Controlled Response (Knights of the Board Room #2)

Max shifted his gaze to her in the mirror, then back to the road while Lucas sat silently.

"All due respect, ma'am, but we're in a section of town now where I wouldn't kick my worst enemy out of the car, let alone a young lady. Mr. Adler isn't going to allow it anyhow."

"I see the whole unapologetically male thing extends to your staff as well," she said through gritted teeth as the glass scrolled up with a quiet hum.

"You have more kids at home," he said gently. "Don't you? Are they yours?"

"How did you—"

"Because I'm as good at this as you are, and that was a rotten attempt to freeze me out.

Now, are they yours?" Despite his indication that he was aware she was being defensive, the temper in his expression said he wasn't going to let her insult him again without consequences. Cass wasn't sure she could handle his idea of retribution right now.

"Yes. Siblings," she stated stiffly. "Five of them, from ages five to sixteen."

He blinked. "Your parents—"

"Are no longer part of the picture. Haven't been, for a long time." She shook her head, looked out the window. "Please stop, Lucas. Please. Just. .. stop."

Mortified, she had to blink back tears. She could already feel the weight of what she was about to do settling in the pit of her stomach. She'd spent too much time in fucking hospitals and police stations. If he said one more word, she was going to lose it.

Instead, she stiffened as his arm settled on her shoulders. To her surprise, he didn't say anything further, just squeezed lightly, a reassurance, his hand stroking her upper arm. A soothing she'd be crazy to take. Like lying down for one minute at home when she was so tired, or taking one more bite of chocolate, things she'd taught herself not to do. But Lucas had undermined some of her normal defenses, to say the least.

"If I put my head on your shoulder for a moment, will you be quiet and not say anything?"

In answer, his hand molded itself to her temple, easing her down. He kept it there, just stroking her as the limo made its way through the traffic toward the police station.

George was the uniform who worked the beat where Jeremy most often was picked up.

He'd known her for some time, one of the cops who'd been called to the house for domestic disturbances involving her mother, sometimes her father. So when Jeremy got picked up, he usually tried to keep him from being processed, giving her the chance to come retrieve and talk some sense into him. Occasionally, he'd suggested that shipping Jeremy over to the East Baton Rouge holding facility to cool his heels might not be a bad idea. But they'd been that route before and she wouldn't do it again, not when she had a choice.

She'd asked Lucas to head back to his office or, at the least, to stay in the car, neither of which he did. So he was a quiet, unobtrusive shadow behind her as she went through the far-too-familiar routine.

"I'll send him out front," George said, giving Lucas a quick cop assessment. "You can head him off before he takes off."

"Thanks."

He nodded, gave her a pitying look she hated, particularly with Lucas there to see it, too.

Turning without another word, she headed back out, aware that Lucas held the door for her, his fingertips grazing her lower back as they left the station. She moved a few steps down the sidewalk, and took a seat on a bench. Lucas stood beside her. She wondered why he didn't sit down, then realized he was blocking her from the chill wind that was sweeping garbage along the sidewalk. He put his jacket around her, made her put her hands through the sleeves without making her talk.

That simple kindness could have broken her, but fortunately Jeremy came out the front then. He saw her immediately, of course. She always came to get him.

It was hard to comprehend everything that passed over his face. Derision, hunger, need.

Waste was what she usually saw. Features too gaunt, the eyes burning or distant and vague, depending on whether or not he was still riding his latest hit. He'd inherited their father's height and good looks, as well as the addictive personality that had made her daddy a drunk. Unfortunately, the height and addictive personality were all Jeremy had left. Her twenty-four-year-old brother had the face of a man thirty years older. On the last visit, she'd heard one of the uniforms mutter to George, "She won't have to waste her time on him much longer. We'll find his body in an alley soon enough."

She couldn't argue with the truth of that either. But she couldn't give up on the brother who'd gone from recreational drugs in junior high to hardcore abuse in order to blot out what was happening at home.

"Rescued by big sis again." He spread his arms out as she approached him, noting his calculating look toward Lucas and the limo. "Glad you could fit me in before your big date. Going to the prom?"

"You're looking worse, jer. Why don't you let me take you somewhere, buy you some lunch?"

"Got things to do. You can give me the cash, though. I'll pick something up at the deli.

Since you've got funds to spare."

She shook her head. "You'll just buy another fix. How are you buying your drugs, Jer?

You know, possession is far different from dealing. You could—"

"Go to prison for a long time. So much worse than my life now."

She knew better than to engage, but then again, these brief minutes every few weeks were the only chance she got. "You chose this life. You can choose something different. Let me take you to get a sandwich. We can talk about it."

"At home?" The thread of hope behind the derision ripped her heart out of her chest, but she maintained a neutral tone.

"You're not allowed to come there. Not as long as you're strung out. It hurts Marcie and the others too much. Jessica really misses you. If you'd just let me get you into a program—"

"Been there, done that. Don't give a shit," he said bluntly. "Fuck off, sis. Don't need help from someone with a silver spoon stuck up all her holes but nothing to give her brother.

Maybe that's your problem. If you'd given me more of a chance to be the man of the family, rather than taking on the role yourself, then maybe I wouldn't have turned out like this."

"I was the oldest, Jeremy. You know I—"

He cut her off with a sharp gesture. "I'm only two fucking years younger than you. But you had to run it all, do it all, make me feel even more like a screw-up."

She really did know better, but her nerves were frayed, firing her temper. "I tried that, remember? While I was trying to get my degree, you invited your creepy friends over to shoot up. You remember how one of them tried to rape Marcie when she was thirteen?"

Cass stepped into him, bumping his toes. He stank. God, when was the last time he'd bathed? "Or were you too stoned to remember your sister screaming for your help?"

"Back off," Jeremy snarled, shoving her back, curling a hand into a fist. And found that hand caught, his body yanked around, hard gray eyes inches from his face.

"I don't care if she is your sister, you don't hit girls," Lucas said evenly. "And you sure as hell don't hit her."

"So she finally got herself a boyfriend. I was beginning to think she prefers pussy, only she's so cold you'd have to use a hairdryer to get anything up her cu—"

Lucas hauled him up onto his toes. "Finish it, and you'll be on your ass picking up your teeth. She may see her baby brother, but I see a piece of shit. You shut it, or I will shut it for you."

Cass had frozen. In her anger, she'd almost forgotten Lucas was with her, at her back.

Cold, controlled, his eyes like steel. Her brother was enough of a street creature to know when the odds were against him. He shut up, though he glared.

"She weighs nothing, comes up to your chin, and you were about to hit her with a closed fist. Jesus." Lucas thrust him off, away from Cass, hard enough to send him stumbling, and she didn't miss that he positioned himself between them. "If nothing else, that should tell you that you need help. You're absolutely right. She does need a man to help her lead the family. Get into rehab, stick with it. Admit you need your family's help. That's what a real man would do."

"Jeremy." Recovering, Cass stepped around Lucas. "Please, let us help."

"Fuck off." Jeremy took off at an awkward run, his limbs uncoordinated so he stumbled over a couple cracks on the pavement, but kept going.

She almost gave chase, then felt the gentle but firm restraint of Lucas's hand. Pulling away, she rubbed her forehead, counted to ten. "I'm not in the mood for lunch anymore."

She didn't think she could bear to look at him, but then Lucas touched her face, surprising her such that she looked up at him.

"I'm sorry, Cass."

"No. Nothing for you to be sorry about."

"Yeah, there is." He looked down the sidewalk, where Jeremy had stopped, backpedaling when he realized they weren't following. He shot a middle finger at her, shouted something intelligible, and then turned, striding away among a largely apathetic crowd who recognized a junkie when they saw one. "That's something for everyone to be sorry about."

Moving farther from his comfort, she stared at a homeless person propped against the side wall of a storefront, sheltering from the wind. "I live in a safe, beautiful house. I have a security guard and a gate. Specifically so he can't be there."

"Has he been through rehab?"

"Twice. Ditched it both times. I had to make sure he couldn't get to the girls and Nate,"

she added, a steadying reminder. She wouldn't let Lucas see her fall apart over this. More than that, she wouldn't do it to herself. "They'd fall right into his traps, his sob stories. But I keep ..." Her voice trembled again, despite her attempt, but she steadied it with a fierce shrug of her shoulders. "Well, that's that, then."

"No. What?" He took her by the shoulders, wouldn't let her go when she pulled. "Tell me, Cass."