Vigilant (3 page)

“Stop being so wise, Mr. Sanders. You’re making me seem like a newbie or something.”

“Unlikely. We all know your hardcore. The kids are terrified of being placed on your caseload.”

“Yeah, right,” she laughed, but his accusation held more than a grain of truth. There wasn’t much she was afraid of, anymore.

He raised his hand to the door, but stopped, frowning down at her. “Oh hey, I heard about the robbery. Are you okay?”

Ari nodded. Although the robbery itself was public knowledge, having been covered by the Glory City local news that night, she still hadn’t told anyone about her encounter with the mystery guy other than her roommate, Oliver.

“Yeah, no big deal. I mean it was, but no one was really injured.”

“They said that vigilante was there and caught the guys?”

“I guess. I didn’t see what happened. I hid in a closet. But when the police came, I saw three guys in the police car.”

Just three. The one missing was Jace Watkins. The mystery guy didn’t stop him, and like Detective Bryson, she couldn’t figure out why. Could he have been out-matched by an impulsive former juvenile delinquent?

“Smart move,” Nick said. “Hiding like that. Do you think you’ll get called to court to testify?”

“Not sure. I didn’t see anything, so probably not.”

“I’m glad you got out of there unharmed.” His eyes softened. Not for the first time Ari thought she noticed a bit of interest that went beyond courtrooms and juvenile delinquents.

The look vanished and he poised his hand over the door again. “Ready?”

“Yep,” she said.

A court officer opened the door and escorted Ari into the judge’s office. The small, but intimidating woman sat behind a large desk, going through paperwork.

“Ms. Grant.” She directed her to the chair in front of her desk.

“Mr. Sanders said you wanted to see me?”

“I did,” the judge said, digging through a stack of case files on her desk. She unearthed one and held it up. “Curtis Wilson? Fifteen, petty theft, truancy?”

“He’s one of the few males on my caseload. You know they tend to be a little more hardened and generally female before they end up on my list. He phased out last year, though.” Ari sighed, annoyed he’d gotten into trouble again. “What did he do?”

“Truancy. Running from the police during a routine stop. Not a major offense but with his history, it’s only a matter of time before he escalates,” she explained. “He hasn’t officially been remanded to Juvenile Justice care yet but I’m signing these papers today. He’s headed for trouble and nothing we’ve done so far is helping. I’m requesting you take supervision of his case again.”

This conversation had already taken an unusual turn. Ari had never heard of a judge requesting a caseworker. “Me?” Ari asked. “The review panel tends to decide who gets which cases.”

Judge Hatcher gave Ari a sharp eye. “I’m aware, but this one needs a personal touch. And I want you to see that he gets in a specific placement.”

Ari frowned. Again, Judge Hatcher’s request seemed atypical. “Where do you want him to go?”

“There’s a program called the Glory Youth Center. It’s a sports-oriented program, which I think would be really great for this kid. It’s structured, with residential housing and an excellent staff.”

“The Glory Youth Center? Why haven’t I heard of this?” Ari had clients in residential programs all over the state. None had ever been assigned there.

“The students are generally hand-picked, like I’m doing. They are looking for a specific type of kid to excel in their program. They don’t just accept anyone.”

Ari nodded as though she understood, but really, it was all so unusual. “Can you tell me what Curtis has that makes him a likely candidate for the program? Because although I agree that he’s not a lost cause, he manages to find his way into trouble a lot. He gave me a lot of grief when he was on my caseload.”

Judge Hatcher sat back in her leather chair and pressed her fingers together, making a tent. “Curtis is in an environment that he can’t get out of. His father is dead, his mother has AIDS, and his grandmother just doesn’t have the energy to keep him straight. He’s athletic and has shown that if he’s in a like-minded environment, he can do well.”

“All right. If you think it’s best, I’ll start the paperwork and try to get him funding.”

“The funding has been taken care of. You’ll get the file this week and place him on Monday.”

“Great,” Ari said, working up a smile. “Easiest placement so far.”

“Thank you, Ms. Grant, for helping with this case, and for all the hard work you put in for these kids.”

In a job with low pay and constant heartbreak, a compliment went a long way. Ari raised an eyebrow and said, “Thank you, but I’m not sure I really have another choice, you know?”

Judge Hatcher nodded. “Yes, I know.”

THREE

Ari walked past Rebecca’s desk and scribbled her initials on the sign-in pad. The receptionist sucked on a sugar-free red lollipop—part of her no-smoking-no-candy health change.

“That took a long time,” her friend and coworker said. She barely glanced up from the computer.

“I know.” Ari held up a bag of fast food. “Lunch of champions.”

Rebecca nodded in sympathy and nonchalantly asked, “So how was Mr. Sanders today?”

“Fine,” Ari replied. She knew where this was going. “Professional.”

“I bet he looked handsome in his suit.”

Ari looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. She loved Rebecca, but the girl had a big mouth. “He looked nice. And professional. Strictly professional.”

Rebecca pulled the sucker out of her mouth. “If you say so. Did he invite you to dinner?”

Ari blushed. “No. I barely talked to him at all. Judge Hatcher wanted to talk to me about a client.”

She reached for the stack of pink notes on her desk and waved them in the air. “I think he must have forgotten. He called while you were out. Ten bucks says he asks you to dinner. Alone.”

“Strictly professional,” Ari repeated, grabbing the notes. She walked away from Rebecca’s desk and through the office, stopping at her mailbox where she found three new, thick files. She skimmed the names.

“Darn it, Stanton, I’m not taking on these cases!”

A loud voice sounded from an office down the hall. “Yes, you are!”

The Glory City Juvenile Probation Office was half office, half rehabilitation center. Ari and the other caseworkers had offices in the building, but there was also space for treatment programs and activities for the kids assigned to the caseworkers.

Four other caseworkers and two assistants worked with Ari. Rebecca and Beverly managed the main desk. Shirley worked with first offenders. John provided after-care services, like finding a job or enrolling in school. Mr. Brown had been there for thirty years and Ari expected him to retire at any moment. He had a hodgepodge of cases he managed. Tony carried a caseload of clients in long-term detention. Then there was Stanton, Ari’s supervisor. With the file in her hand, she rushed past the other offices and into his.

She found him bent over files of his own. “No, no more girls. I can’t take it—they’re sucking me dry.”

He looked up and saw Ari’s desperation. “What happened?”

With her bag slung over her shoulder and the heavy stack of files in her hands she moved toward the chair in front of his desk. With little grace, Ari flopped into the seat.

“Ugh, just a crappy day in court. Hope hates me.” She ignored his amused look and continued. “Not like they don’t all hate me, but she thinks I broke her confidence or something. And I’m not sure what’s going on with her—it just made me feel useless.”

Settling into the uncomfortable chair, Ari told him what happened in court and described Hope’s story. Stanton—or really, Quinn Stanton, but everyone at the office called him by his last name—listened to her story while leaning back and rubbing his shiny, bald head. He was the best at what you could be around here—dedicated, calm, hard-working. His clients and the system never got him frazzled like Ari’s cases often made her.

Stanton’s desk chair squeaked as he shifted. “I can understand your reaction, I tend to agree with you—if anything, she was probably trying to get out of the violation.”

“I know, but you know how they usually hate you for getting in their business and forcing them to behave? This wasn’t why she was upset. She was upset because I didn’t believe her. I never believe anything any of my kids say. I’ve been lied to, too many times. Plus, she was so scared. I’ve never seen her afraid—of anything.”

Stanton sighed. “Look, there’s nothing you can do. She violated her contract—not only by being away from home, but also for getting arrested. And if she really is afraid of something, then she probably is safer in the county lockup than anywhere else.” He nodded toward the files in Ari’s lap. “Everything okay then with those new cases?”

Ari narrowed her eyes at him, trying to look fierce. “No, it’s not. I don’t want any more lost girls on my caseload! The abuse and how they sell themselves and the pain and the men and the scars—” Ari sighed, cutting off her argument. Everything about that day felt hopeless…but there was nothing she could do but try her best. It was her job.

Stanton’s dark brown eyes lit up a little. “You do a good job, Ari. These girls trust and need you—even if it’s just for the short period they’re in our custody.”

Under the weight of her bag and files, Ari struggled to her feet. She shot him a false look of anger. “Way to hit me in my soft spot, Boss.”

Laughter bounced off the walls and he picked up his pen to continue working. Ari heard him mutter as she walked out the door and down the hall to her office, “Not my fault you’re a sucker.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed in a blur of phone calls and paperwork—something Ari rarely had the opportunity to do. Most days she was either in the field, visiting homes or placing a child in residential care. Not to mention the days spent traveling across the state to check on clients in long-term lockup. But that afternoon, her calendar was relatively free so she took the opportunity to catch up on some work and leave on time.

Ari lived close to the office—only a short commute of about ten minutes without traffic. That night she made it home easily, pulling her car onto her tree-lined street and parking in her driveway. She loved her house. The porch and swing, the leaded glass windows, the historic door. The Craftsman bungalow she purchased a year prior was painted a soothing seafoam green, with buttery-yellow trim. It was small—only a thousand square feet, two bedrooms and one bath, a tiny galley kitchen, but it was hers. She shared it with a roommate—one she chose to help make the mortgage payments, and for safety. Plus, he was Ari’s best friend.

Removing her bag and the paperwork from the car, she left the doors unlocked before climbing the porch steps and pushing her key into the deadbolt. Living in a neighborhood like this, one learned things, like to never lock car doors. If someone wanted to break into a car, it was best to just let them. No need to pay for glass repair. Before Ari could get the door open, two cats wove around her legs. Another rule of the neighborhood: never feed a stray cat.

Oliver wasn’t home yet. He worked at a law firm downtown and his commute was harder and longer. After changing, Ari set about making dinner. By the time he arrived thirty minutes later, she had two plates of pasta ready.

“Thank God!” he muttered, as he walked in and smelled dinner. “Have I told you how much I love that you cook? ’Cause I do. I was going to order pizza and cheese fries.”

“Wait…” Ari asked in mock seriousness. “That’s an option? ’Cause really, this can save for later.”

Oliver disappeared to his room and came out two minutes later in shorts and a stain-covered T-shirt. His blond hair was no longer business tidy, but disheveled. The messy hair better represented his personality. A little wild. Definitely silly. And very hot. “Nope sorry, my ass—”

“Language,” she called in warning. She’d instituted a no-cussing policy once she started with the juvies. Teaching by example, or something like that.

“Sorry, my booty is hitting that sofa and isn’t moving until I’ve watched three hours of bad reality TV programming.” He swung by the kitchen and grabbed drinks and utensils while Ari brought the plates to the living room.

Flipping on The Bachelor, Ari knew she was lucky to have Oliver. He was game for anything as long as it involved food or a good time. He kept his mess in his room, paid his bills on time, and generally didn’t pry into Ari’s life. He was good-looking in a scruffy, shaggy-haired, one-night-stand kind of way. Fortunately for Ari, their friendship outlasted the awkwardness of their own one-night stand.

“So you’re not going out tonight?” she asked between forkfuls of pasta.

“Nah, I’ve got nothing going on, and work? It’s kicking my ass a little.”Ari smacked him again for his language.

Oliver and Ari met in graduate school. He was in law school while she majored in social work. They both found jobs pretty easily and where Ari worked long hours for little reward, Oliver worked long hours for a shot at a big office with a nice view. Sometimes, she wasn’t quite sure it was fair trade. Okay really, it definitely wasn’t a fair trade.

Oliver set his plate on the coffee table and glanced away from the TV. “What about you? Plans?”

Ari also pushed her plate aside and pulled her knees to her chest. She casually confessed, “Rebecca thinks Nick is going to ask me out to dinner.”

“Did he?”

Ari leaned back against the couch. “No, but I would have said no if he did. It was a long day and I’d rather be here.”

Oliver snorted. “Yeah, good try. He’s okay, though. I never heard any bad stories about him.”

Oliver and Nick had been classmates in law school, although the only thing Oliver could tell her was that Nick was a top student and good at basketball. Typical Oliver with the complete lack of details.

“I suggested getting together this weekend, but I don’t know. Even though I worked at my desk all afternoon, I’m still behind.”

They cleaned up from dinner and Oliver got out his briefcase and began working on some files in front of the television. Ari paced a bit, bored and antsy. All the drama from the day had taken its toll. No way could she get to sleep anytime soon. Half her dreams involved finding a client dead, the other, monotonous cycles of running through the courthouse trying to find the right room, afraid she was late. A year before, she and Oliver would have been out at that hour, drinking or dancing even though it was a work night. But he wanted a promotion and spent a lot of extra time working for it.