“Lesley Beise, unfortunately. He was two years older and always wanting cash. I had a babysitting gig, and I’d help my grandmother with gardening. She likes to use fresh ingredients as often as possible. Marin took that and expanded it into the town nursery. Plus, it was mandatory that we work in the restaurant at least one school night each week, starting when we were thirteen. I worked as often as I could, though. I was saving up for my first car. I’ve always been a pre-planner. Monica worked two hours each night in the restaurant, too. My grandmother hired her as a favor to me.”
“How does this have to do with Lesley?”
“He would drive us where we needed to go; in exchange, we’d give him two or three dollars each, depending on how far we needed to go. Everywhere else in town, we walked.”
“Tell me about Lesley.”
Her face tightened. “He was someone I tolerated, Knight.”
“How so?”
“Monica was extremely close to her siblings. I understood that—you’ve met my family. And she was loyal. I got that, too—but Lesley Beise was a bit of a sleaze.” Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him. Knight hadn’t been aware that he’d moved closer. He put a bit more distance between them.
“Keep going. And close your eyes.” He didn’t want her looking at him. Not with the two of them so close. He was so close, he could count every single freckle.
Damn it. He had to get out and meet a woman. One not in any way associated with the bureau. Especially not PAVAD. As soon as he got back to St. Louis.
There had been a law clerk in the circuit court who he’d been sniffing around before he’d been shot. Maybe he’d call her up and see if she was still interested. Anything to get this edgy feeling to go away. He refused to let himself be attracted to Miranda Talley.
Knight had to just keep his hands to himself. Keep her far, far away from where she could do damage.
“Keep going. And keep your eyes closed.” The words came out as a bark. Not his intention. He gentled his tone when she shot him a pointed look. “Miranda, why and how was Lesley Beise a sleazy dick?”
“Because that’s all he thought with. His undershorts.” Her face tightened even more. “And he had grabby hands.”
“How so?”
“I never told Monica because she practically worshiped him. Not until the last time. It was bad that time.”
“What did he do to you, Miranda?” He could imagine it. She had been thin and awkward at fifteen. Less curved. A little less polished. The glasses had overshadowed her face. But the draw would have been there, even fourteen years ago. If he had been a teenage boy in a small town like this one, he would have looked at her. At least once or twice.
And if she was in and out of his house, right under his nose—the temptation would have been there. For a teenage boy, it would have been hard to resist doing something stupid.
Unless it had been the exact opposite. Had familiarity bred contempt? Had Lesley Beise been irritated and annoyed with Miranda and his sister? Wanted them far away from him? Knight knew what that would be like—there had been plenty of foster brothers and sisters in his past who he’d felt that way about. He’d only had ties to a few there at the end.
It had been better to close himself off from everyone. Self-preservation was a very real thing.
“It wasn’t anything overt, at first.” Her voice lowered, turned sadder. “It was more insidious than that.”
“How so?”
“Hands, mostly. The first time, I just thought it was an accident. You know? I was too young to realize at first that it wasn’t.”
“He’d touch you. Without your permission.” It wasn’t a question. They both knew that. Anger threatened to boil. If he ever had a teenage daughter—a slim possibility since he’d probably never marry—he’d shred a teenage boy who tried the same. “What did you do about it?”
“The third time. It was the third time. I was…at their house.” Miranda tensed in the chair, even though the memories were long dust-covered. “I was rarely there without Monica.”
“Where was Monica?”
“Hmm. She was late. She’d had to stop and talk to one of the teachers at the high school.” Her hands drummed on the arms of the chair. Long, pretty fingers, with light-pink polished nails. Miranda’s hands were as soft as they’d looked. Her eyes closed again. “I got to her house early, and I was waiting in her room. Her grandmother had let me in. Monica had just painted it orange and pink, and I was there to see it. I was hiding out in her room, actually. She shared with her little sister, but Honey wasn’t there.”
“What day was that?”
“A month or so before they disappeared, I think. It was still cold and snowy out. I was shivering. My coat wasn’t thick enough.” Green eyes opened and looked up at him. “He used that as an excuse. Offered to warm me up. When I finally realized what he meant—I was a nerd, Knight; a boy’s attention was terrifying for me at that age—I felt embarrassed and awkward. I did not have those types of feelings for Les. Not by a long shot. Most of all, I just wanted to avoid him.”
He’d seen photos of Lesley Beise. The guy had looked like a punk—and an ugly one, at that. Rough, tough. Dirty. Nothing that a sweet girl like Miranda had been back then would have ever been attracted to.
He knew that almost instinctively. “What did he do when you refused him?”
“He got rough. Pushed me by the shoulder. Told me I thought I was too good for him. And then, he grabbed me.” Direct, open, honest, but Knight got it. It had terrified her. She’d been just a kid. “His grandmother walked in. She’d seen the whole thing.”
“What did she do?”
Miranda shook her head. “She turned
