Free The Last White Knight by Tami Hoag Page B

skin, and combat boots. A safety pin and a cross hung from one ear. A tiny ruby studded one nostril. It was a look calculated to make her seem ugly and unapproachable. Lynn knew; she had worn her own version of it for a time.
    “Want a Twinkie?” she asked, holding up the yellow cake. The question won her nothing more than a derisive snort. “So where’d you go last night?”
    “Nowhere.”
    “That must have been exciting.”
    “I went to Peace Plaza to hang out, okay? Big freaking deal.”
    From the corner of her eye, Lynn caught Erik’s scowl as he helped Martha unpack grocery bags. She looked back at Regan in time to catch the girl examining a nasty scrape on the knuckles of her right hand.
    “Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. Like you really care.”
    “I do really care.”
    “Because my parents are paying you to.”
    “No, but I’m sure you’d rather think that, so I’m not going to argue with you. What happened?”
    Regan’s gaze flicked away. “I tripped on the sidewalk.”
    She wasn’t a very convincing liar. Lynn hadn’t figured out yet if her ineptitude at prevarication was intentional or natural. She suspected it was a little of both. She let the subject drop for the moment. She didn’t like the idea of Regan wandering the streets at night, and neither did she like the idea that something had happened to cause that abrasion, but probing deeper now would only win her more defiance. She took a bite of Twinkie and changed tack.
    “Regan, I know you have a problem with rules,” she said calmly, dipping a finger into the cream filling, “but we really need you to follow them right now. Things are getting pretty touchy with this move.”
    “What the hell do I care?” the girl snapped. “I hate this freaking place. I wouldn’t care if someone burned it to the freaking ground.”
    “Hey!” Erik barked, wheeling around from the cupboard with a thunderous expression on his face. “I’ve heard about enough of your mouth.”Regan’s chin lifted. “So why don’t you freaking leave?”
    Lynn watched as Erik’s face turned red clear to the tips of his ears. The muscles in his jaw tightened, his nostrils flared. Seeing his temper escalate reminded her of her father. A little part of her heart sank. She had already guessed he wouldn’t be the tolerant sort, but some small corner of her heart had been holding out hope. Foolish heart. He was an authoritarian, a man who lived by the rules, a straight arrow. He wouldn’t understand girls like Regan. He said he was here because he cared, but his caring didn’t extend beyond the issue itself.
    She abandoned the Twinkie and moved away from the table just as Erik advanced on Regan with a finger raised in warning.
    “Miss Shaw is trying to help you. The least you can do is be civil to her.”
    Regan’s eyes snapped with rebellion. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”
    Lynn intervened with graceful diplomacy, putting herself between them. “Regan, this is Senator Gunther.”
    “Whoopee-do.”
    Erik sucked in a breath as he turned a darker shade of maroon. Lynn shot him a pointed look. “The senator was just leaving,” she said sharply,warding off whatever tirade he had been about to embark on.
    Erik started to refute her statement, but the ominous glitter in her eyes made him bite his tongue. He backed away a step as Lynn turned toward her young charge, ushering her through the door.
    “Let’s go put something on that scrape, then you can help Martha get the kitchen in order.”
    “Maybe I don’t want to help Martha.”
    “Tough spit. That’s your job.”
    Erik sat on the front step of the house, staring glumly at the street. It was a warm, cloudy day. Down the block a group of little girls were playing a game that involved a lot of high-pitched squealing. Next door St. Stephen’s loomed like a small medieval castle cut from honey-colored limestone. On the sidewalk in front of the church an elderly woman made her way along with a