Page 14 of Captive

"HaveI?"

Yoli is smiling and readjusting herself for what seems like a potentially long answer. "Well, now that you ask," she says and pulls the tarp farther forward to shield us from rain being blown our direction. "One day I was walking along the freeway overpass, just minding my own business, like always, when from the corner of my eye a big flash of movement drew my attention to the freeway below. A massive tarp." She points up to the canvas cover above our heads. "It had blown free from a truck. I think it was carrying potting soil or fertilizer," sheadds.

"Which explains the earthy odor," I say to an agreeing nod fromBecky.

"The tarp must have caught the wind just right because it blew up into the air. It dipped and dashed over the cars, eventually getting tangled on the freeway sign hanging from the overpass." Yoli continues with her story, but my attention has been drawn to Rowan. Rowan has thick hair that is a little out of control, reminding me a bit of Maddox. It's hard to tell the age of some of the people in the park. Poor nutrition, lack of sleep and constant exposure to the elements makes some of the inhabitants look older than their natural age, but I estimate Rowan to be about twenty. He's handsome in a rugged, roguish sort of way, and he reminds me of Mark Stockton, a guy I went to high school with. Mark wasn't very social, and he always seemed kind of dangerous and mysterious. The girls in high school were always debating whether he was crush worthy or cringeworthy. He never returned for senior year, and since he was mostly friendless, we could only speculate about what had happened to him. His somewhat sketchy mystique helped formulate the farfetched tale that his dad had been in the CIA and they had to relocate suddenly to some far-off, exotic location. Rowan has some of the same mysterious, sketchy edges to him. I determine that he is a person to keep an eyeon.

Rowan is standing in front of the tent he's constructed at the far end of the park where a dirt trail leads off into a copse of oak trees. The rain has slowed to a light drizzle. He is taking long, slow drags on his cigarette. His eyes are black and shiny like slate. Even from the distance and through the mist in the air, I can see that he's watching the three of us huddled under thetarp.

"And so I hung way over the sign, thirty feet above fast moving traffic," Yoli's voice drifts between my thoughts. "But I got the thing free, and now here we sit, dry andhappy."

"Let's just leave it at dry," Beckysays.

Yoli winks at her. "Yes but we're two days away from—" She stops when Becky shoots her a shut the hell up look. I'd already calculated that Yoli was the likely source for rumors and gossip at the park. Whereas Becky seemed to like to keep things sealedup.

But withering look or not, I jump on it. "Two days before what?" I askairily.

"Nothing," Becky saysquickly.

Yoli's face drops. She pretends to be interested in the pattern the rain has left on the sand in the swing set area. She avoids looking at me when she repeats what Becky says. "Yeah, it'snothing."

"I understand," I say dejectedly. "I haven't been here long enough to be one of the group." I sigh and make it sound a little mournful. "Story of my life, I'mafraid."

From the corner of my eye, I see Yoli elbowBecky.

"We can't tell her and you know it. It's up to—Jeez, it's getting hot under here," Becky complains and dashes out from under thetarp.

Yoli casts me a sheepish half smile. "She's always so dramatic." Before I can ask her more, she drops our canvas cover back. "Yay, I see some sun. I'm going to take a walk down to the market. Sometimes I get lucky and find perfectly good bread or fruit that they pull from shelves because it's past its prime. Wannago?"

I glance toward the end of the park. Rowan has pulled a twisted, broken beach chair out of his tent. He's sitting on it and has switched tobacco for weed. Our female huddle is over, but he's still watching us. Or me, to be exact. My detective intuition tells me there's more to his bold stare than just general leering. He seems to be assessing me. It's hard to know if it's just because I'm new to the park or if he's deciding whether I can betrusted.

"Thanks for the invite, Yoli, but I think I'll stay here. I didn't get much sleep last night. I think the guy in the cardboard lean-to was snoring. Either that or there was a bear in thepark."

Yoli laughs. It's a good, genuine laugh. It's hard to understand how a girl like her ended up sleeping in a park scrounging for leftovers and stale food. "That was no bear. It was Grover. Poor guy. He's been homeless off and on for twenty years. And he does resemble a bear when his beard is extralong."

I help Yoli fold up the tarp. She tosses it into the tent she has graciously offered to share with me. The local church has done fundraisers to buy tents for some of the park inhabitants. I see now how important that small gesture of generosity hasbeen.

Yoli pulls a plastic grocery bag out of the stack of belongings she has shoved in the corner of the tent. She pulls the handles of the bag over her wrist like a woman with a handbag. "Wish me luck," she says as she walks spritely toward thesidewalk.

Olson has managed to snag himself a tattered tent at the opposite end of the park from Rowan. He's pitched his pathetic shelter near the bathrooms, a location that has its perks, along with its obviously pungent disadvantages. Aside from Clark, Detective Olson is the only person who knows about my assignment. That fact takes me directly to thinking about Maddox. I have no idea what Clark will tell him, but I can only assume my partner will notice my absence. Maybe Maddox will be relieved that I'm out for a few days. That thought drops a lump into mythroat.

I head to the bathroom but stop in front of Olson's tent to tie my shoe. The earlier rain has pushed Olson inside. He's leaning against a pile of old clothes reading a throwawaynewspaper.

"Any clue as to why that guy Rowan keeps such a close eye on me?" I burble from the side of my mouth while concentrating on a lace that doesn't needtying.

"Might be those Orphan Annie braids," he quipsunhelpfully.

I switch to the other shoe, which also doesn't need tying. "You're a bighelp."

Olson stays inside his tent but moves closer to the opening. "See if you can get to know him. I tried and he wanted nothing to do with me." I glance through the netted opening. Olson has switched out the flasher style coat for a worn out ski parka. The downy stuffing is poking out through numerous holes. I can't hold back alaugh.

"What?" heasks.

"Nothing. That coat is just so, so sad. But it's better than the other one. I'm going to see if I can charm my way into Rowan's friendcircle."

It's his turn to laugh. "Yes, charm him by all means, Ten. Just be careful. I'd say a guy like that only wants one thing from a pretty new friend likeyou."

I smile and stand up from my crouch. "You think I'm pretty. I'm going to tell everyone at the station," I tease in a sing song voice before heading into thebathroom.

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