CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bree looked at the GPS. “I want to make a stop on the way. Yesterday, before the 911 call about the bodies, Juarez and I handled a DV.” She gave him the details on the domestic violence call while she drove.
“You could let social services handle it.”
“I could.”
“But you won’t,” Matt said quietly.
“I understand her situation.” Too well.
Matt reached over the console and gave her hand a squeeze. “You also know how important—and difficult—it will be to get her out of that situation.”
“Half of the staff at social services is also down with the flu.” Bree paused. “Plus, Grace has a four-year-old.”
Matt rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ah, hell.”
“Yep.” Bree parked at the curb.
“Want me to wait outside?” Matt asked.
She glanced over. DV victims could be intimidated by men, particularly large men. Kayla had never been afraid of Matt. Kindness shone through his eyes. Children saw through physical trappings. They saw you. She thought Riley would be OK. And Grace? It was time she learned that not all men were like Howard Killian. There were plenty of good men in the world. She shouldn’t settle for a jerk. “No.”
They stepped out into the gloom and walked to the front door. Bree raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before her knuckles touched wood.
Grace started at the sight of Matt. Bree introduced him. “It’s OK, Grace.”
Grace held the door open, and they stepped inside. Three black lawn bags stood in the living room next to a child’s car seat.
Probably all their possessions.
“Have you heard from social services?” Bree asked.
Grace shook her head.
“The zipper’s stuck, Mama.” Riley emerged from the hallway, dragging her bulging pink backpack. A stuffed animal paw waved from the opening. Riley was dressed in pink leggings and a white sweater with a glittery purple unicorn on the front.
“Can I help?” Matt asked before approaching the child.
She assessed him with big blue eyes, then nodded. “OK.”
Matt crossed the room and sat on the floor. The little girl thrust her pack into his hands.
With the little girl occupied, Bree spoke to Grace in a low voice. “Are you going to a shelter?”
Grace frowned. “No. There’s no childcare, and I have to get a job. Howard didn’t want me to work. He liked me to focus on him. But I’m going to try to get my old waitressing job back.”
“Where are you going?”
Grace frowned. “I called my parents last night. They agreed to let us stay there for a while.”
“Howard won’t look for you there?”
“No.” Grace’s voice went tight. “My father ... well ... Howard will be afraid of him.”
“Are you?” Bree worried.
“Afraid?” Grace swallowed. “No.”
“You didn’t want to call them last night.”
Grace’s eyes went misty. “When I got pregnant, I was still in high school. I denied it for months. Wore baggy clothes, didn’t look in the mirror. That sounds dumb, but you’d be surprised how long you can ignore something that terrifies you. By the time I was forced to face the fact, I was five months along, and I couldn’t disguise my stomach with sweatpants and big shirts anymore. My mom guessed. They wanted me to give up the baby. I was afraid they’d make me, since I was a minor.” She sniffed and swallowed. “I moved in with Riley’s dad, Zach, and his mom. It was OK for a while. Not great, but OK. I had Riley. Zach finished high school. I got my GED. We fought a lot. It wasn’t the best situation, but we kept moving forward for Riley’s sake.” Her sigh trembled through her entire body. “Then Zach died in a car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
Grace shook her head. “I wasn’t in love with him anymore. He wasn’t in love with me either, but he was still good to us. He loved Riley and pulled his weight with the baby. He was all me and Riley had.”
“What happened with his mom?”
“She couldn’t live with his death. She got into drugs hard-core after he died. It wasn’t safe for Riley there anymore.” She paused, clearly skipping over much of her story. “When I met Howard, and he asked us to move in here, I thought we’d finally gotten a break, but that’s never gonna happen to me.”
“You’ll both be safe with your parents?” Bree worried about Riley living with grandparents who didn’t approve of her existence.
Grace nodded once. “It won’t be fun, but we’ll manage. I believe my parents will treat Riley just like my siblings. I don’t think they’ll hold the circumstances of her birth against her. They put a hundred percent of the blame on me.” She took a quick inhale, as if to fortify herself. “Plus, I’m the oldest of nine. Finding someone to watch Riley while I go to work shouldn’t be a problem.”
“But?”
She shook it off. “But nothing. I just have to keep my head down and follow my parents’ rules until I save up enough money for my own place.” She seemed miserable, resigned, and determined all at once. Her face softened. “My brothers and sisters will love her, and she’s going to love having older kids around.”
Bree wanted to ask about the rules but sensed she wouldn’t get any information. “And I can’t talk you into filing a complaint against Killian?”
Grace’s body tensed. “No.” Her tone did not waver.
Bree didn’t push the issue. She’d rather maintain open communication with Grace than alienate her by being a hard-ass. If Grace ran into trouble, Bree wanted her to feel comfortable reaching out for help. “Do you have a ride?”
“My father is coming for me.” She brought her fist to her mouth and gnawed on her thumbnail. “I haven’t seen him since before I had Riley.”
“Your family is aware of the whole situation with Killian?” Bree asked.
“They are.” Grace chewed her lip.
A vehicle door slammed outside. A minute later, footsteps sounded on the porch. Grace opened the door, her posture stiff. The man who stepped into the house was six and a half feet tall with the shoulder span of a refrigerator. In his late forties and balding, he had the musculature of a man who’d performed physical labor every day of his life. Everything about him seemed hard: his expression, his stature, the look in his eyes. His brows were a stern line across his forehead. He did not smile at the daughter he hadn’t laid eyes on in years or the granddaughter he was seeing for the first time. His entire countenance was locked in disapproval.
Kneeling on the floor, her knees bent at an angle possible only for yogis and children under ten, Riley looked up at him. There was none of the near-instant trust she’d shown with Matt. Instead, wariness shuttered her eyes as she assessed her grandfather. Even at her young age, she’d learned to take stock of a person. Bree understood. So had she. Survival instincts kicked in early when kids lived with violence.
Grace clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head. “Hello, Daddy.”
Frowning, he tipped his head a mere inch toward Riley. “Is that her?”
“Yes, sir,” Grace answered, her eyes still downcast in submission.
He acknowledged the child with a jerk of his chin, then turned toward Bree.
She offered a hand. “I’m Sheriff Taggert, and this is Investigator Flynn.”
Mr. Abbott’s hands were work-roughened and thick with calluses. “Elijah Abbott. Do you need anything from us?”
“No,” Bree said.
Grace moved to the trash bags and hefted two. Her father immediately took them from her, then picked up the third as if they weighed nothing. He headed for the door. “I need to get back to work.”
“Yes, sir.” Grace held out her hand toward Riley. The little girl leaped to her feet and obediently went to her mother’s side, dragging the backpack. Grace slung the strap over one shoulder and met Bree’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Bree followed them toward the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
Matt got to his feet, picked up the car seat, and carried it to the porch.
Outside, Grace locked the door. “What do I do with the key?”
“I’ll take it and see that it gets returned to Killian.” Bree pocketed the key. She didn’t want him to have any excuse to contact Grace.
“Thank you for everything,” Grace said.
“You’re very welcome. You and Riley stay safe.”
Mr. Abbott opened the rear door of an extended-cab pickup and placed the trash bags inside. He squinted at Bree over his shoulder. “They’ll be safe in my home.” Without waiting for a response, he climbed behind the wheel.
Matt secured the car seat. Riley held her arms up to him as if she’d been doing it since birth. He plucked her off the ground, swung her into the truck, and buckled her in place.
He stepped to Bree’s side, and they watched the big truck drive away.
“I don’t think Howard Killian will mess with Mr. Abbott,” he said.
“Me neither,” Bree agreed. Grace and Riley should be safe from Killian at the Abbott house. Hopefully, Grace would have the opportunity to save some money and get back on her feet.
“Not sure they’ll be happy, though.” Matt headed for the vehicle.
Bree slid into the driver’s seat. “Apparently, today is not a day for happiness.”