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Then the boy went quiet, his expression becoming puzzled.
“Did the driver try to get you?” Val asked.
“No.” And this seemed to be the source of his puzzlement. “He told me to run.”
Val blinked. “That’s... unexpected.”
“I know, right?”
“Then what did he do?”
“He picked up the guy who got tased and threw him over his shoulder, put him in the van, and drove away.”
Val had so many questions, but she figured she’d be following up with Cardozo and Burke once this interview was completed. And she had no doubt that this was an interview. Cardozo wanted to see how she interacted with his child, and she didn’t blame him at all.
But first things first. She settled in her chair, giving Elijah an up-and-down visual exam. “Were you hurt?”
“No, but Aunt Genie...” He shuddered. “She’s really pregnant and her doctor put her on bed rest. She was crying and kept asking him if she’d lose the baby.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard again. His eyes had gone glassy with unshed tears. “I couldn’t stand it if she lost the baby because of me,” he finished in a whisper.
Val wouldn’t tell him that his aunt would be fine because she didn’t know that for sure, and she wouldn’t lie to him. “Feeling guilty sucks, too. Even when it’s not your fault. You know it’s not your fault, right?”
Elijah nodded miserably. “I get that. I do. But...” He blinked and sent fat tears sliding down his cheeks. “She thought I was behind her and she ran. But I froze and she started to come back for me. Then she tripped and fell and...”
Oh, honey. She wanted to hug him, but she kept her hands folded on the table. “What did her doctor say?” she asked, keeping her tone soft but firm.
He wiped his cheeks angrily. “That the baby was okay. That bed rest was just a precaution. That it wasn’t my fault.”
“Then those are the facts. You’re entitled to however you feel, but the facts are that the baby is okay, and your aunt is resting. So... what do you want from me, Elijah?”
He glanced at his father, their eyes holding for another long moment. “My dad wants me to have a bodyguard. Mr.Broussard says he thinks you’d be the best for the job.”
Val smiled at the boy. “And what do you think?”
Elijah sized her up, his eyes sober behind his glasses. “How tall are you?”
“Five-eleven in bare feet. Six-one with my boots on.” She’d hated being tall when she was Elijah’s age, but now she liked the view from six feet up.
“You look like you have muscles. And Mr.Broussard said you were in the Marines.”
“I do have muscles, and I did serve.” Although muscles weren’t always enough to keep one safe, she thought, then briskly swept the unwanted truth aside with a practiced mental swipe. “I’m also told that I’m decent with kids.”
“I guess you’d have to be, to be a teacher. Do you have a gun?”
“I do. But I’d prefer not to have to use it, because I’ve kept you safe and out of the grabby hands of people who want to hurt you.”
He snorted again. “Grabby hands?”
“I call ’em like I see ’em, kid.”
He sobered. “Have you ever killed anyone?”
She looked him square in the eye. “I have. I don’t recommend it, but I don’t regret it, either. The few times I’ve had to, the people I was protecting remained safe and well because I did. Like I said, my preference is to avoid that kind of conflict, because it means I’ve kept you safe. What will my duties entail?”
Again, Elijah looked at his father before returning his gaze to Val. “Keeping me safe?”
“Well, yeah. But will I be going to school with you? Will I need to cook for you, do your laundry, that kind of thing?”
“I do my own laundry. But I can’t cook. Not really.”
