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"Yes." The word whispered past D.J.'s lips, surprising her. "I've shot someone. It was horrible. The most horrible thing I've ever done." Her voice sounded odd to her own ears, and D.J. cleared her throat. When she spoke again, nothing had changed. Unaccustomed emotion still colored her tone. "The reason I do what I do is so little guys like you can be safe on the streets.'' D.J. frowned at the words. They even seemed sincere. Why did she sound like a greeting card? She'd become a cop to try to make her father love her; then she'd discovered how good she was at the job and had stayed, despite the fact that no matter what she did the sight of her always made her father flinch. |
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"Read us a story. Please, D.J. Please." D.J. looked down at the eager faces around her. They hadn't noticed her lapse into the past, probably because their attention span lasted all of two minutes. So much the better for her. She didn't need to analyze the complicated reasons for her career choice in the midst of a day-care facility. Especially since the kids could care less why she'd become a copthey only cared that she was one. |
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"All right," she agreed to cheers and shrieks. "Bring me a book and then settle down." |
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The afternoon slipped away as D.J. read books and then started to relate stories about her jobmodified versions meant for little ears. One by one the children lay down on the floor and fell asleep until only the towheaded kid stared at D.J. with a rapt expression and begged for "a shootin' story, D.J." The little girl in her arms slept on against D.J.'s chest, a slightly sweaty bundle. Without |
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