The Word of a Child. Janice Johnson Kay

how long her legs were. A man’s fantasy, those legs.

      Mariah would have been too tall to be a ballerina, but that’s what she made him think of. Delicacy and strength mixed together, grace coupled with innocence and unconscious sexuality. That’s what he saw when he looked at her.

      Which he had no damn business doing, he thought in exasperation. Connor moved restlessly and the desk creaked beneath him. Mariah, pulled from a momentary reverie, cast him a surprised glance with those catlike eyes, as if she’d forgotten he was still there.

      “So you mentioned the possibility of her having to testify in court,” he said gruffly. “And Tracy didn’t like the idea.”

      “No.” Mariah’s brow crinkled again. “It obviously had never occurred to her that her complaint might go that far. ‘Can’t he just be fired?’ she asked.”

      Mariah went on to tell him what she’d explained to the girl. Connor tried hard to listen and get his mind above his belt.

      What in hell was he thinking? Mariah Stavig hated him! He’d broken up her marriage. She despised what he did for a living and was cooperating now only reluctantly, because of a sense of duty and a knowledge of the law. He hated to imagine how she’d react if she knew how intensely he was aware of her.

      “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll be talking to her again this evening. We’ll see whether she’s forgotten any of her story, or decides to embellish it a little.”

      “Do you think she’s lying?” Mariah asked.

      “At the moment, I have no idea,” Connor admitted.

      “Has she, um, been examined by a doctor yet?” She sounded timid. “I know it’s probably not any of my business, but…”

      “No, it’s okay,” he said. “Yeah, she had the works. Looks like she did lose her virginity in the past few days. No bruising or obvious signs that force was used. It was probably too long ago to recover DNA, assuming a condom wasn’t used.”

      “She was afraid of being pregnant.”

      “She’s thirteen years old,” he said bluntly. “When I asked whether he might not have put on a condom before they had intercourse, she stared at me with complete blankness. In theory she knows what one is. Unless it was neon-green, I’m not convinced she’d have noticed if he put one on quickly, with his back to her.”

      The distaste and even embarrassment on Mariah’s face might have been comical, under other circumstances. “She was probably trying not to…look.” She was being very careful to keep her gaze fixed on his face, too.

      A fact that stirred him uncomfortably.

      Frowning, he said, “Exactly.” Looking at the bank of windows, he made himself think about Tracy Mitchell, not the prim teacher behind the desk. “I need to start talking to kids. Hard to do without lighting a bonfire of rumors.”

      “Impossible, I imagine.” Mariah looked worried. “If word gets out to parents, they may want Gerald suspended.”

      “Unfair as that could be,” Connor acknowledged, “I’m hoping to find answers soon. Dragging this out will only make it uglier.”

      “You’re mostly counting on her making a mistake, aren’t you?”

      “Or confessing all to a friend who has more conscience than she has.”

      Mariah didn’t like that. “What if it’s the truth?”

      “Then my guess is we find that Tracy Mitchell isn’t his first victim.” Connor’s voice hardened. “I’ll be talking to his former colleagues, students, neighbors… You name it. If he’s a pedophile, he’ll have offended before. And found he liked it, which would explain his taking a job where he’d be working with all these young girls.”

      “Oh.” Her eyes were huge and alarmed, making him wonder how feral his expression had become.

      He rose to his feet. Time to get out of here and do his job, not hang around wishing for the impossible.

      “If I have more questions, I’ll be in touch, Ms. Stavig. Thank you for your help.”

      “You’re welcome.” She almost sounded as if she meant it. He felt her gaze on his back as he left her classroom.

      He headed for the office, where the principal would have students called to talk to him one at a time, starting with Lucy Carlson, the girl who had suggested Tracy tell all to Mariah in the first place. He wasn’t halfway when it occurred to Connor that he’d committed more than foolishness in lusting after a woman who hated him.

      He’d committed a sin. He had to have lusted after her three years ago, when she was married and he was investigating her husband. Why else would he have remembered her face so well? Noticed her gloriously long legs in snug jeans to the point where he could still close his eyes and picture her walking away from him?

      He might not have acknowledged his attraction, but what if it had affected his judgment, his objectivity? Looking back, he knew it had increased his abhorrence and animosity for Simon Stavig. Question was, had his peripheral but powerful awareness of Stavig’s beautiful, puzzled, hurt wife changed the way he’d conducted the investigation? Had he done something differently, because he’d disliked the son of a bitch for wounding his wife?

      He growled in his throat.

      Did it matter what he’d felt for Simon Stavig, when lately he’d begun to wonder whether his reasons for going into this line of work in the first place had prejudiced him beyond hope? Hell, wasn’t he already afraid he’d become a sort of avenger rather than a dispassionate investigator?

      What was one more small sin added to the weight on his conscience?

      Shoving through the double doors to let himself outside, Connor told himself it was time he found another job.

      One that let him sleep at night.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ZIPPING THE SMALL pink-and-purple suitcase, Mariah called, “Zofie, Daddy will be here any minute. Are you ready?”

      Her six-year-old daughter appeared in the bedroom doorway, her small face set in a pout. “Do I hafta go?”

      Mariah felt a familiar mix of potent emotions. Petty exultation—she loves me best—swirled with fear—is she afraid of him?—and finally a parent’s familiar impatience.

      “You know you do.” She hesitated and added carefully, “You can always talk to me about Daddy and anything he says or does when you’re with him. Sometimes there are reasons kids can’t visit their parents, but as long as you don’t have a special reason besides missing Renee’s birthday party, you do have to go. Your dad loves you and wants to spend time with you, too.”

      Her daughter hung her head. “It’s not just Renee’s party. It’s…sometimes Daddy…”

      Mariah’s heart jerked as if she’d touched a live wire. She fought to keep her voice calm. “Sometimes what?”

      “Sometimes he’s boring.” The first-grader sighed heavily. “He doesn’t do stuff with me.”

      Mariah sagged. Of course Zofie would have told her if Simon had touched her like that. She had to quit scaring herself by reading something into nothing!

      “I can’t always do stuff with you, either,” she pointed out, her voice only slightly shaky.

      “Yeah, but then I can go to a friend’s house or something,” Zofie argued. “Or I have my toys.”

      “I know perfectly well you have toys at his house, too.” Mariah raised her eyebrows and nodded at the bag in the hall. “Not to mention everything you just packed.”

      Zofie squirmed. “Yeah, but…” She flung herself at her mother and hugged her hard. “I like being with you!”