t take chances with my safety.
That’s why I sought NYPD assistance in the first place.”

“Great. I thought you looked smart.” He grinned again.

She ignored its effect on her as best she could and thought it was a nice change that he’d referred to her intelligence not
her looks.

After a brief tour of the area’s hot spots, Nate drove her out of Bedford-Sty and took her to a small cafe beside a large
Roman Catholic Church in whose small lot he parked. The snow was falling faster now. In the homey cafe, he waved to the waitress
behind the counter. “Two coffees, please.” Stopping at the rear booth, he motioned Leigh to take a seat.

He’d acted like he knew the waitress, and she’d given him a very flirty smile. Leigh was irritated with herself for noticing
all this. Distancing herself, she shook the snow off her black muffler, sat down, and took out the steno pad and fine-line
blue marker she always carried. “Okay. Tell me what your observations have been about girls and gangs.”

He grinned. “I do like a woman who knows what she wants.”
I’ll bet you do.
But what if the woman doesn’t know what she wants?

* * *

Two days later, Leigh sat in a nondescript yet grim-looking visiting room at “Juvey” or Juvenile Hall. She was nervous, but
it was a good type of nervousness. She was ready for the group interview she was about to do, and her article was shaping
up nicely.

As she watched, a forbidding uniformed matron ushered three teenaged Latino girls into the room. A tall, slender girl led
them to the table, followed by a plump girl with teased hair and a petite girl with curly hair. They sat down in that order
facing her.

She was visible to them, but Nate, who stood on the other side of a one-way mirror behind her, wasn’t. Feeling his gaze on
her, she resisted the urge to turn around and look at him.

None of the three girls would meet her eyes. The sound of voices from the floor above them filled the silence. “Hello,” she
began, trying to put them at ease. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to me.”

“What you give us for talkin’ to you, lady?” the tallest girl challenged her. She pronounced “you” like “chew.”

“I’m giving you the chance to have your opinions printed in a magazine.”

“What ma-ga-zine?” the petite girl with short, curly hair taunted, looking pouty.

“I write for
Women Today.”

The three girls exchanged looks. “We never heard of it.”

Leigh hid a smile. She was used to this kind of sparring with some of her interview subjects. “If you don’t want to talk to
me,” she said without inflection, “I’ll ring for the matron, and you can go back to whatever exciting activity you three were
enjoying.”

That did the trick. The three girls began telling Leigh how and why they had joined a new gang that would take girls. “We
thought it would be kind of cool, you know?” the tall
girl said. “But then we find out the guys don’t let any of the girls call the shots, you know?”

Leigh was finding the girl’s repetition of “chew know?” annoying but she went on taking notes. “So what you’re saying is that
it was the same old male-dominance thing?”

“Male what?” Once Leigh explained the term, the girl agreed. “Yeah, but once you’re in, it’s scary to get out, you know?”

“Yeah, we know stuff and how do they know we don’t tell,” the petite girl explained, one palm up.

“So we’re stuck,” the plump girl finished and snapped her chewing gum.

“What would it take for you to get out of the gang?” Leigh asked, jotting notes.

“No way, lady.” The tall girl spoke, but all three shook their heads. “No can do.” The matron appeared at the door and cleared
her throat authoritatively.

“How long will you three be in Juvenile Hall?” Leigh asked.

Each of them shrugged. “Talk to our lawyer,” the tall girl said. Then the three stood and shuffled out without another word.

When they were gone, Nate opened a door and joined her. “How about tomorrow we go and cruise their neighborhood?”

Leigh frowned, irritated that the interview was over so soon, more irritated that when Nate walked in, her whole body hummed
with awareness.
I have to get done with this article fast. “
Where would you like me to meet you?” she asked coolly.

“I’ll pick you up in front of your apartment.”

No, I don’t think so.
She kept men away from her apartment, away from her private life. “I don’t know—”

“I know where you live so I might as well.” He had the nerve to grin at her.

She gave him a miffed look. “Did you have me investigated?”

“No, I did it myself. You’re thirty-six, originally from Arlington, Virginia,” he recited, his blue eyes, crinkling, gleaming
with amusement. “Your stepfather was FBI, and your mother was CIA. You have a daughter named Carly—”

She didn’t trust his obvious interest in her. “I know all about myself,” she interrupted, halting him. “Thank you,” she added
repressively.

Still smiling, he led her to the door and opened it. “And try not to look like a reporter tomorrow, okay?”

She made a face and walked from the room. But his honest, teasing grin lingered in her mind, tantalizing.

The next afternoon, Leigh and Nate walked through the neighborhood where the girls she’d interviewed had lived. And Leigh
was more than glad she had Nate at her side. In fact, she had to fight the urge to grip his arm.

On a personal level, the sights depressed her. Garbage dribbled out of alleys. Ripped-up newspaper and candy wrappers clogged
the bottom of every fence. Windows were boarded up, and starved-looking dogs sniffed crumpled fast-food bags along the sidewalk.

Large, white-haired women who reminded her of Jerusha looked out through cracked, patched windows, and old men like shriveled
tobacco leaves sat on the curb drinking from paper bags. Idle men slouched, smoking in doorways of buildings old and scarred.
The leering looks they gave her made her feel dirty, slimy.

Elsewhere, gang members congregated around the en
trances to pool halls or bars, strutting and preening like prides of young lions. They gave Leigh “the eye,” and again she
was glad Nate was with her. Men often were a nuisance to her, but she had a feeling that these could become more than a mere
nuisance.

On a professional level, Leigh was at her best, her mind acting like a camera, recording every sight and every sound. Words
and phrases mushroomed in her mind, and she filed them all away for later use.

One pride of gang members followed her and Nate for several blocks, probably indulging in aimless intimidation. The hair on
the back of her neck prickling, she tensed, but Nate acted as if nothing were happening. After a while, they drifted off into
an alley, and she breathed easy again.

Finally, they returned to civilization. As she and Nate were getting out of the subway near her apartment, Leigh caught herself
just as she was about to say, “Nate, why don’t you come in for coffee?” That surprised her. She’d never invited a man inside
before.
And I won’t start now.