Hennessey's Handler (Protect and Serve #4) - Pandora Pine Page 0,1

and my super-parents needed to be ready to jump into action.

“Hennessey! Now!” my father shouted. His loud footfalls thumped down the stairs.

Sighing, I picked myself up and got out of bed. I put on my bathrobe and matching slippers, a gift from Santa this past Christmas. I knew they were from Mom and Dad and told them so. I may have made a big deal about them lying to me. Christmas was a sad, stupid affair afterward.

“Hennessey!” my father shouted for the second time.

“Coming!” I shouted back. Sheesh. I was moving as fast as I could. It was the middle of the night and I was tired. Why the hell did I have to show up for these little parades anyway? The kid was staying in my room. Wasn’t that enough?

When I got downstairs, it was snowing full out. I could barely see the porch stairs from just inside the front door. There was a flash of light from down the street, which I knew would be the social worker with Keith, or whatever the hell his name was. I pulled on my hat and coat before kicking off my slippers and putting my boots on instead.

I ran out onto the front porch and skidded. If I hadn’t reached out for the rail, I would have tumbled down the stairs. Even with the porch lights on, I could barely see our driveway. “Mom?”

“Here!” Mom shouted.

Something pink was waving in the distance. I knew it was my mother in her new pink fleece bathrobe. She had an inch of snow piled on her head and the collar of the robe. Dad was brushing her off when I reached them. He was also similarly covered in snow.

A black minivan pulled up in front of the house. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside. A tiny woman hopped out of the driver’s side and hurried around to the back passenger door. She opened it and coaxed a small boy out.

I gasped when I saw him. He was wearing a white T-shirt, stained with something dark, maybe blood, and a ratty-looking pair of jeans. His face looked grotesquely swollen, and his right eye was completely closed. His left arm was wrapped in a cast and resting in a sling. On his feet were a pair of bright-pink flip-flops.

My brain felt like it was in slow motion. All of the other boys who’d stayed with us over the years were tough guys. Most of them had been taken away from their parents because they were on drugs or liked to party too much. I’d never seen a kid hurt like this before. “Was he in a car accident?”

My father shook his head no.

Maybe his brothers rough-housed a little too hard or he fell down the stairs. It was the only thing that explained how a boy this small could end up being hurt so badly.

“Mandy and David, this is Kevin Dickenson,” the social worker said.

“Hi, Kevin.” My mom knelt in the snow in front of him. She made no move to touch him. “I’m Mandy, this is my husband, David, and our son, Hennessey.”

The boy whimpered and moved to hide behind the social worker. I couldn’t tell if he was scared of my father or me.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe here. Why don’t we get you inside out of the snow?” Mandy’s spine stiffened as she prepared to take charge.

“Take this.” David shrugged out of his jacket and moved to wrap it around the shivering little boy.

“NO!” a small voice wailed. Tiny feet kicked Dad’s shins and he punched him with his one good fist.

“Okay, Kevin. It’s okay. Why don’t you follow me?” Mom stood up and moved toward the front door. I went to follow her, but my father grabbed my shoulder, holding me back.

“What happened to him?” Dad asked.

“His step-father beat him for making too much noise and waking up his mother. The fight was so loud that a neighbor called the police, who got there in the nick of time. He wouldn’t have survived much more. According to the emergency room staff, Kevin has a broken arm and severe bruising all over his body.”

“Where are his things?” I asked, feeling brave. These kids usually came with a trash bag filled with clothes and other belongings.

The social worker sent my father a questioning look. Dad nodded. “Well, the scene at the family home was volatile. There wasn’t an opportunity to grab any of his things. Not that he had much to