by Adriana Law
“Good for you,” Mr. Cruz gushed.
The girl tilted her head back and smiled. “I’m going to go tell mom.”
Mr. Cruz messed her hair, “Later, we will go to dinner and celebrate!”
“YAY!” She squealed and then ran off into the other room.
“What’s wrong,” he asked whenever his eyes returned to mine.
I had to shake my head and hit rewind. “I don’t understand. You said she was missing,” I said, pointing in the direction the girl had run off.
Understanding dawned on Mr. Cruz’s face. I waited for him to explain it to me. “You thought I meant Casey?” he said. “No, no, no…not Casey. She’s my youngest. It’s my Mya that’s missing.”
Did I want to know? Did it matter? I had already wasted enough time. I had a feeling he wasn’t going to let me get out of there until he clarified. I was right. I buried my hands in my pockets, leaned against the piano, and listened.
“Mya is from my first marriage. Her mother was always so melodramatic. I couldn’t deal. I wanted to be there for my child, but at the same time—”
It was inconvenient I’m tempted to say. Judging by the fact that I only see one girl proudly displayed on the piano, I think it’s safe to assume the oldest doesn’t fit into their nice, neat family package.
He goes on, “Mya was always exceptionally smart in school. After the divorce she fell in with the wrong crowd. Her grades starting slipping. Her mother calling me at all hours of the night…panicked over finding marijuana…condoms…in Mya’s room. I should have been there. Her mother was just so hard to get along with. They say a woman’s self-worth comes from her father. That he holds the key to her confidence in herself. Do you believe that, Mr. Bentley?”
“Sawyer,” I asked him to use my first name, mostly to keep from having to answer his question. It was none of my business. One person’s trash was another man’s treasure. I think I would be pissed too if my father abandoned me only to go off and recreate this perfect family. That had to sting.
“You think less of me,” he said.
“It’s none of my business.”
“I’m sad to say Mya was practice. Not intentional practice, but I did learn what NOT to do with her.”
“You say she went missing a couple of months ago?” I asked, putting together another scenario in my head. “I don’t mean to disrespect you, but do you think maybe the girl runaway from all this? I presume she’s old enough to make up her own mind? Maybe what you really need is a good family counselor.”
“No. Mya didn’t run away. This is way past the twenty-four hours it takes to report a person missing. Something is not right here. My daughter and I have a fragile relationship—.”
“Sounds like you have no relationship.”
“Mya answers whenever I call. Her phone has been disconnected.”
“Well there you go…proof that maybe what your daughter wants is some time to be alone and think.”
He leveled me with a look, saying, “You do not know my daughter.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
The wife poked her head in. “I made a reservation,” she said. “Your bath water is ready. Clothes out and pressed. We should hurry. Casey is excited.”
“Okay Dear, Sawyer was just about to leave. Tell Casey I will be there in a few minutes.” Mr. Cruz went to the desk, opened the drawer and returned with a photo. He held it out for me to take. “Please,” he said. “If you will just take her photograph and keep it on your desk…maybe you will run across someone who knows where she is.”
I glanced down at the picture in my hand and all the air was sucked out of the room. It was a picture of Starr. Pre-tattoos Starr. Pre-bitter and confused. Pre-angry and pissed off at the world. Pre-fucked up. Her ocean blue eyes were still full of hope; not cold and distant.
The photo was frame worthy and should be the center piece of all the rest of that shit on the piano. Not buried in a drawer and forgotten like a dirty secret.
The world was her footstool…she’d just forgotten that.
I mechanically lowered onto the couch unable to pull my eyes away from the picture. My shirt suddenly felt tight. I tugged at the neck of it in hopes it would help me breathe better. I’d never had a panic attack. I’d heard people mention having one, but it wasn’t until that moment that I understood what they were talking about. My heart shuddered, skipping beats inside my chest. I grasped at the spot certain I was having a heart attack.
“I’ll do it,” I told Mr. Cruz. “I will find your daughter.”
He appeared stunned, but went back to the desk. A check was produced in my line of sight. My eyes lifted to his and I shook my head. “I don’t want your money.”
He held the check there like he thought I would come to my senses and accept his money. After a few minutes he tore the check into pieces. “I don’t understand,” he said. “What changed your mind?”
“Your daughter.”
***
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Eggs Benedict
I found the woman sitting in the back of I-hop drawing absent-minded circles on the tabletop. She was an anorexic-thin woman with dark chestnut-colored hair, her skin pale from no sunlight. Her dress was black, same as the huge movie star glasses covering her eyes. I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. The woman looked like an angry house-wife: one distant husband, one sleeping baby, one old dog and nothing to fill the in-between hours until they needed her.
She looked up as I slid into the booth across from her.
“You’re him?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m him.”
I dismissed the waitress, telling her, “We will let you know when we’re ready.”
“Did you bring it?” the woman across from me asked the second the waitress walked away. I laid the package on the table and pushed it across to her. “For the love of God…” her neck craned, her eyes darting to the few people scattered about the restaurant, “…are you trying to get me arrested?” She hid the brown bag by cramming it inside her deep purse, her voice a hushed whisper, “do you have idea how much I’m risking by meeting with you?”
I knew exactly how much risk was involved. If I was caught exchanging—let’s just say I would be in deep shit. The idea of spending time on the wrong side of the prison bars had never been an attractive idea for me. I don’t think I would adapt too well. And without my job my life would have no meaning or real purpose but I was prepared to sacrifice my clean record if it came to that. So yeah. I was well aware of the risk. I laid the photo Mr. Cruz gave me on the table. Slide it until it was in front of the woman.
She sipped her water without acknowledging the photograph of Mya which caused a growing irritation. I assumed she was looking me over real good, but the dark shades hid it. “Are you hungry?” I asked her, prepared to buy her breakfast.
She shook her head. Pushed a hand over the table and covered mine with it. “Shelly mentioned you needed to talk to me,” she said. “Boy you sure do get around. Ask a lot of questions.” Her fingertips now drew absent-minded circles on the top of my hand. “I’ve decided…I want to party with you.”
Was that supposed to do something for me? It didn’t. She pouted when I slid my hand out from underneath hers.
“C’mon, party with me, handsome. I’ll make it worth your time. Treat you real nice.”
My fingernail tapped the photograph. She sighed and glanced down for a second before her attention returned to me. Underneath the table her bare foot settled between my legs. She rubbed with a suggestive smile on her face. I seized her foot by the ankle and moved it from my crotch, telling her, “That’s not what I called you for.”
“You sure?” she whined. I stared hard at her, irritated with her games. Again, she sighed, straightening on her side of the booth, saying, “Yea. I’ve seen her.”
“You barely looked at the photograph. You sure?”
“You don’t forget a woman that looks like that,” she told me. I c
racked my neck, tense as hell. My entire body hummed with anticipation for what information the woman might supply. She cocked her head, studying me. “You already know that though, don’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…you going through all this trouble to find her, she must be important.”
“She’s a friend.”
“A guy doesn’t get all tangled up in tight knots unless a woman does something to his insides that no other woman can do. This girl has got you tangled. That says more than friend to me. You can hardly sit there without flying over the table and taking your pent-up aggression out on me.” The foot was back. “You can take out some of that aggression on me. I don’t mind playing the stand-in.”
I raked her foot away, telling her to, “Cut the shit.”
She dropped back into her seat on a laugh. “Lucky girl.
“Where?”
“Where what?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a breath. “You said you’ve seen her. Please, focus. Where did you see her?”
Mumbling something under her breath, the woman picked up the photograph of Mya and studied it closer. “She was at his house.”
“Whose house?”
She laid the photograph back on the table. “I can’t say. She partied with us. She had everyone’s attention that night.” A brow rose above the movie star glasses, “She yours?”
“No. Trust me. Mya doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“She belongs to him now.”
“What makes you say that?”
“‘Cause he was grooming her,” she said. I shook my head. She leaned forward, resting her folded arms on the table. “You don’t know what grooming is?” She laughed. “And here I thought…never mind what I thought. You a cop?”
“A friend. This grooming thing…explain it.”
“He showers her with gifts. Makes her feel special. Builds her confidence up. Makes her trust him. Basically what he does to every one of his girls…” she exhaled an aggravated breath, “…then cuts off the drugs he has so abundantly—”
“You sure that’s what was going on?”
“Positive. No doubt in my mind what-so-ever. He wouldn’t let this girl out of his sight all night. Real attentive. Gushing over her. Petting her. Real sickening to watch.”
“You sound jealous.”
Her feathers ruffled at my observation. There was a quick stiffening of her body. The tilt of her chin. “I am not jealous of any of the Hoes he brings around. He’s a conceited dick.”
“Okay then, let’s go,” I said sliding out of the booth.
Her hand shot out grasping onto my arm, the words “Where are we going?” whispered.
“I want you to show me where he lives.”
She released my arm and adamantly shook her head. “I can’t do that. He won’t think twice about killing me if he ever finds out I talked to you. I don’t think you know what or who you’re dealing with. Besides, your girl won’t be there. I saw her like three months ago…maybe four. He will have already moved her by now.”
I sat back down across from her. “Moved her where?”
“Into a house with the others. His girls. He never keeps them at his house except for—”
“Grooming,” I supplied.
“Exactly. He’s not going to let her go.”
“He’ll have no choice.”
“He’ll kill you before he’ll let her go.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said.
“You should be. Listen, the guy you’re looking for…he’s small time compared to all his friends. He’s not going to let you just waltz right in and take your woman back. He has a reputation to uphold if he ever wants to be higher up.”
“I don’t give a shit about his reputation or what he wants. If he has hurt her in any way…he won’t have to worry with killing me because I’ll kill him first.”
“Oh, he’s hurt her all right. That’s what he does…inflict pain until you are obedient.”
“How do I find this guy?”
“I’ve already said enough,” the woman said, gathering her purse and about to slide out of her side of the booth.
I pulled out my wallet and took out all the cash I had on me, laying the crisp hundreds on the table in front of her and lowered my voice. “I assume if he has cut off your drug supply, he is also withholding money.”
She picked up the cash, but still stood to leave.
My fingers wrapped around her wrist. “How do I find him?”
“Sad thing is…if you did kill him…I wouldn’t feel a thing. Not an ounce of sadness.”
I repeated, “How do I find him?”
“You don’t,” she said. “You wait.”
“What am I waiting on?”
“Opportunity.”
“Explain.” My voice grew louder, more urgent. “I just gave you—”
“Jesus, would you stop doing that. Truck stops….”
“Yeah?” I prompted for more.
“Hangout at one. That’s where he puts his…not-so-best…girls. Apply enough pressure and one of them will tell you when and where he’s going to be. Time it right and you’ll get more than one of those bastards.” I released her arm. She paused by the table, right next to me, her hand going to my shoulder. “Good luck.”
I pointed out the obvious. “You got out. It must not be too damn difficult.”
She laughed. “I’m not a prostitute.” She leaned into my ear and whispered, “That guy, the one you are looking for…he is my brother.”
Her hand slipped from my shoulder and she was gone.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Wilted
The turquoise blindfold falls to the floor at my feet. Slowly I turn around to face the man for instructions on what happens next, what he prefers. If I were lucky he will just want to talk, but that only happens in the movies. Guys never want to just talk. I prepare myself for some fat guy with a forehead full of sweat. I am not prepared to turn around and see Sawyer Bentley.
I pegged the deep voice exactly right.
It is him.
The word why clatters around inside my brain.
I stare at him.
He stares at me.
Neither of us speak. I notice there is a difference between the guy I shared a hotel room with two years ago and the one standing before me now. This man is no longer a boy with wild fantasies of playing cops and robbers. This man has seen the ugliness this world has to offer. Strength is evident in his dark chiseled feathers…a willingness to do whatever it takes. Maybe it was there before and I just didn’t see it.
Sawyer’s gaze deliberately slides over me as if he is inspecting every inch of me. Can he see it? The ugliness inside? I’m not sure what he expects to see. I’m not the same either. It seems ages ago, miles in the past…to here. I taste the words but can’t say them: What took you so long?
He swallows hard before asking, “Are you hurt?”
Only on the inside. I shake my head.
I decide: Sawyer could belong here with the others. He looks sharp in a nice Armani suit and polished black shoes. The dark shading along his jawline I assume was purposely left to give that dangerous edge, the muscles there clenched in anger. I can’t peer directly into his probing brown eyes; instead I focus on the floor between my feet.
What took you so long?
With the same hand that grouped me moments ago in front of the other men Sawyer picks up my chin, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I didn’t come into his world.
He came into mine.
I want to know what his is doing here.
Instead, Sawyer reaches and drags tears from underneath my eyes with the pad of his thumb. “Give me your hand,” he says.
Without argument I lift my hand and watch as he turns it palm side up. He coils the amber necklace in the center of my palm giving me back what is rightfully mine. My eyes narrow on him, and I finally find my voice, ask
ing, “What are you here for?”
“You,” is his answer.
“How did you know I would be here?”
“Your father asked me to find you?”
“My father…” I blink twice, never expecting to hear that my father cares anything about my safety or well-being. And what does Sawyer Bentley have to do with it? My vision blurs behind a well of tears building. Could it be? Could he? No man has ever cared.
“Your father paid me,” he explains.
Paid—another transaction on my behalf. The idea doesn’t sit well. That warm, slippery feeling inside my chest I felt moments ago, it hardens. My fingers close around my necklace, my arm falling back to my side. “Now what?” I ask, my voice coming out bitter. “We just walk out of here? So far…I’ve seen no gun. I’m sure they checked you coming through the front door. They’re not stupid.”
Sawyer closes the distance between us, and I flinch at the sudden movement. Instead of hurting me he lifts my hand, the one holding the necklace so tight the stone mars flesh. He frowns at the track marks in my arm.
I yank the arm away covering the now faint bruises with the opposite hand, telling him the truth. “The drugs were a blessing.”
Sawyer pulls me to him, crushing his lips to my forehead.
I let him, too shock to do much more than to stare up at him in dismay.
His warm breath blows wisp of hair. “You’re safe now,” he says. “It’s already been set up. Within minutes…DEA will be crawling all over this place. What I need,” he mutters, “is for you to wait in here until those bastards are in cuffs, and then I promise, I’m going to get you out of here and back home.” He pulls back a bit, tips my chin up so I am unable to look anywhere else but in his eyes. “Do you hear me, Mya?” My stomach drops at hearing Sawyer use my real name. “I need you to stay here until I come back for you.”
I remember Mattie is there. Those “pigs” will arrest her too and treat her as if she is the problem instead of the victim. “There is a black girl…she is my friend…will you—”
