Not My Type Ch. 05

"I amnothaving this conversation with you," I hissed at my big brother in a half-whisper. "I will not be preached to by someone who is casually fucking Charlene McMillan!"

Joe's eyes widened and he scowled menacingly. I don't think he'd been expecting me to stand up for myself. It certainly came as a surprise to me, but for once I knew Joe was wrong. I didn't want anything better than Adam; I couldn't imagine such a thing existed.

"I can take care of myself Joe. I'm a big girl now," I said softly. I rested me hand against Joe's broad forearm. "I don't always need to be protected."

Joe's scrutiny was relentless but I refused to flinch under his hard gaze. "Fine," he grumbled. "That's just fine, Lilly. Have it your way. But don't expect me to come to your rescue when he breaks your heart. And you know he will."

Behind me Adam put his hand on the small of my back.

"I never asked you to rescue me, Joe. I never wanted you to," I said.

Joe grunted and turned to skulk out of the room. My sigh of relief was loud in the darkness.

"Well," Adam said with a gust of outward breath. "That was interesting."

"Were you going to stick up for yourself at any point?" I asked, whirling about on one foot to face Adam.

"The last thing I need Lil, is to get into a boxing match with your very big, very protective brother in your parents' living room at two in the morning." He reached out and smoothed his hands down my arms reassuringly. I didn't even realize I was shaking until he stilled me. "Thanks for sticking up for me though."

I sighed, feeling confused. "Didn't it bother you? Hearing him talk like that?"

Adam shrugged. "People say shit like that about me all the time. They don't know me Lilly, so no, it doesn't particularly bother me. I'm sorry it upset you though."

I shook my head. "You're so weird," I admitted with chagrin. "You're not like other guy I've ever met."

"No, I'm not," Adam admitted. "Hopethatdoesn't botheryou."

I laughed quietly. "No, I wouldn't have you any other way." I reached up to smooth the worry lines between Adam's dark brows. "Don't let Joe scare you, he's all bluster and no fight. I think perhaps I should head back to bed. Dealing with Joe was one thing, but I'd hate to think what would happen if Dad found me down here."

"Good night, Lil," Adam laughed and kissed the top of my head lightly before dropping a lingering kiss on my lips. I wanted more, but knew I'd have to wait.

Silently I slipped back up the stairs to Vi's room under the sloping eaves feeling lonelier and lonelier with every step.

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We made a smooth escape the next morning after breakfast and our drive back to the city was uneventful. Adam left me on my doorstep with a passionate kiss, his phone number scribbled on a scrap of paper from his pocket, and a promise for dinner the following night. I stumbled wearily up the stairs to my apartment, fed the cat, checked my many messages from Rhiannon and Adele, and fell fully clothed into bed. I slept like the dead.

Going back to work Monday morning was strange. I felt like a completely different person from the girl who'd left her desk Friday afternoon. Everything had changed so much it didn't seem possible that those changes weren't visible to my co-workers, but it was the usual combination of routine and rushing to meet deadlines that journalism always is so my swirling mind mustn't have shown on my face.

I'd finished writing an article I'd started the week before and edited a few pieces for others around the office before my boss emerged from his office looking grim. I tried a pleasant smile on Sterling Hudson and got no response.

"What do you know about the Canadian Penal System, Lilly?" he asked without preamble as he perched himself on the edge of my desk.

I stared up at Sterling for a moment, trying to catch my bearings. Sterling Hudson had to be at least sixty, bald and portly, with the bushiest moustache I'd ever seen. He looked like he should be jolly, but anyone in the newsroom could tell you the opposite was true.

"Not much," I admitted with a shrug. "Never had any personal experience with it anyway. Why?"

Sterling never asked a question without an ulterior motive. "Did you know that a large number of paroled inmates from surrounding provinces end up settling here on the Island?" He tossed a dog-eared file folder on my desk. "Thirty-seven in the past year alone. I want you to find out who they are and what they're doing."

I considered the file folder carefully. "Why Sterling? They've been paroled, they've done their time. Don't you think they're entitled to their privacy and a fresh start?"

Sterling glared down at me and the effect was not pleasant. "No. They're criminals, Lilly. Rapists, thieves, and murderers. And the government helps them move here and get jobs. In our city. They could be living next door to you. Don't you think the public deserves to know who they are?"

I wasn't so certain the public did deserve to know, but the look on Sterling's face didn't broker argument. "So this is my new assignment? Find these parolees and expose them?"

"You make it sound so ruthless," Sterling chuckled, cracking what could almost be considered a smile. "This is investigative journalism, Lilly. No need to sugar-coat it." He laughed boisterously at his bad joke. "I want to see something by the end of the next week."

He walked away before I could come up with another argument and I stared at the file folder for a time, unsure of how to proceed. A casual flick open revealed several pages of names on a government letterhead. I snapped the folder shut.Where the hell had Sterling gotten this?The Freedom of Information Act was one thing, but these were official documents from the Ministry of Correctional Services and it was starting to feel like my boss was asking me to skirt the law a little myself.

But Sterling knows me better than I like to admit and curiosity eventually got the better of me. The little burning need to know the truth flared in my brain. Who were these people? And whydidthey choose to come here? For a fresh start away from the media hungry cities typically found in this country? For the crisp sea air? Did they really live next door to me?

Inspiration came in a flash. Sterling had asked me to find the parolees and expose where they lived and what they were doing, but perhaps it was possible that they were now good people living productive, reformed lives. I'd find them and write a story not about the terrible things they'd once done, but about the endless possibilities which lay before them. I'd write an article embracing them, welcoming them to our city and our province. It most likely wasn't what Sterling was looking for, but he'd neglected to be specific.

Renewed, I opened the file folder again, skimming the list of names.

And there at the bottom of the first page my heart stopped.

Adam Reginald Brooks. Assault with a deadly weapon. 9 years: Toronto West Detention Centre.

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