The Trade. Shirley Palmer

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      “Don’t worry, she’s bluffing.”

      The skin broke, blood trickled down the girl’s throat.

      Matt grabbed Halliburton’s arm. “This is not going to work. I’m going to call the sheriff’s department.”

      “No, wait a minute. This kid’s in shock. Look at her, her skin’s gray, and she’s sweating. That’s not a fever. Get a bunch of deputies in here slamming about, this could escalate into a tragedy.”

      His eyes on the girl, Matt said, “You just said—” He stopped as the outside door opened.

      Wriggling with joy, his tail waving from side to side, Barney hurled himself against the small, slight figure in the doorway.

      Ginn Chang staggered, dropped to her knees, put both arms around him. “Oh, Barns. I love you, too.” She buried her face in his neck, as if giving herself time to ease into the room. “I’ve missed you, Barns. I’ve missed you so much.” She held Barney’s head, kissed him between his eyes, then looked up at Matt.

      Matt drank her in. “Ginn.”

      She was wearing a bright red pea coat, a heavy white turtle-neck, jeans, the elegance of her French mother as apparent as the delicate bone structure and bloodlines of her Chinese father. Matt’s mouth was suddenly dry, his heart bumped unevenly. She hadn’t been here for ten months, the longest ten months of his life and he hadn’t heard her light step along the deck. He couldn’t see her fabulous hair, it was pushed under a red woolen watchcap—unless she’d had it cut off, an awful thought. She looked wonderful. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

      “Well, here I am. What did I interrupt?” Ginn got to her feet, took off the hat, freeing a shoulder length mass of shining black hair. She shook her head, removed the coat, threw it on the back of a kitchen chair. She looked at the girl, took in the knife. Her eyebrows shot up. “What’s going on here?”

      “This is the girl I told you about on the phone.”

      “No kidding. What’s she doing with a knife?”

      “She grabbed it when I tried to hand her a cup of tea.”

      “He was just explaining to me how he found her in the canyon and decided to bring her home because she was sick,” Phil said. “Good to see you, Ginn.”

      “You, too, Phil.” Her tone was less than convincing. Matt knew she’d never had the same regard for Phil that he had. As far as she was concerned, Phil was just one more guy who wanted everything but marriage, and was breaking Annie Lautner’s heart in the process. Matt felt his face flush as she turned back to him. “Did you call Bobby?”

      “No,” Matt said. He was beginning to realize how crazy all this sounded. “I found this kid lying on the ground in Encinal. There were several others, and they were all so terrified I promised I wouldn’t contact the police.”

      Ginn glanced at the girl. “She looks pretty bad.” She started across the room, the dog following. The girl’s black eyes darted from the men to Ginn, and the point of the knife pressed deeper into the soft spot beneath her chin. Beads of fresh blood oozed from the wound. Ginn stopped well short, and dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor, eye-level with the girl. Barney leaned against her and Ginn put an arm over him and drew him closer.

      She smiled and said gently, “You look very tired. Why don’t I make you something to eat, and then we’ll talk. No one is going to hurt you, sweetie.”

      The girl’s dark eyes swept across the two men, then came back to Ginn. The hand holding the knife was shaking.

      Ginn picked up the mug, put it to her nose and inhaled. She smiled. “Nice. Peppermint. Have some.” She held it out. The girl shrunk back. Ginn sipped the tea. “Mmm. Good.” Slowly, carefully, she pulled the small end table within the girl’s reach, replaced the mug and got to her feet. “Have you got any eggs, Matt?”

      “Yes, sure.”

      “This girl is in shock, suicidal, probably psychotic. Eggs won’t cure that,” Halliburton said.

      “Can’t hurt. Why don’t you two go sit at the kitchen table while I fix something for her to eat. Give her some space.”

      Ginn moved around easily in the kitchen that had been hers for five years. She scrambled eggs, toasted bread, put oatmeal cookies on a plate, warmed milk. She placed the food on a tray, carried it over to the table and put it down. As if the last of her strength was deserting her, the girl had leaned her back against the wall. Even with both hands wrapped around the handle of the knife, she was only just managing to keep it upright, the shaking point at her throat.

      Tail waving, Barney followed the tray. Trained to ignore any food unless invited, he nuzzled the girl, then licked her face. The knife wavered, the girl sagged against him and the same thin, terrible moans Matt had first heard in the canyon seemed wrenched from her throat. The sound arrowed straight into his heart.

      Ginn knelt in front of her and slowly reached for the knife. She covered the girl’s hand with her own, holding it until the small fingers relaxed the knife into her hand. Barney licked the girl’s face anxiously and she put her arms around him, burying her head in his shoulder.

      Briefly, Ginn touched the girl’s dirty, tangled hair, then reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and draped it over her shoulders. The girl’s face was hidden in Barney’s coat, but the moans were turning into sobs. Ginn passed her fingers briefly over her eyes before standing up slowly to rejoin the two men at the kitchen table.

      “Now what?” Matt said softly.

      Phil got his bag, broke open a sealed sterile syringe, selected a vial, drew the colorless liquid into the syringe.

      “The first thing is to quiet her down, give her some relief from all that anxiety. It will also give me a chance to examine her. Something’s caused all this.”

      “Leave her alone, Phil,” Ginn said. “Just let her cry.”

      “So, you’re a doctor now, Genevieve?” Halliburton asked pleasantly.

      “It just seems common sense, that’s all. Look at her.”

      The girl had her arms around Barney, her head resting on him. The dog sat quietly, his eyes on the plate of food. “I’d use a knife, too, if some strange guy came at me with a needle, wouldn’t you? Sit down, I’ll make some tea.”

      Matt smiled to himself. Ginn’s response to most crises was tea. The canister she had left when she moved out was still full of some blend she had sent to her from Canada.

      Phil replaced the syringe and vial, and closed his bag. “That little girl is suffering from exposure, dehydration and hysteria. She’s suicidal and should be in a hospital.”

      “How can I send her to a hospital?” Matt said. “Who am I going to say she is? I don’t know her name or anything about her. I can’t answer any questions. How long could we get away with it if I made up something?”

      “Maybe she’s a runaway and she’s got parents searching for her, frantic with worry. Did you think about that?”

      “Phil, does she look like СКАЧАТЬ