Free A Family Kind of Gal by Lisa Jackson Page B

usual bravado had evaporated, and his face was bruised, one eye nearly swollen shut. Scarcely a teenager and yet, it seemed, on the brink of big trouble with the law.
    Not good. Not good at all.
    But then J.D. had suspected as much.
    â€œMrs. Santini?” The officer who had driven the car, a short man with thick, wavy brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, approached.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œOfficer Talbot, Bittersweet Police.”
    â€œHi.”
    He glanced at J.D. “Mr. Santini?”
    â€œYes, but I’m not the boy’s father.”
    Brown eyebrows sprang upward, over the tops of the policeman’s glasses. J.D. thrust out his hand. “J.D.,” he said. “I’m Stephen’s uncle.”
    Stephen shot J.D. a suspicious glance that spoke volumes, then reached into the back seat of the patrol car for his battered skateboard.
    â€œYou might want to have his eye looked at,” the officer said to Tiffany. “Helluva shiner, if you ask me.”
    â€œI will,” Tiffany promised as Christina buried her face into the crook of her mother’s neck, smearing blood and dirt on the long column of Tiffany’s throat.
    â€œI’m okay,” Stephen mumbled, a hank of black hair tumbling over his forehead and partially hiding the eye in question.
    â€œI still think it should be checked,” Tiffany said, her nervous gaze skating over Stephen’s injuries. Then she asked, “How’s the other boy?”
    â€œLooks about like this one here.” The officer touched Stephen on the shoulder. “Let’s hope this is the last of it.”
    Sullenly Stephen studied the ground.
    â€œIt will be,” Tiffany promised as Talbot offered a patient smile, then turned back to his car just as the interior radio crackled to life. Talbot’s pace increased, and he climbed behind the wheel of the cruiser. He snapped up the handset of the radio.
    â€œWhat happened?” J.D. asked Stephen. The cruiser took off.
    â€œNothin’.”
    â€œBlack eyes like that don’t appear by themselves.”
    With a disinterested lift of his shoulder, Stephen carried his skateboard and sauntered toward the house.
    â€œWait,” Tiffany commanded. “I think we should have your eye checked at the clinic or the emergency room.”
    â€œI already told you it’s okay.”
    Christina, as if sensing all of the attention was focused on her brother, sniffed loudly. “My chin hurts.”
    â€œI know it does, honey.” Tenderly Tiffany placed a kiss upon her daughter’s temple. “We’ll fix it while we take care of your brother,” she assured her daughter.
    Stephen snorted. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”
    â€œSure you do,” she quipped back and followed him inside. J.D. didn’t hesitate but walked past a fading Apartment for Rent sign and up the two steps to the front porch.
    â€œGosh, Mom, just get off my case, okay?” He rolled his one good eye, and with as much attitude as he could manage, he dashed up the stairs. An instant later a door on the second floor slammed, and within seconds the sound of angry guitar chords filtered down the stairway.
    Tiffany hesitated as if she wanted to chase after him, but finally shook her head. “I’ll just be a minute,” she said to J.D., and he noticed the worry in her amber eyes, as if some of the fight had left her.
    His heart twisted stupidly. “You need some help?”
    She looked at him straight on, those intense gold eyes holding his for a second. He saw the beat of her pulse at the base of her throat, and some of his suspicion melted. Maybe she was just an overworked single parent. “Thanks, but I can manage,” she said coolly as she carried Christina to the little bathroom tucked beneath the stairs. “I have the extra key. If you just give me a minute, I’ll get it for you. It’s in my purse, in the kitchen. Why don’t