Chapter 7

Outside, Trina leaned back against the hood of her car. "What was she talking about?"

Zoe swallowed hard and looked away.

"Tell me," Trina said.

Zoe shook her head. "Not here."

"Okay." Trina nodded. "Later, then?"

"I ... don't know," Zoe said. "I don't know if I can."

"Why not?" Trina asked, frowning.

Zoe turned away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "Because it still hurts too bad."

Trina sighed. "Tell me this much. Is her mother a danger?"

"God, yes," Zoe snarled.

"Then she won't get to see Brenna. One way or the other."

"They won't be that crazy," Zoe said. "They can't be."

"I hope not." Trina laughed. "Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll have a heart attack or something."

"I won't risk them leaving that bitch alone with her," Zoe said, turning back. "Not ever. I'll slit the slut's throat before I'll let that happen." She turned away again, her expression never softening. "You don't understand."

Trina didn't answer her immediately. "I do. It won't come to that. But ... if it does, I'll provide an alibi."

Zoe sighed, slumping against the car. "It won't. I won't let it, I'll take her away from here. But ... the physical therapy is helping. And they've got her an appointment with a plastic surgeon. And her lungs ... she still gets sick so easily ... a bad cold could kill her if it's not treated properly."

"I'll see if Mom knows anything that could help that," Trina said.

"There isn't anything," Zoe said, shaking her head and plopping down in the seat. "She's had the best doctors ... the case got a lot of media attention, and there were tons of donations ... there's still a trust fund for her medical care, enough to keep paying her doctors and get the scars fixed."

Trina shrugged. "You never know what -- or who -- my Mom will know, you know? She might know someone who specializes in this sort of thing."

"I'm not saying 'don't'. I won't turn down help for Brenna. But ... well ... don't get your hopes up."

"I know," Trina said, nodding. "But I know my mom. She's always come through for me."

Zoe sighed and buckled her seat-belt. "Okay." She glanced at her watch. "I need to be at the motel in an hour. You can drop me off at our rendezvous point."

"Okay."

Trina didn't pull into a parking spot when she picked Zoe up a few hours later, just stopped on the street so that she could hop over the door and toss her bag in the back.

"Push it," Zoe said. "Let's get out of here."

Trina nodded, taking off. "Did you get what you needed?"

"OH, yes," Zoe said, smiling grimly. "They're just lovely." She patted her pockets where the polaroids resided. "Just need to make copies for ... broader ... distribution, and decide who gets the honor of the originals -- the newspaper, or their church bulletin board."

Trina looked at her sideways. "I'm surprised, Zoe. I didn't think you'd miss a trick like this."

"Hmm?" Zoe asked. "You have a better idea?"

Trina nodded. "How old did you say his playmate was?"

"He's fifteen," Zoe said. "But I don't want to send it to the cops. He's consenting. And he'd be worse off if they picked him up."

"If his face was blurred out, would it be obvious that he was underage?" Trina asked thoughtfully.

"Probably," Zoe said. "He's small, slender, and short."

Trina nodded. "Then you give them to the cops, suitably blurred. You tell them when the assignation is. You tip him off to check for cops before he shows up. If the guy shows up at the right time, they'll have enough to arrest him even without catching him in the act. Then you post the pictures everywhere."

"Hmm," Zoe said. "They'll show. According to Maria, they show up almost every week."

Trina blinked. "Wait. Both of them?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Ewww." Trina shuddered.

"Yeah," Zoe said. "But Maria says he told her they pay him $200. $300, if he lets them spank him."

"Double ewww."

Zoe frowned suddenly as Trina turned on to the highway. "Ah ... where the hell are we going?"

"Huh?" Trina asked. "To my place, remember?"

Zoe flushed. "Oh. Right. I forgot."

"It's a cool place."

"Lots of nice houses out this way," Zoe said.

"Yeah."

Zoe sat quietly, her discomfort growing, as they got further out of town. Trina lived about twenty miles out of town, up on a ridge overlooking the lake. Her house was big. Real big. Probably as big as the school, or at least it looked that way.

"We're here," Trina said, pulling into the garage.

"Mm-hmm," Zoe said.

"Oh, hey -- I meant to ask. You haven't eaten, have you? Mom and Dad held supper, just in case," Trina said.

Zoe looked at her, a touch exasperated, but shook her head. "No, I haven't eaten yet."

"Good," Trina said, giving her an odd smile. "You're glad."

Zoe raised an eyebrow at her. "Am I? That should be an interesting feeling."

"You haven't had Mom's cooking before," Trina said. "Trust me on this. You're glad you haven't eaten yet."

"I'll take your word for it," Zoe said, smiling tightly.

"C'mon," Trina said, hitting a button on the wall to close the garage door. "I told you she doesn't bite."

Zoe sighed, very, very quietly, and followed her into the house.

"Mom? Dad? We're home," Trina called, leading her into the dining room, where her mother was just setting the last dish on the table.

Trina's mother may just have been the most intimidating person Zoe had ever met. Angie was an older version of Trina, with an impressive air of refined elegance about her. She also had an incredible sense of power and self-confidence; there was absolutely no doubt in Zoe's mind that Angie was completely used to being obeyed. There was also no doubt in her mind that she was used to getting what she wanted. Zoe could tell that if she wanted someone to do something, they'd better do it unless they were prepared for a battle, because she wouldn't give up without a fight. On the other hand, while her presence was intimidating, she was also completely friendly. Zoe had enough experience with people faking it that she could usually tell, and either Zoe's mother was an extremely good actor or she was actually happy to see her.

"You must be Zoe," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm very glad to meet you."

Zoe shook it, somewhat stiffly, trying to figure out why that sense of power and self-confidence seemed so familiar. "Hi."

A man wearing jeans and a t-shirt walked in the other door. "Zoe, right?" He offered his hand. "Good to meet you. I'm glad you could make it; Trina told us you had some important business to take care of this evening."

Zoe shook his hand quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you would be waiting on me."

He waved his hand. "We usually eat late on Fridays. This isn't that late. Have a seat."

Zoe sat down, poised on the edge of the seat, as everyone else did.

"Roast beef and rosemary potatoes," Trina said. "You're going to love it."

Zoe smiled, shooting Trina an undecipherable look. "I'm sure."

Angie and Thomas were very good at putting people at their ease. Zoe did her best to fake it, trying to be polite, but she could tell that Angie didn't buy it for a moment. On the other hand, she didn't push it either, and she didn't make a point out of not buying it.

Trina was right; the food was the best Zoe had ever had in her life. She couldn't pin down why, exactly; she thought it was something in the seasoning, but she couldn't have said what.

Zoe got the distinct feeling that Angie never missed anything; she was pretty sure Trina didn't notice how much she ate, but Angie did. And she got the oddest feeling that Angie was looking from her to Trina and back again, but she couldn't actually catch her doing it. She couldn't even catch her in a position where she could be doing it.

It made her feel distinctly paranoid, and she doubled her attempt to look like a high-school student with harmlessly rebellious hair and jewelry. She even thought about venturing a giggle about a boy, but decided that if she did she'd have to wash her mouth out with soap afterwards and it wasn't worth it.

Near the end, she did see Angie glance at her. Her eyes widened, and she whispered something Zoe couldn't make out.

Zoe's head was turned just enough for her to catch Trina's blush, and the nod in answer to the question.

What the hell?

She'd gotten the impression, as she got to know her, that Trina was like an iceberg, with only a small part of the real Trina showing, but what was this about? She couldn't help but frown slightly, and she saw Trina's blush intensify.

Good. Maybe Trina would start thinking about how to answer the questions she had to know Zoe had.

After dinner, they moved to another room, with warm wood-paneled walls, bookshelves, and a liquor cabinet. Two of the chairs had ashtrays beside them, and Trina motioned her to one of them, sitting down in the chair beside it.

Zoe was wondering if she dared pull out her cloves, when Angie opened the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of whisky. "Do you prefer your whisky straight, or on the rocks?" she asked.

Zoe stared at her, shocked. "Thank you, but no, I really don't drink." She slid her pack of cloves out of her pocket, deciding that if they didn't object to alcohol... "But if you don't mind?"

"I didn't think you did," Angie said, handing her daughter a glass with perhaps two fingers of liquid in it. "I'd appreciate it if you'd make an exception in this case, however. It's a MacCeallaich tradition that serious matters are discussed over serious liquor, and we take our traditions seriously."

Zoe squirmed uncomfortably, looking at the glass in Trina's hand and wondering how she was going to get home. "I don't ... it's genetic, see, my father was..." She ran a hand through the long part of her hair in a quick, nervous gesture, turning the pack of cigarettes over and over in her other hand. "A tiny bit. Watered down, please," she said, surrendering.

Angie smiled. "Can we compromise on 'on the rocks'?"

Zoe considered it. Ice melted. "Sure." She was more than a bit freaked out, wondering what the hell was going on, but she'd be damned if she'd admit it.

Angie handed her a glass with slightly less whisky than Trina's. "Here you go." She nodded at the cigarettes. "Go right ahead." She sat down, and raised her glass. "Behgawn og us ah rah go mah."

Trina looked at her. "It means, 'say little, but say it well'. It's traditional for these sorts of things." She took a sip of her drink, obviously used to it.

Zoe wondered what 'these sorts of things' were, and decided she needed to have words with Trina about not warning her.

Angie looked at her, and any trace of humor vanished. "Trina tells us there's a little girl in danger. What do we need to do to protect her?"

Zoe stiffened, spine as rigid as steel. "What's the cost? I'm not saying I won't pay it ... but what is it?"

Thomas shook his head, his deep voice calm. "It's not your cost. It's ours. We have all this," he waved his hand at the house, "and we're obligated to do what we can to help others. If we don't, we're being pretty damned ungrateful."

Zoe clenched her jaw. "You don't understand. Bren's my responsibility. Mine. I owe her, and I promised I'd take care of her. Not that I'd pass it on to someone else."

"Is it taking care of her to refuse help when it's offered? If she was to be adopted, would you refuse to let her new parents take care of her?" Angie asked.