“Hundreds of thousands of people live here and majority aren’t drug addicts. And there are plenty of people in the sunnier places that get addicted, too,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t quote him the exact numbers this time.
She sighed and leaned back in her seat. “I know, but it doesn’t help those people who are prone to it. Not to mention the ugly stuff humans are capable of doing to each other.”
“You’re worried about your friend.” It wasn’t a question. From her face to her body language the fact was written all over her. “You think she didn’t come to work at the shelter because she’s in trouble?”
“I know her pimp is still in jail, so I doubt it’s that…”
“You think she’s using again?” She hadn’t told him Paula had been an addict, but he assumed that was part of her past.
Brianna let out a sigh. “It would explain her absence. She hasn’t missed a day since the shelter hired her as an intake clerk a year ago. Proudest day of her life. She wouldn’t jeopardize that. At least that’s what I believed.”
“You’re afraid someone’s taken her, like you were taken,” he said as gently as he could. He hated bringing up the traumatic event that changed her and her life, but he knew that memory was behind her worry.
“Yes.” She blinked a few times then hurried on. “I was lucky. I had Abby. She not only came when I’d called her, but the minute she knew I was missing, she wouldn’t let anything stop her until she found me. Paula doesn’t have anyone…but me.”
He laid his hand over hers on the table and squeezed it. “Have you tried to call her?”
Brianna nodded. “First thing, and again before I headed over here to meet you. Went straight to voice mail.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“Yes,” she said, slowly pulling her hand from his and rattling off the address.
“That’s not the best part of town. You want me to check into it for you?” he said, hoping she’d say yes, because he’d be damned if he’d let her go do it.
“I don’t want the police going there. She doesn’t need the added trouble if she is or isn’t using.”
He could understand that. She was worried about a friend, not wanting to cause her problems. “You’re not going over there alone.” It wasn’t a question or just a statement, it was an order.
She blinked and sat back in her seat at the firmness in his voice. He knew he’d crossed the line. He had no right to order her around, but the sudden fear she might just do what he’d told her not to overrode his cautious nature.
“Of course not,” she said, straightening her spine and the tension deepened around the corners of her eyes, making the scars on the left blanch slightly. “Believe it or not, Detective, I learned my lesson three years ago, not to delve into things without backup. I was hoping you might go with me.”
Relieved she’d already considered her safety and was being reasonable, he relaxed and gave her a confirming nod. “I can do that. Are you heading back to the shelter from here?”
“Yes, I have some end-of-the-month paperwork to finish today.”
He signaled the waitress for the bill. “I tell you what, meet me at the station when you’re finished, and we’ll go check on your friend together. Nothing official, just a concerned friend and her friend checking—”
“—on a friend,” she said with a little smile and nod.
He did a quick mental note of the work he had planned for the afternoon. Nothing in need of immediate attention other than the final debriefing with the DA for next week’s court case. “Four o’clock good for you?”
“I can be back here by then.” She reached for her bill as the waitress laid them on the table.
Aaron swallowed his frustration. As long as they’d been meeting for lunch or the occasional drink after work, Brianna always insisted on paying for her own meals. She’d told him, half-jokingly, that she’d saved loads of money letting too many men buy her meals and drinks in her previous life. It rankled him, that he was the first one with whom she drew the line. On the other hand, if it made her feel secure and strong, who was he to let his ego get in the way?
Outside the restaurant, he walked her to her car as he always did. When she’d protested the first time, he’d simply pointed out he was making a shortcut back to the precinct on the next block. She’d given him a skeptical-one-brow-raised look but didn’t argue with him.
He waited until she pulled out of the lot before turning to walk briskly the opposite direction, already plugging the address of her friend Paula into his phone. Once back at his desk, he’d do a quick search to discover her last name, then find out if anything was in the system on her, specifically last night or the past few weeks. Brianna might have faith the girl was still sober and therefore something sinister had happened to her. Reality was, she more than likely had relapsed. If she was picked up on a possession charge, he’d find out quickly. If not, he’d also check for any Jane Doe’s fitting her description at the county morgue.
* * *
Brianna hurried through the back door of the shelter, pausing just inside to listen for the locks to clink in place securely behind her. Only those with a keycard pass could come in this way. But as she’d learned a few years ago, safety had to be a conscious effort.
It was the reason that she bristled at Aaron’s veiled order that she not go to Paula’s on her own. He, more than anyone in Cleveland, should understand she no longer acted foolishly, without a care to what was happening around her. Yes, from the time she was a child, she’d understood people thought she was a beautiful blue-eyed blonde with nary a brain cell in her head—and she’d used that misconception to her advantage, especially around men. Even the Sisters at the Sacred Heart orphanage believed she’d never amount to more than some man’s arm candy.
“It’s a good thing you’re pretty, Brianna. You’ll make some man a good, obedient wife someday,” Sister Compassionatta said for the hundredth time.
All the sisters had thought the same thing. Only her friend Abby had seen through her act.
“Why do you do just enough work to pass?” she’d asked her the day they’d met while both sat on the punishment bench outside of the Mother Superior’s office. “You’re way smarter than that.”
“If I got all perfect grades like you, none of the boys would like me,” she’d answered with a saccharine smile and bat of her eyelashes, another trick she’d learned to intimidate other girls and even older women.
Abigail simply shook her head and muttered, “What a waste of a brain.”
Despite her worry over Paula, Brianna couldn’t help smiling at the memory of Abby’s reaction to her comment. No one had ever called her out to be more than a cute little girl. Not only had it sealed their friendship, it also motivated her to learn more. Oh, she still made barely passing grades, but even after she’d been adopted, she’d studied secretly for her SAT’s for college. To get into MIT and room with Abby, she’d had to score high in every math and science category.
“Lunch was good then?” Flora, the shelter’s executive manager asked, seated at her desk in the office they shared.
Brianna hung her jacket on the coat rack in the corner and dropped her bag by her desk chair. “It was just Cobb salad with Aaron. My usual Wednesday lunch.”
“Aaron today. You usually call him Detective Jeffers.” The hint of suggestion in her boss’s voice irritated Brianna and zapped the smile right off her face.
“Detective Jeffers and I are simply friends, nothing more,” she said with a bit of a snap, booting up her computer.
Flora knew her background, everyone who worked at the shelter went through a thorough security vetting program. Even if it wasn’t a requirement, anyone who paid attention to the newscasts following the sex trafficking ring involving Senator Klein and his son, along with a number of prominent politicians and businessmen in the state, knew Brianna was one of the state’s main witnesses.
Flora also knew Brianna had sworn off dating, even c
asual dates. The ordeal of being kidnapped, treated like a sexual slave, tortured and nearly killed had left scars. Not just the physical ones. She rubbed the long jagged one on her left forearm, one of many knife wounds inflicted on her body by Dylan Klein, a man she’d thought loved her. The scars on the inside ran deeper than any inflicted by the sadistic misogynist. It left her doubting her life choices, her manipulative use of people—men and women, but mostly men—and her own judgement.
It also forced her to face the fact that just as she’d used the men in her life for her own means, they’d been using her, too. Which caused her to wonder if she’d really been that smart after all.
“Well,” Flora said from the other side of the room, “even if you’re only friends with that handsome detective, I do like that you go out to lunch with him every week. It’s good for you.”
Flora had a good heart. She cared about people, the homeless on the streets, the clients who came to the shelters, those who moved on and even the people who worked or volunteered at the shelter. And that’s why Brianna mostly overlooked Flora’s efforts to meddle in her life.
“Any word from Paula?” she asked.
Flora peeked around her computer, sadness in her eyes. “No. I’d thought she’d finally gotten her life on track this last year or so. It’s such a shame.”
“We don’t know that she’s using again. We only know she’s not shown up to work today.” Brianna refused to give up on Paula. She’d tried to keep her history of drug use from Aaron when they’d talked earlier, afraid that if he knew she used to be a heroin addict, he might just assume, like Flora, that she’d relapsed and wouldn’t go check on her. But just like always, Aaron had quickly figured it out on his own. Man was detective for a reason. He’d also surprised her with his compassion that wasn’t just in his words and voice but mirrored in his green-grey eyes. Brianna was grateful he’d agreed to go with her, because her gut told her something wasn’t right, and Paula needed help.
3
Aaron stood waiting for her when she pulled up outside the police station. He’d texted her not to park in the underground parking, that he’d be outside. He’d changed out of his business suit into a pair of jeans, a grey Henley shirt and a black hoodie jacket. Even his black wing-tip shoes had been switched for beat up sneakers. The cool wind off Lake Erie whipped at his jacket and ruffled his closely cut dark hair. This relaxed Aaron was a sexier version of the man she called friend. Quickly, she tampered down the sudden hormone surge—something she hadn’t felt in over three years.
After he climbed into the passenger seat, she pulled out into the afternoon traffic on Ontario Street heading south. “Why exactly are we taking my car?”
“You have a sedan. I drive a black SUV that sort of shouts police. The last thing we want to do is draw too much attention to us visiting your friend.” He leaned back as she maneuvered through the streets toward Paula’s address. “Thought it best we go in as two friends rather than a friend and a cop until we know the situation.”
“Same reason you changed clothes? And I thought you were going back to the station, not home.” she said with a quick glance his way.
He gave a half shrug. “Nothing screams cop more than a man in a suit and tie climbing out of an SUV these days. And no, I didn’t go home to change. I keep these in the back of my car just for instances when I want to go into an area without drawing attention to myself.”
Brianna drove east from the main downtown area.
“You’ve been here before?” Aaron asked after a few moments of quiet companionship.
“No, Paula never invited anyone to her home,” Brianna said, tapping the little part of her dashboard above the radio buttons. “I plugged her address into my GPS. I have to confess that geo-navigation isn’t my strong suit. Abby used to say I’d get lost trying to get out of a paper bag.”
A deep rumble came from the passenger’s seat.
Ignoring the noise, she made the turn her computerized map told her. “GPS has saved me hours of driving time. Once I’ve been somewhere, I can find my way home and back again, but that first trip out? Yeah, I’d make all kinds of wrong turns and U-turns. It got so bad, I’d have to leave two hours early, just so I’d have enough time to find my destination.”
The rumbling turned into a half-choked chuckle.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not. Really,” he said, but she could hear the laughter he was trying hard not to let out. Instead of being angry, she relaxed for the first time since Paula hadn’t reported for work.
She drove down Sagamore, past some brick duplex apartment buildings and aged Victorians that had all seen better days a hundred years ago. Further down the block they passed other turn-of-the-last-century homes that were either remodeled or in the process of being so until they came to a Victorian that looked like it had been converted to apartments on both floors sometime in the last fifty or so years. The address was Paula’s, so Brianna pulled into the driveway, behind an old 1996 Corolla.
“This is the place,” she said, sitting back in her seat and taking a deep breath.
“Which one’s hers?”
“Says unit four on her address, so one of the ones upstairs?” she said, climbing out of the car. He waited for her to lock the doors and then they headed to the brick stairs on the side of the house. “I was afraid she lived in some dilapidated place.”
“Why?” he asked following her up the stairs.
“The shelter pays lower than some other state jobs, but it does carry health insurance and pays for her college courses, as long as she maintains a good grade point average. I honestly didn’t know what her situation was.”
“Based on the area, I was expecting something worse than this, too.” He nodded at the two houses under construction on the opposite side of the street. “I didn’t realize this particular little neighborhood was being gentrified. Looks like she’s making good decisions.”
Brianna gave him a half-smile. “I thought she was, too. Well, before she didn’t come to work or call in sick.” Noting the door had two deadbolt locks, she knocked on the door and suddenly there was barking coming from inside.
“She has a dog?” Aaron asked.
“I’ve never heard her talk about one before.” She knocked again. “Paula? It’s Brianna Matthews.”
The curtains in the window near the door moved and the head of the scruffiest, grey and brown, wire-haired dog peeked through and barked more. Then the dog started jumping.
“He’s acting frantic and he’s going to pull those curtains down on him,” Aaron said, gently nudging Brianna out of the way. “I think we need to get in there and see what’s going on.”
“You can’t break down the door,” she said. The last thing she wanted to do was get Paula in trouble with her landlord, especially if there wasn’t a reason for breaking in.
“I thought I’d try something less traumatic.” Aaron gave her a pointed a you-doubt-my-abilities look and reached into his pocket, pulling out something that resembled a utility knife. He flipped open a few parts that looked like metal picks and began working on the deadbolts.
Her cheeks filled with heat as she moved back a little more to give him room to work. “Do you always carry a lock picking tool with you, Detective?”
“Back when I was on patrol, I had a partner who thought it was super-macho to crash in suspects doors, leaving them hanging by the hinges,” he said as he maneuvered the picks around the top deadbolt, then moved on to the bottom one. “Problem was, a few times he had bad intel and he crashed doors of innocent people, who then had to pay thousands to fix their doors, not to mention left them vulnerable to the elements or nefarious people willing to take advantage of unsecured homes.”
She couldn’t help her giggle.
“What?” he asked over his shoulder, his hand paused on the lock.
“Nefarious. You could just say bad guys.”
“I could.” He gave her a little wink as he went back to work on the lock. “B
ut nefarious was on my word-a-day ap on my phone last week. Seemed like a good time to use it.”
Before she could comment on him having a word-a-day ap on his phone or the interest in learning a new word every day, which sort of surprised her, he stood and twisted the doorknob. He inched the door open enough that the little scruffy -looking pup backed up, barking, but wagging his tail. Then the dog turned and scampered away.
“Anyone home?” Aaron called, going in first.
“Paula? It’s me, Brianna Matthews. Are you here?” She followed him in.
An old couch and over-stuffed chair sat in the living room area. Hardwood floors were covered with a worn and tattered area rug, and an afghan and some throw pillows were on the couch. The side table held a lamp and on it sat three paperback books. Not much in the way of art, except for a watercolor of Lake Erie and the shoreline view of Cleveland hung on one wall. Not too many personal items, and other than the worn winter boots lying near the couch, the place was very neat, but lived in.
She moved past the kitchen. On the floor were two plastic bowls, presumably the dog’s dishes. Both were empty. On the table was an open bag of kibble and a box of dog treats. An empty cough syrup bottle, a few dirty dishes and an empty can of chicken noodle soup sat on the counter. The remnants of the soup and a spoon in the pot on the stove.
“Paula?” Brianna called out hurrying to where the dog had disappeared down the hall, now believing her friend might be ill.
Inside the bedroom, a body-wracking cough, followed by a moan came from the bed, where the dog stood near the lump of covers, wagging its tail and barking.
“Hush, Stanley,” a hoarse voice said.
“Paula?” Brianna said, stepping closer, but the dog seemed to be standing guard.
“Stanley, come,” Aaron ordered the dog from behind her.
Surprisingly, Stanley hopped off the bed and went to Aaron, who gave him one of the dog biscuits he must’ve picked up in the kitchen. “Sit,” he said, and Stanley did just that, being rewarded with another biscuit.
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