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  “Do you think the Sorensens are as dangerous as Paige believes?”

  He gave her a knowing smile but did not answer and that made her wonder why.

  To fill the awkward silence, Claudia got the remote control from the coffee table and handed it to her young guest.

  “Annabelle, you can watch TV while I shower and get dressed. My niece will be here in a little while and we’ll go do something fun.”

  Annabelle blew a big purple bubble, popped it. She plopped onto the sofa and Falkenberg dropped her backpack on the floor beside her. “Here’s your stuff, Anna,” he said.

  The girl glanced up from clicking through the channels with an elaborately bored sigh. “Whatever.”

  He reached out to chuck her under the chin, but she jerked her head away. “Behave yourself for Ms. Rose, okay, young lady?”

  Claudia saw him to the door, wondering with a little ripple of unease if she had gotten herself in too deep. Kids were not her specialty. “Good luck in Palm Springs,” she said.

  Upstairs, Jovanic was dressed in shorts, one foot up on a chair, lacing up his running shoe. Claudia came up from behind and wrapped her arms around him, leaned her cheek against his bare back. “I’m sorry, Joel. We’re always getting interrupted at the worst moments.”

  He grunted and straightened, threw a T-shirt over his shoulder, and swatted her on the ass as they headed downstairs. “You mean the best moments, don’t you?”

  Annabelle’s demeanor improved with Falkenberg’s departure, and Claudia began to harbor a small hope that the weekend would be a success, that she could balance her attention between the two girls and Jovanic. But when she introduced Annabelle to Jovanic, he was clearly annoyed by the terse response she gave him, and that small hope took a nosedive.

  God. Is the entire weekend going to be like this?

  “Bert made that up about me wanting to come over here early,” Annabelle said when Jovanic had jogged down the street. “He was the one who couldn’t wait to get away from the school.”

  “Why would he make it up?”

  Shrug. “Paige pissed him off and he probably didn’t want to look like a dork for bringing me so early.”

  “How do you know Paige pissed him off?”

  “I heard them yelling.” She made an innocent face. “I wasn’t trying to listen. Bert wanted her to go with him, but she said she had other plans.”

  “So he put it on you?”

  Annabelle gave another couldn’t-care-less jerk of her shoulder and changed the subject. “Is your boyfriend a cop?”

  “What makes you ask that?”

  “I can smell it.” She wrinkled her nose for emphasis. They were in the kitchen snapping open cans of soda and awaiting the arrival of Pete and Monica.

  Annabelle took the gum out of her mouth and drank from the can. “He is, isn’t he?”

  Exasperated, Claudia folded her arms and gave her the skinny eyes. “What if he is? Is that a problem for you, Annabelle?”

  “He’s your boyfriend. I’ll cut him some slack.”

  “That’s mighty big of you.”

  “No problem.” Annabelle dipped her head, but she couldn’t quite hide the smile that transformed her into a regular kid instead of a sullen brat.

  Then her cell phone rang and the scowl fell back over her face. She crossed her arms in a defiant pose and stared at Claudia.

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” Claudia asked.

  “It’s just my father.”

  “Then answer it, please.”

  With a big show of impatience, Annabelle dug the phone out of her pocket.

  “What?” There was a pause while her father spoke; then she said with great indignation, “I did not!” Another pause. “That’s all you care about. Well, I don’t have your keys . . . No . . .”

  She powered off the phone and stuffed it back into her pocket. “He’s always blaming me for everything. I didn’t take his stupid car keys.” Her eyes blazed with resentment. “I wish . . .”

  Her wish stayed on her lips, interrupted by the doorbell. Running feet sounded on the teak floor of the living room. A lanky girl dressed in denim overalls rushed into the kitchen, long hair flowing from beneath a floppy sunflower hat. A classic California girl in the making.

  The girl threw herself onto Claudia. “Aunty C.!” Her voice was muffled in the hug. “I can’t believe Daddy’s letting me stay over! How cool is that? He never lets me go anywhere!” She did a quick pirouette. “Are you Annabelle? Hi, I’m Monica.” Somehow, it all came out in one breath.

  Annabelle stared at the girl bouncing around the kitchen as Monica prattled on. “Daddy’s putting my stuff upstairs. Aunty C., if I showed you some handwriting, would you, like, tell me about that person?”

  Claudia grinned at her. “Does this ‘person’ happen to be male?”

  Monica blushed and giggled. “Well . . .”

  “Duh!” Annabelle interrupted with a big eye roll. “What else?”

  The two girls’ eyes met, and Claudia was amazed to see something click. Annabelle, who hadn’t made a single friend at the Sorensen Academy in the months she’d been there, had made an instant connection with Claudia’s niece.

  Maybe Paige wasn’t so far off the mark. Getting away from school and meeting someone who knew nothing about her background—someone who was as opposite as she could be—would give Annabelle another chance.

  When Claudia joined the men in the living room they were laughing at something on the television. At six two, Claudia’s brother, Pete, matched Jovanic for height, but his build was slight. Today he looked more like a lumberjack than the computer techie he was. Strictly L.L.Bean in jeans, heavy work boots, and plaid flannel shirt flapping open over a dark tee. He wore his forty-three years well.

  A stranger might not see it, but since his wife’s death two years earlier, Pete’s laughter never quite reached his eyes. Of course, Claudia was no stranger. She put her arms around him and squeezed. “All set?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna catch me some tuna thiiis big.” He stretched his arms wide.

  She laughed. “Sounds like a fish story to me. Something to eat first?”

  “No thanks, sis. I want to get to San Diego and check out the boat.” He turned to his daughter and wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug. “Do everything your Aunt Claudia says. Stay close to her when you go out. Don’t go off by yourselves.”

  “Oh, Daddy, stop worrying! We’re going early Christmas shopping.”

  Claudia glanced over at Annabelle, who had hung back and was watching with a guarded expression. The contrast between the two motherless girls was not lost on her—a doting daddy for one, a distant father for the other.

  Pete left and Jovanic followed shortly afterward. The girls went upstairs to unpack their overnight bags. Claudia went into her office to work on a handwriting analysis while they waited for her friend Kelly Brennan. The four of them would head for the mall. It was still November, but the holiday season got more elastic every year.

  About thirty minutes later there was a knock at the office door and Monica’s blond head poked around it. “Could you look at that handwriting now?” She came over to Claudia and stuck a sheet of lined notebook paper in front of her. “Please?”

  Claudia stretched and pushed her chair away from the desk. “Sure, let’s take a look at this guy.”

  Annabelle sidled in after her and gazed around the office with interest. “This is where you work?”

  “This is it. Pull up a couple of chairs.”

  “Why did Joel leave?” Monica asked.

  Claudia switched on some lamps while the girls settled themselves. “He had some stuff to do at his apartment. He’ll be back later, after we get home from the mall.” She unfolded the paper. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  It appeared to be a school essay.

  Sports are worthless, it began. What’s the point? They only cause pain and injury, shortening the life span of many athletes . . . It went
on in the same vein for another dozen or so lines. The handwriting was tense, narrow, and brittle, the pressure heavy on the paper. Claudia looked up at her niece with a frown of concern. “This isn’t your boyfriend, is it?”

  “No, it’s for my friend. She thinks he’s really awesome—hard core. She wants to know what you can tell about him.”

  Claudia hoped her niece was telling the truth. The handwriting reminded her too much of the two teenaged boys who had engineered the Columbine school massacre in the 1990s.

  “I get it that she thinks he’s awesome, but this boy has some big problems. He’s got a lot of anger inside him. Sometimes, when tension builds up, it can explode and hurt other people. It looks to me like his father is probably very strict, and the boy is feeling resentful.”

  “How can you tell that about his father?” Annabelle cut in.

  “It’s not just one thing that tells me,” said Claudia. “It’s the total picture of the handwriting—the way it’s laid out on the page, the way the letters look, the pressure. Lots of stuff.” She gave her niece a serious look. “Monica, your friend should keep her distance. This boy has bigger problems than she can deal with.”

  A few minutes into the discussion, Annabelle ducked out, returning a moment later. “I have some handwriting I want you to tell me about, too,” she said, handing over a small folded note card, the kind that comes with gifts and flowers.

  Claudia opened it and eyed the block-printed message. It was well developed, mature. Adult. No signature. Although she typically did not read the text of a handwriting she was analyzing until after the analysis was complete, she was curious to see what Annabelle had brought her.

  Between the two holidays, she read to herself. Besos, besos, besos.

  Kisses, kisses, kisses.

  She glanced at Annabelle, hiding the stab of dismay she felt. “Who wrote this?”

  “Someone I know.”

  “Where’d you get it, Annabelle?”

  The girl glared at her, a sudden return of defiance, palpable in the set of her shoulders, the jut of her chin, the way she compressed her lips. “Are you gonna tell me about him or not?”

  “First, I’d like to know what you’re doing with this note. Was it written to you?”

  “Just forget it.” Annabelle snatched the card back and stalked out of the office. Claudia wasn’t certain, but thought she heard her mutter, “Bitch.”

  Monica stared after her new friend, looking appalled. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Annabelle lost her mom when she was only six,” she explained. “She had a car accident, like your mom. But she’s not close to her dad. I don’t think he’s around much, so she doesn’t get a lot of attention. I guess that’s why she acts that way.”

  Annabelle must be a real wake-up call for her sheltered niece, Claudia thought. Pete wouldn’t thank her for that.

  Claudia could see Monica’s tender heart engage. Even as a child, she had always been protective of small creatures and underdogs.

  “I’m gonna go talk to her,” said Monica. “I’ll make her feel better.”

  Claudia watched her go. Jeez. They hadn’t even made it to the mall yet, and she was already worn out.

  The shops had been holiday-ready since before Halloween, and consumers jammed the Westside Pavilion. Overhead, red neon outlined the arched roof of the mall. Reindeers and stars in the rafters, Christmas trees hung with every decoration known to man. Lights everywhere. “The Little Drummer Boy” parump-a-pum-pummed from every speaker.

  Despite the decorations, Claudia was not in a holiday frame of mind. Annabelle’s mood had improved enough for her to offer a grudging apology for her earlier behavior. But she remained steadfast in her refusal to reveal where she had gotten the note card or who had written the message in it.

  They started at Planet Funk and went on to Hot Topic. Claudia began to feel ancient. She couldn’t remember dressing so scantily or wearing such graphic T-shirts when she was Annabelle and Monica’s age, and the music was way too loud.

  With an inward groan, she realized that she was echoing her mother. Kelly’s suggestion of Victoria’s Secret made her brighten. Maybe she would find something to improve Jovanic’s mood.

  Mistletoe and pink and white garlands adorned larger-than-life posters: lingerie-clad models with impossibly perfect bodies in fur-trimmed Santa hats and shiny black patent-leather, spike-heeled boots.

  The girls headed for the Pink section while the two women browsed.

  Claudia picked a merry widow bustier from a rack and held it against her. “What do you think?”

  Kelly shook her head. “Lose that feathery stuff around the top.”

  Claudia hung it back on the rack with regret. “It is kind of excessive, isn’t it?”

  “You need something to make him laugh.”

  “That’s not exactly the response I was after, Kel.”

  “No, no, trust me, he’s way too serious. It’s that cop thing. You gotta lighten him up.” Kelly pointed to a table piled with novelty stockings. “How about these?”

  A pair of model legs stood on the table, displaying red silk thigh-highs. Embroidered in a holiday design in the lace at the top of one leg was Merry Christmas. On the other, Happy New Year.

  “Like that old Mae West line,” Kelly said, cocking a hip and resting her fist on it.

  “Which one? She had so many good lines.”

  “ ‘My left leg is Christmas,’ ” Kelly quoted, imitating the sex goddess’ sultry voice. “ ‘My right leg is New Year’s. Come see me between the holidays.’ ”

  Claudia rolled her eyes. “Oh, jeez, that’s pretty corny.” She turned to another table, considering some black thong panties. “Just shows how—” She stopped midsentence. “Holy shit.”

  “What?” Kelly asked.

  A quick glance around made sure the girls were not within earshot. She told Kelly about the note card Annabelle had showed her.

  “It said, ‘Between the two holidays. Besos, besos, besos.’ Do you think . . . ?”

  Kelly raised her eyebrows. “Who’s writing her shit like that?”

  “She wouldn’t say where she got it, but I’m pretty sure I know.”

  “So don’t keep me in suspense, grasshopper.”

  “One of the instructors at the Sorensen Academy. Besos is Spanish for kisses. He’s Hispanic, and she’s got a big crush on him.”

  “A frigging teacher? You’ve gotta be shittin’ me. You have to report him. This is over the line, even for me.”

  “If he wrote it to her.”

  “What do you mean? You just said she got it from him.”

  “Paige Sorensen and this guy Cruz have a thing going on. She thinks he’s hot, and I’m pretty sure they’re together this weekend. Annabelle could have snagged it off Paige’s desk.”

  “You know the guy?”

  “We’ve met a couple of times.” Claudia fluttered her lashes. “Soulful eyes you could fall into. Nice ass.”

  “So introduce me.”

  “Forget it. It’s complicated enough already. He doesn’t need you hitting on him.”

  “Oh come on. I’m only up to ninety-seven. I’m falling behind.”

  “Jeez, Kelly, you’re not still keeping score, are you?” For years, Kelly had been keeping a list of men she’d slept with. She was aiming for two hundred before she turned forty, which was only a few months away. “In this day and age? Are you fucking nuts?”

  “No, honey, most of the guys I fuck these days are pretty sane.”

  Kelly dropped them back at Claudia’s house late in the afternoon, loaded down with shopping bags. The girls were chattering to each other and giggling like lifelong friends.

  Annabelle Giordano, normal kid. Go figure. It felt good to see her usual scowl replaced with a grin.

  Jovanic was deep into a Lakers game. He greeted them absently.

  “Why don’t you girls go upstairs and try on your new duds?” Claudia suggested, hoping for a few minutes alone with hi
m. They didn’t wait to be asked twice. Moments later, the stereo was blasting from the spare bedroom.

  Dumping her bags on the floor, Claudia selected the one with the Victoria’s Secret stripes. Trying to compete with Kobe Bryant was a nonstarter, so she waited for the break. When the commercials came on she folded back the tissue paper to give Jovanic a glimpse of its contents.

  “Tomorrow night . . .” she tempted, moving her body suggestively in front of him.

  He glanced in at the froth of black lace and leered at her. “How about tonight?”

  She shook her head. “It’d be too weird with the girls in the next room. Tomorrow, I promise.” She dropped onto the sofa beside him. “I think we covered every inch of that mall.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “Annabelle really started to open up. First time I’ve seen her—”

  “I’m supposed to be impressed?” Jovanic interrupted, scowling. “Can’t you see she’s playing you, Claudia?” He returned his gaze to the television. Kwame Brown scored and the crowd was on their feet, chanting. “Kids like her don’t change this late in the game.”

  Claudia felt the hot flash of irritation burn up her neck and into her cheeks. “You think I’m so stupid I don’t know if a fourteen-year-old is trying to manipulate me?”

  “I didn’t say you were stupid. You’re just not used to dealing with juvenile delinquents.”

  She glanced behind them at the stairs. From the second floor the girls were singing along at the top of their voices as Missy Elliott rapped about how hot she was. The volume was high enough to drown out their conversation.

  “She is not a juvenile delinquent. She’s a kid who’s been emotionally neglected and doesn’t have anyone to care about her.”

  Jovanic got up and stretched. “Yeah, well, now she’s got you, hasn’t she, Mother Teresa? I’m going home.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you? What about the game?”

  He made a sound of disgust and clicked off the television. “How am I supposed to watch the game with all that noise?”

  “Joel, this isn’t like you. Why are you so cranky?”

  Jovanic shook his head and leveled a look at her. “Sometimes, Claudia, I get tired of playing second fiddle to your clients, your family, and now this—stray kid you bring home. You don’t make time for us. This is a prime example—Paige asks you to take this girl for the weekend; you say sure, no problem. Same with Monica. You didn’t ask my opinion. Probably never occurred to you that I might have wanted to do something alone with you this weekend.”