Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
You’re safe now,” I say, rubbing McKenzie’s back while the harried social worker practically taps her foot in impatience. “It’s gonna be okay.”
She wraps her little arms tighter around my neck. “Don’t go.” She starts crying, tearing off another piece of my heart.
“Hey, hey, hey.” My voice cracks, so I swallow hard and keep rubbing her back, trying to soothe her with every bit of confidence I can muster. “You’re gonna be with your mama real soon.” I lower to a crouch so I can set her on her feet.
“Promise?” she says into my shirt.
The social worker grimaces. They’ve assured us that they’re doing everything they can to reunite Gweneth and McKenzie with their mom, but there’s a process.
Their mother is fighting to get them back, and from what I’ve been able to determine, she’ll win, though it’s going to take a little time.
I wish I could tell her to move far away, so the cult can’t pull the same stunt again, but I don’t know her circumstances, and my role here is done.
“You’re being so brave,” I tell McKenzie even though the words sound hollow.
Finally, McKenzie releases me. Our eyes meet one last time, and then she lets the social worker lead her from the room.
Running my hands through my hair, I exhale into the empty space, but my heart is too much of a fucking mess for it to do any good.
Rowdy’s waiting for me in the lobby. We walk in silence to his rig, the cold wind gusty and dry, and climb inside.
“Hungry?” Rowdy turns onto the deserted two-lane road, the trailer full of wood in tow.
I gaze out the window, the passing businesses a blur in the lowering light. “Not really.”
Though I’m empty, it’s not for want of food.
And underneath the emotional toll of rescuing those two girls, the intense events of the day are festering.
The spike of fear when Rowdy disappeared into that house.
The eerie silence of the farm. Sheriff Thomas’ little quip about Molly.
What the fuck does he know? Or is he so desperate to mess with me he’s making shit up?
I shouldn’t have lunged for him like that. It was stupid and impulsive and exactly the kind of move that backs up what he threw in my face—that I’m a troublemaker.
Rowdy reaches behind the seat at a stoplight and tugs out a small container from his pack, then pops the lid and removes a sandwich.
It’s gone in about four bites. While he guzzles from his water bottle, I caress my rough rose and trace my dad’s favorite verse with my thumb.
But his warmth feels too far to reach. “Are more kids being forced to stay there?”
Rowdy sets his water bottle aside. “It’s not so cut and dry, like with Gweneth and McKenzie, who were brought back to the cult against their will.
What if a child wanted to leave, but their parents refused?
In a place like that isolated farm, they’d be practically powerless.
What about those who don’t realize they’re being manipulated, even harmed by what he’s doing? ”
“So how do we help them?” I release a slow exhale, puffing my cheeks.
When I was reading to McKenzie, her focus would glaze over, like concentrating on a simple story was taxing.
And though the staff offered them cheese sticks and goldfish crackers and juice boxes, I had to reassure her more than once that it was okay.
Even though I don’t think she’s had a full belly in a long time.
“We take out the leaders for criminal activity, then make sure those left behind have the support they need.”
A low sunbeam breaks through the clouds from the west, casting a silver glow across the barren, snowy foothills. “I wish there was more we could do right now.”
“We accomplished something big today.”
He’s right. We rescued two little girls and helped answer a frantic mother’s prayers. I have every right to savor that victory.
But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not when more children could be trapped inside that compound.
“I know we have paperwork to finish,” Rowdy says, his eyes on the road ahead. “But I don’t want you doing any of it this weekend.”
My heartbeat echoes in my throat. “Why not?”
He purses his lips, or is it a grimace? “Don’t let this job become your life.”
This only adds to my sense of unease. Did I screw up so badly today that he needs space from me? Or has he read my secondhand heartache from that rescue? Even so, I’m not sure an entire weekend off is the answer. Idle hands and all that.
When we pull into HQ, it’s nearly five. Linnea’s car is still here. I only barely snuck out a quick text to her this morning thanks to the intensity of our mission and that her dad was sitting right next to me for most of it. She and I are supposed to hang out tonight, but…
I force another exhale past my tense lips. Maybe I’m just really fucking done with taking it slow. And while I understand a lot more now about why she’s being cautious, her unwillingness to put us on the map is slowly tearing me up inside.
I don’t want to have that conversation with her after a day like this one, so maybe it’s best I cancel our plans.
Go home, rest, and face it in the morning.
But wouldn’t that be dishonest? Manipulating the circumstances in my favor?
That’s the kind of thing her asshole ex would do, and Linnea deserves better.
By the time Rowdy and I finish unloading the wood into the small warehouse behind HQ, it’s just past six o’clock, our breaths making thick clouds in the cooling twilight.
We’re about to jump in the truck when the back door of HQ opens, and Deputy Director Shay leans out, his eyes locking with mine. “I need to see you in my office, CJ.” He uses that brisk tone that means business, like he’s in a rush and I’m the mud on his shoe.
Unease swirls in my gut. “Yes, sir.”
I glance at Rowdy, but his face is blank. “I’ll find a ride,” I tell him because the last thing I want is to hold him up. Especially after this intense day.
He frowns. “You sure?”
“Yeah.” My first thought is Linnea. If she’s still here.
Rowdy’s eyes narrow, like he’s reading my thoughts. But he wipes down his face with one hand and sighs. “All right.”
I grab my pack from the backseat of his truck, then head inside through the back door while Rowdy drives off.
Inside the building, after passing the restrooms, I pause behind the reception area.
It’s vacant, but Betsy only works until early afternoon.
I’m tempted to visit Linnea’s office first. Seeing her would be a ray of fucking sunshine right now, but I text her instead while dragging my feet toward Deputy Director Shay’s office.
ME:
Can I catch a ride south?
She doesn’t reply, so I tuck my phone away and knock on the deputy director’s door.
“Come in.”
Inside his tidy office, he’s standing behind his desk, his long fingertips braced off the table. In his brown suit and slicked-back hair, he looks like a banker or a skeezy lawyer, but I brush that thought aside.
“Big day, I heard,” he says while sliding a desk drawer open.
I rock on my toes, just so the tension in my calves has somewhere to go. “Yes, sir.”
He pulls out a familiar clear plastic package and sets it on his desk. “Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.”
The sting beneath my breastbone is so sharp I clench my fists. “Cooperation, sir?”
“There’s been a report that you’re under the influence.”
“From whom?” My firm tone is too much for this stuffy office, but there’s no controlling it.
He nostrils flare. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
I eye the piss test with its clear sample cup and the instructions.
“It’s for your safety and the safety of others,” he adds. “I’ll need your weapon and badge while this gets processed.”
He’s suspending me? Biting back my retort, I remove my Glock and hand it over. Giving up my badge is much harder, like I’m slicing off a piece of my soul only to watch him light it on fire. My fingers shake as I set it on the desk.
I can’t look him in the eyes as I grab the kit and spin for the door. I’m half surprised he doesn’t follow me to the restroom, just to make sure I don’t figure out a way to cheat.
Does he really think I’m using on the job?
I make quick work of completing the test, then with the kit tucked under my arm, I wash my hands, avoiding eye contact in the mirror because I don’t want to see the growing distress I’m sure is written all over my face.
Who in the hell made this bullshit claim?
And why? Is it somehow related to today, or something else?
It’s been an intense couple of weeks on the job, but that’s not my fault. What have I done to bring this on?
Outside the restroom, I’m in such a hurry to get back to Deputy Director Shay’s office that I nearly crash into the person coming from the opposite end of the hall.
“CJ!” Linnea gasps.
Even the fleeting glance I get is enough to stop my heart. She’s too pretty for this harsh, industrial space. For this universe. “You’re still here,” I manage.
Her gaze has dropped to the plastic bag tucked under my arm. The look she gives me when our eyes meet again is pained. “What’s going on?”
I try to hold on to the idea that this could all work out fine. As soon as my test comes back clean, I can carry on with the life I’m building. The one I want with her at my side. “It’s nothing.”
The instant I say it, I want to yank the words back because only someone guilty would say them. So I force myself to try again. “I got tagged for a drug test.”
She rubs her lips together, those troubled eyes now edged with fear. “Are you okay?”
This feels like too generous of a question, and I chew on it for too long. Because I’m not okay. I think I was until I spotted this drug test. Or maybe I would have cracked later tonight, or at 2 a.m. from another dream about Molly or those two precious little girls we pulled out of the trailer.
I exhale a trembling breath. I’m starting to feel like I’m failing, and that’s a dangerous place to be.