The Trade - Shirley Palmer MIRA

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disappeared around the edge of the rocks. With Hasan watching, Matt put an arm around the limp body, another under her knees and maneuvered her out of the shelter and into the open.

      “I’m taking her to a doctor,” Matt said the boy. “I want you all to come with me.”

      The boy stood squarely in the narrow defile between the boulders, barring the way.

      “If Aida died after giving birth, Hasan, I promise you won’t get into any trouble. It wasn’t your fault, man.” Matt wasn’t sure about the legalities of child abandonment—hell, he wasn’t sure about anything anymore—but that would have to wait. “If you come with me, I’ll explain what happened. I’ll get you all the help you need.”

      Hasan stood unmoving.

      “Okay, your call,” Matt said.

      He squeezed past the rigid figure, made his way back along the path, into the clearing. If they were illegal, they’d need a lawyer, child services, some kind of help. He could feel how tired they were, how much they wanted some relief, someone to care for them.

      “Tell them it’s going to be okay, Kanita.” Although he wasn’t sure himself exactly how. “Tell them they should come with me now.”

      The slight, slim figure of Hasan appeared in the clearing. His voice, filled with the biting power of rage, swept over the small group of girls.

      Matt looked at Kanita. “What did he say?”

      She gestured to the girl in Matt’s arms. “Okay, she go.”

      “What about you and the others?”

      She shook her head.

      “Hasan, rain is coming. Let them come with me, man.”

      The boy stared without speaking, hatred seeming to emanate from every part of his body.

      Matt could feel the girl becoming heavier. He’d hit a dead end, at least for now.

      “I’ll be back with food.” He included Hasan in his glance. “No police, no immigration. Stay here. We’ll talk. We’ll work it out, whatever has happened. Whatever it is, Hasan, it can be fixed.”

      No one spoke.

      One of the older girls put an arm around the ten-year-old and drew her closer.

      At least that was something, Matt thought. He turned to go.

      CHAPTER 8

      As soon as they were out of the canyon, Matt picked up his cell phone, tapped out Phil Halliburton’s private number. He threw a quick glance at the girl, wondering why Hasan had let her go with only a token show of obstruction, unlike the others who needed help almost as urgently. Her eyes closed, she was still leaning against the door of the Range Rover, covered by the blanket he kept in the back for Barney.

      “Phil, it’s Matt.”

      “Hey, Matt, how are you doing? And that’s strictly a social question. If you have symptoms, take two aspirins and call the office on Monday. Whoops, I forgot. How’s the arm?”

      Matt dispensed with a laugh at Phil’s standard joke. He’d known Halliburton since Phil opened his practice in internal medicine in Malibu ten years ago. Their relationship was mainly social, but Halliburton was the guy he saw on the rare occasions he needed a doctor.

      “It’s okay, thanks. Phil, can you meet me at my house? I need some help.”

      “What’s up?”

      “I can’t say right now. I’ll explain when you get there.”

      “If it’s a medical emergency, Matt, really, you’re better off calling 911. The paramedics have everything at their fingertips. All I’ve got is my little black bag.”

      “No, I need a private doctor. Can you make it?”

      A moment of silence. “You’re being very mysterious. Annie and I have plans for tonight.”

      “Phil, this won’t take long. Please.”

      Another silence. Matt waited him out.

      “Okay, but this had better be good.”

      “Bring the black bag. I owe you one, Phil.”

      He hung up then called the Agoura shelter to tell them something had come up, he’d have to reschedule a time to pick up his two horses. Ten minutes later he drove into his garage. The girl had not moved since he had placed her in the seat and her eyes were still closed. He got out, opened the tailgate for Barney. Before he could go around to the passenger door, the girl slammed it open and was out of the garage, across the road, narrowly missing a passing car.

      Shouting at Barney to stay, Matt tore after her. He dragged her off the bank, scooped her against his chest, started back across the street. A few houses away the car had slowed almost to a stop. He put his mouth to the girl’s ear, the words soothing and simple. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

      Matt crossed the road without looking in the direction of the car, the picture, he hoped, of a young father and his playful teenager, their ecstatic Labrador jumping around them in greeting. He ran along the deck by the side of the house, got the kitchen door open, kicked it closed behind him, and set the girl on her feet.

      She backed away, dark hair tangled with leaves and twigs hanging in her eyes, lips bared in a snarl. Dressed as she was in flimsy silk she had to be freezing.

      Matt held his hands out to the side. “It’s okay, you’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you. A doctor is coming, you understand, a doctor?” Keeping his distance, he went to the hall closet, pulled out a blanket, held it out to her. “Put this around you.”

      She kept her eyes on him without moving and he tossed the blanket on the back of the sofa that separated the living room from the kitchen. He turned the thermostat up to eighty, then knelt and touched a match to the fire. The gas lighter flared, caught the kindling, flames curled around the logs. He went back into the kitchen, filled the kettle, put it on to boil, keeping up a running commentary to reassure her.

      “It will be warmer in here soon. Do you like peppermint tea?” He was completely out of his depth.

      He picked up the telephone on the kitchen counter, tapped out Ginn’s number. His heart hammered in his chest while he waited, then her voice, her real voice, was in his ear.

      His mouth was suddenly dry. “Ginn, it’s me.”

      “Matt, I am going to hang up. Goodbye.”

      “No, don’t. Ginn, listen. Please. I need help—”

      “Then call your brother, or your father in Palm Springs, or Bobby. Why call me?”

      Because I love you. “Because you’re a lawyer, and you’re the only one who can help.”

      “Goodbye, Matt.”

      Speaking quickly to hold her, he said, “I found some kids today, holed up in a canyon.”

      “What?”

      “Kids on their own, fourteen, fifteen, suffering from exposure and covered in poison oak. Illegals, I think. A young boy, five girls, one of them a black kid about ten.” He spoke rapidly, trying to convince her before she hung up. “I’ve got one of the girls here now, and she won’t speak. I’ve got to go back to get the others—”

      “Are you crazy? Call the authorities. Call Bobby Eckhart. Do it now, before you get any deeper. Goodbye.”

      “I can’t, Ginn. They’re illegals, I promised I wouldn’t call the police—” He was speaking to a dial tone.

      The kettle was whistling. He rummaged around in the cupboard, found a package of peppermint teabags, dumped a couple in a mug. He covered them with water, spooned in sugar. The girl had not moved. Mug in hand, he started to walk

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