Page 44 of Foxed Up

"Grocery money. For six months. I have to feed my kids."

"Of — of course. Gift cards to that same place?" I offered, thinking of what Wallace had given him.

He snorted. "Cash. I can get better deals on lettuce and vegetables at the farmer's market on Saturday, especially if I hang around at the end of the day. Money goes farther there."

"Of course." I named a sum.

His eyes narrowed briefly — then he nodded. "For six months. I'm trusting you." He poked my chest again. Oddly, I had the feeling he really did trust me. Did that mean he didn't consider me a cop?

"And I'd better not start getting hassled by the cops if I find something they don't like," he added fiercely.

"I'll protect you," I said numbly. Did he also think there were dirty cops involved? Wallace had thought there might be, too.

He gave a short nod, as though begrudgingly admitting that was the only acceptable answer I could possibly give. "All right. I'll have to arrange with someone to watch the kids for however long it takes. I'd like the first month's payment up front. Cash."

He waited while I counted it out of my wallet. I didn't always carry that much cash around, but I'd had the idea it might be important on this visit. He gave a short, sharp nod as he pocketed it quickly. "I'll get my jacket and check on the kids. You can wait in your car."

I followed him out, and he locked the front door, then trotted off towards one of his neighbors' places.

I sat behind the steering wheel and thought about nothing. The terror and neverending horror of this nightmare had begun to merge into a haze of numbness.

I'd purposely resisted telling Eli what was wrong; he knew something was wrong, but telling him Wallace was missing would be the worst thing I could do. He didn't need more reasons to have nightmares. Finding out he'd been working undercover for the police and was now either missing or dead would not be conducive to my son's mental health on any level.

He worried enough about me being a cop, and he already liked Wallace far too much to take it well if he suddenly wasn't in our lives anymore...for any reason at all, much less such a horrific one. No, Eli was just going to have to keep wondering, because he couldn't possibly think of something worse than what I was facing already in reality.

Quinn returned, moving swiftly. He hopped into my car without protest and reached for his seatbelt. "Let's go. Hopefully I can be back in time to make supper for the kids."

I didn't say anything, just nodded. If I still wondered just how he'd managed to be (apparently) a single father to so many little kids, I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut. He might still change his mind at any time and leave me high and dry, and then what would I do?

While a rabbit shifter was probably not ideal to help with this search, I didn't have a lot of options here. We could send away for someone, yes, but even if they agreed, it would likely take some time to get someone. Quinn already knew Wallace's scent and could check immediately.

I should have thought of him sooner, the second Wallace didn't appear on time. Why hadn't I? Was I really the racist cop who could only think of shifters in relation to the stupid stereotypes associated with them?

I drove us towards the club, which was now shuttered and with police tape around it. A crime scene, even though nothing could be proved yet. None of the shifters were talking. McCann maintained Wallace just hadn't arrived, but we'd had surveillance of him entering the building...and none of him leaving.

The thought of that grimy monster getting his hands on Wallace made me sick. McCann didn't deserve to live, with his smug face and his mocking eyes. He knew; he'd done whatever it was...whether kidnapping or murder...he'd done it to my boyfriend. It was smart that no one was letting me near the man, especially alone. I wouldn't have trusted myself, either.

"I know what you're thinking," said Quinn grumpily.

I looked at him quickly. He didn't, did he? That I wanted to murder the man who —

"I have a lot of kids. Well, they're not all biologically mine. But in this community we look after our own. If one of my cousins dies, of course I'm going to take in their children. The same with other catastrophes. I'm not about to let family of mine get shoved into the foster care system when I can stop it. So they're my kids now. I take care of them the best I can. Family helps when they can, but things have been tight for everyone lately. Grocery money will help — at least until I can get more hours at work. They keep cutting me back."

He made a face of disgust, and I couldn't blame him. Here he was, willing and ready to work, even at a shitty job for low pay, but he kept earning less and less, and his kids were the ones to suffer for it.

Once again I understood how he must feel, not because I'd ever been there (work was pretty steady as a cop and I earned a livable wage), but because I had a son, too, and I knew how frustrating it was not to be able to fix everything wrong or bad in his life. He'd gone hungry in the past, and that was hard to accept. These days, he had plenty of food, but there were still struggles I couldn't fix: school, friends, nightmares, etc. It hurt every time I couldn't protect him.

"That's...good," I managed, as I thought about it. "You taking care of them, I mean. But it does seem like you should get some kind of help from the government. Foster care provides at least some money for carers. You should be getting that." Maybe I could hook him up with a social worker who could —

He snorted loudly. "As if. I'm not getting them in the system — period. The government doesn't actually help; they just get their hooks in and make demands. Or take my kids away. Foster care fucks up rabbits. We need family. We need to stick together."

I heard the ring of truth in his voice. He certainly believed what he was saying. He might even be right. But he still shouldn't have to take care of so many kids without any help. It might be better than the alternative, but it didn't mean it was really adequate. He'd already admitted to struggling to feed them, and the trailer was very small to have such a big family in it.

I didn't argue with him, though. It wasn't my business — except for the way it was Wallace's, because we cared about them even if he didn't particularly like us.

"And you'd better not go starting trouble for me, either," warned Quinn.

"I won't." I didn't think the rabbit had such very sharp teeth as he wanted me to believe, but he would be devastated if the system decided to take away his kids. The kids would probably be just as devastated to lose the measure of security and stability they had. I wouldn't do that to any of them.