Chapter 3
Fatigue dragged her limbs. She blinked, vision foggy at the edges, but pushed forward.
“Keisha!”
Tiana’s laugh sliced through the noise. By a sugar skull vendor, her mismatched polka dot socks flashed under rolled jeans. Keisha’s gaze swept the crowd. Old caseworker habits. Track exits and spot adults lingering too long near kids.
“You’re late,” Tiana said, clutching a horchata, ice clinking. “Thought you bailed.”
“Flagler traffic,” Keisha said, dodging the truth that she’d spent fifteen minutes in her car, wrestling with ethics over this off-books meeting. “School okay?”
Tiana rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Estevez thinks I’m cheating in calc. ‘Foster kids don’t get A’s.’ Whatever.”
Her indignation stung Keisha. Sixteen, already battered by the system’s biases. A memory of her foster sister, lost to those same failures, tightened her chest. She bought them elotes—corn slathered in mayo and cotija—and they walked, weaving through families.
“Those weird calls you mentioned,” Keisha said, casual. “What’s up with that?”
Tiana stiffened, biting her corn. “Mr. Rossi gets late-night calls. Locks his office door, talks low, then gets pissed. Last night, he mentioned ‘that Crawford woman asking questions.’ That’s you, right?”
Keisha’s hand trembled, corn pausing midair. A faint aura flickered in her vision. She inhaled, steadying. “Names? Companies?”
“Coastal Futures, I think. Something about ‘prime candidates’—me and Miguel, ‘cause of our grades.” Tiana’s voice dropped. “Said we’re worth forty grand each. ‘Clean files, no family complications.’”
Keisha stiffened. A man across the market caught her eye. Angular face, neck tattoo, watching them. Mikalai. The same face from the black sedan tailing her three days ago.
“You okay?” Tiana studied her. “You look off.”
“I’m good.” Keisha forced a bite, chewing slowly. “How often are these calls?”
“Every few days. After Mrs. Rossi’s asleep.” Tiana sipped her horchata. “They’re about money. ‘Investments secure,’ that kinda thing. You checking my placement because of this?”
A tourist bumped Keisha, her corn hitting the pavement. The ground tilted...another warning.
“I’m being thorough,” she said, picking up the corn and tossing it in a trash can. “Making sure you’re safe.”
“Bullshit.” Tiana’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not dumb. Something’s wrong with the Rossis, isn’t it?”
“I’ll check their paperwork tomorrow,” Keisha said, dodging. “If there’s an issue, I’ll handle it.”
“And if you find something?”
“I’ll keep you safe.” Another promise, heavy as her foster sister’s memory.
Tiana’s face softened, then hardened. “Whatever. I’m out in two years anyway.”
Her bravado hid fear. Keisha knew that mask...had worn it herself. “College apps?”
“FIU early admission. Full scholarship if my GPA holds.” Tiana grinned, pride breaking through. “Pre-med, like I said.”
“That’s huge, Tiana.”
“Yeah, well. Gotta prove foster kids can be doctors.” She shrugged, but the spark stayed.
Keisha’s watch read 9:15. Her tremor spread up her arm, muscles tensing. “Curfew’s 9:45, right?”
“School nights, yeah. Mrs. Rossi gave me fifteen extra ‘cause of my history A.”
“Generous,” Keisha said dryly.
They headed to her car, Tiana’s socks flashing in neon light. Keisha gripped her keys, counting breaths. Mikalai lingered across the street, turning away when she spotted him. Her heart kicked, teeth chattering.
“Keisha?” Tiana’s voice softened. “If the Rossis are bad, you won’t let them split me and Miguel, right? He’s only in fifth grade. He needs me.”
The question cut deep. “I’ll do everything to keep you together,” Keisha said, promising what she’d failed to do before.
Tiana nodded. They reached the car, but as Keisha grabbed the handle, a figure loomed. Sergei. Her stomach dropped, heat flushing her skin.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low, for her alone.
His jacket brushed her arm, crowding her. Tattoos shifted on his neck, intricate and unreadable. She focused there, avoiding his too-close face. “Neither should you,” she said, stepping out despite his warning. “I’m taking Tiana home.”
“It’s not safe.” His fingers grazed her wrist. “The Rossis are in it, Keisha. Coastal’s adoption scam.”
His touch sparked, electric and unwanted. Her pulse quickened, warmth low in her belly. She jerked away, sneakers scraping. “I don’t need your theories, Sergei.”
“It’s fact.” He glanced at Tiana, watching through the window. “Coastal targets kids like her—smart, no trouble. High prices.”
Neon flashed across his face, harsh then soft. Keisha crossed her arms. “How do you know?”
“You know how.”
His confession from days ago echoed. “I told you, I don’t need your help.”
“Your hand’s shaking,” he said, nodding at it.
“Not your business.”
Tiana stepped out, soda can crumpling in her grip. “Everything okay?”
“All good,” Keisha said, softening. “This is Sergei. He’s...”
“A friend,” Sergei said, offering his hand.
Tiana ignored it. “The tattoo guy from Seventh.”
Sergei’s eyebrows lifted. “You know my shop?”
“Nope.” Tiana’s denial was too quick. “Just heard of it.”
Keisha’s instincts pinged. Tiana was hiding something. Fatigue hit, aura flaring. “We gotta go,” she said, blinking hard.
“You’re not driving,” Sergei said, stepping closer, blocking the light. “Mikalai could be close. Let me take you both.”
“No way.” She fumbled the keys. “I don’t know you.”
“You do.” His voice dropped, private. “More than you wanna admit.”
Her cheeks heated. “One ride,” he pressed. “I’ll follow to the Rossis’, keep you safe.”
“We don’t need a babysitter,” Tiana snapped, stepping between them. “I’m late. Can we move?”
Keisha nodded, grateful. Sergei’s scent, his closeness, stirred her body against her will. Dangerous. “Follow if you want,” she told him. “But stay back.”
He smiled, edges softening. “Not my strength.”
“Get in, Tiana.” Keisha ignored the flutter, starting the engine. Her tremor made the wheel hard to grip.
“You and tattoo guy...” Tiana said, buckling in.
“There’s no me and him,” Keisha said firmly. “He’s a source. That’s it.”
“Sure.” Tiana’s skepticism dripped. “That’s why you blushed when he touched you.”
“Focus on your drama,” Keisha deflected. Sergei’s motorcycle roared to life in the mirror, following.
“He likes you,” Tiana said. “Obvious.”
“He’s trouble,” Keisha muttered. “Complicated.”
“Aren’t the good ones?” Tiana grinned, then sobered. “What he said about the Rossis...true?”
“I’m checking irregularities,” Keisha said, cautious. “That’s all I can say.”
“Like selling kids?” Tiana’s bluntness hit hard. “Kids talk. We know when something’s off.”
Sergei’s headlight stayed steady in the mirror, a reluctant anchor. “I’ll figure it out,” Keisha said. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“My last social worker said that.” Tiana’s voice hardened. “Before they split me and Miguel for six months.”
The barb struck hard.
At a red light, Tiana tugged her sleeve. “Something else,” she whispered, glancing at Sergei’s headlight. “Last week, I found boarding school brochures—Switzerland, Connecticut—in my backpack. I didn’t apply. Mrs. Rossi called them ‘opportunities.’”
Keisha’s grip tightened, files flashing in her mind—Coastal’s vanished records, missing checks, fake incomes. “For Miguel too?”
“Just me.” Tiana’s eyes hardened. “I told Mrs. Rossi I’m not leaving him.”
“Good.” Keisha turned right, residential streets closing in. “Act normal. Don’t confront them.”
“You believe me?”
“I do.” Keisha’s voice steadied. “Tomorrow, I’ll pull every Rossi and Coastal file.”
“What if they move us first?” Tiana’s voice shook. “Split us again?”
“They won’t.” Keisha turned, Sergei’s headlight trailing. “I’ll call my supervisor tonight for an emergency review.”
“Tattoo guy?” Tiana nodded at the mirror. “Can he help?”
“No.” Too sharp. “He’s not in this.”
“He’s tailing us,” Tiana said. “Seems in it.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Adults.” Tiana rolled her eyes.
Keisha’s phone buzzed. Sergei’s number. She ignored it, but Mikalai’s face flashed across the street. Her heart slammed. “Get down,” she hissed, pushing Tiana below the dashboard.
“What’s wrong?” Tiana’s voice pitched high.
“Stay down.” Keisha reversed, tires squealing, then cut through the intersection as it turned green. Mikalai stood, hand in pocket, waiting.
“Is it the Rossis?” Tiana asked, still crouched.
“Not exactly.” Keisha checked her mirrors. Nothing. “Someone tied to them.”
“Stop babying me,” Tiana snapped, sitting up. “What’s going on?”
Keisha’s phone buzzed again. She answered, speaker on. “Where you going?” Sergei’s voice, tense, over his engine.
“Away from here,” Keisha said. “Tiana needs somewhere safe.”
“Not your place. They’ll check there.” His motorcycle rumbled. “My shop’s secure.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Tiana leaned in.
“Mikalai won’t be alone,” Sergei said. “He’ll call backup.”
“I’m not hiding in your shop,” Keisha said. “I need my supervisor, those files—”
“Your supervisor’s not answering at ten,” Sergei cut in. “The files are probably gone.”
He was right, and it agitated her. Her control slipped, sneakers sliding on pedals as she sped through a yellow light. “I can handle this,” she said. “Tiana too.”
“With shaking hands?” Sergei’s voice hardened. “These people vanish kids, Keisha. You’re next.”
Keisha’s jaw tightened. “Fine. Your shop. To regroup. Then Tiana goes home.”
“No way,” Tiana said. “Not if they’re selling us.”
A black sedan appeared, three cars back. Keisha’s pulse spiked. “We’ve got company,” she told Sergei. “Black sedan, tinted.”
“We are about six blocks from my shop. Tiana knows where it is. Ask her. I’ll intercept. Keep going.”
The line died. Sergei’s motorcycle dropped back, leveling with the sedan. Keisha turned, losing sight.
“He okay?” Tiana asked, twisting.
“He’s fine,” Keisha said, certain despite herself. Sergei was dangerous when protecting something. The thought stirred her, quickly shoved aside. “Where’s Miguel?”
Tiana gave it, fingers twisting her shirt. “You believe me about the Rossis?”
“Yes. I never doubted you,” Keisha said. “Mikalai constant presence confirms it. He’s Dmitri’s scout and someone Sergei used to worked for..”
“So tattoo guy was a bad guy?” Tiana’s eyebrows shot up. “Plot twist.”
Keisha almost smiled. “Complicated.”
“Got it.” Tiana leaned back, too old for sixteen.
They reached Sergei’s shop, parking in the alley. Keisha’s tremor worsened, teeth chattering. Fifteen minutes, maybe, before a seizure. “Inside,” she told Tiana, fumbling her seatbelt.
“You’re not okay,” Tiana said, hand steadying hers. “You’re sick.”
“I’m okay,” Keisha denied. “Stress triggers my anxiety. I’m handling it.”
“Barely.” Tiana’s voice softened, sharp. “Let people help.”
Sergei appeared at the back door, scanning the alley. Relief flashed, then guardedness.
He nodded to Tiana. “Both of you inside. I’ll hide the car.”
Tiana grabbed Keisha’s hand, stronger than she looked. “Come on, social worker. Let someone else take the wheel.”
Keisha wanted to fight. Her independence wasn’t negotiable. But Miguel needed her. Files in her office needed securing. Her body faltered.
“Hey,” she told Sergei, pressing keys into his palm. Their fingers brushed, sparking heat. “We need Miguel before they know Tiana’s gone.”
Sergei’s eyes widened, respect flickering. “You’re going back out there? With Mikalai hunting?”
“Not want. Need.” Keisha stood, shaky but firm, pulling from Tiana. “These kids are mine to protect.”
He nodded, pocketing the keys. “I will call in a favor. He will remain safe.”
For Tiana, for Miguel, Keisha would take Sergei’s help. Just this once.