1. Chapter One #2
The question caught me off guard. "She seems... okay. Working. Functioning." Though I hadn't missed the fear in her eyes when she first saw me. "But I don't know what's going on beneath the surface."
"Be careful with her, Dion. A month is nothing.”
"I don't know how she's managing to function," I confessed. But was she? Appearances could be very deceptive. I understood Maddox's concern. After all, we'd seen firsthand the conditions those women had been kept in. The psychological trauma couldn't be erased in a matter of days.
"I know," I said quietly. "I'm not expecting anything. Just want to make sure she's really okay."
Max was silent for a moment. "Just... tread carefully. And for fuck's sake, don't tell Gideon until you have to."
I chuckled. "Copy that." Although, I was surprised Gideon hadn't already called me as he would have seen my location too. He must be busy with Abby.
After ending the call, I drove home to feed Hades and Anubis. I let them run around outside with a ball and tried to figure out what I was doing.
The truth was, I couldn't get Emily out of my head.
The way she'd stood up to that guard, her voice shaking but determined.
How small she'd looked when we finally got her out, but still somehow holding herself together.
Her file said she was a social worker, someone who helped others for a living.
Even after what she'd been through, she was back at work and helping rescue animals find homes.
She was brave. And I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
I pulled into a spot near Murphy's at 7:45, and noticed the place was emptying out before it shut at nine.
If it hadn't been so close to the local college, I doubt it would have stayed open so late.
The coffee shop was a quaint little place with exposed brick walls and mismatched furniture that somehow worked together.
I ordered a black coffee and claimed a table in the corner where I could see the door.
I knew our team would follow her from the rescue so I didn't have to worry about her being outside.
At exactly 8:14, Emily walked in. She'd changed out of her Furbabies shirt into a soft-looking pink sweater, but the pigtails remained. My heart did that weird stutter thing again as she scanned the room, her face lighting up when she spotted me.
I stood immediately, planning to order and pay for her, but she waved me down. I didn’t like it, but she was here so I kept my big ugly mouth shut. She joined me, setting down a mug topped with whipped cream and what looked like chocolate sprinkles.
"Sorry I'm a little late," she said, sliding into the chair across from me. "One of our new rescues needed some extra attention before I could leave."
"No problem." I took a sip of my coffee to give my hands something to do. "What kind of rescue?"
"A three-legged pit bull mix. Someone found him tied to a dumpster." Her expression darkened momentarily before she forced a smile. "But he's safe now. That's what matters."
I nodded, understanding completely. Sometimes the only way to keep going was to focus on the ones you could save.
I’d learned that the hard way.
"So," she said, wrapping her hands around her mug, "you wanted to check on me?"
"Yeah." I cleared my throat. "As you live so close,” I lied.
She raised an eyebrow, and I could tell she wasn't buying it. Smart woman. "Really? Because Furbabies is a forty-minute drive from Salvation."
I nearly choked on my coffee. "You know about Salvation?"
"I'm pretty sure I was rescued by a team of military-looking guys who happen to be my ex-roomie’s employers.
The same ones that turned up at my place of work to ask about me.
" She took a sip of her sugary concoction, leaving a small dot of whipped cream on her upper lip. "Both Jennifer and Margaret told me."
My fingers twitched with the urge to wipe away that dot of cream. Instead, I handed her a napkin.
"Thanks," she said, dabbing at her mouth. "So, are you going to tell me your name, or should I just call you 'intimidatingly large rescue guy'?"
I wanted to order her to call me Daddy, but smiling despite myself, I said, "Dion. Dion Blackwood."
"Emily Carter. But you already knew that." She tilted her head, studying me. "Did you draw the short straw for the wellness check, Dion?"
"No one sent me." I met her gaze directly. "I came because I wanted to."
Her eyes widened slightly, those big brown orbs searching my face for the truth. Whatever she saw there made her cheeks flush pink.
"Oh," she said softly, then looked down at her mug. "Well, thank you.” We didn’t do wellness checks, but I wasn't admitting that.
“You told the cops you have no idea why you were taken. That you were kidnapped when you went outside to take out the trash.”
A shadow crossed her face, confirming our suspicion that the interview with the cops and her dad’s fancy lawyer had been utter baloney.
She stiffened, her fingers tightening around her mug. "That’s right."
I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "Emily, we both know that's not true. The cops might have bought it, but we both know human traffickers target people who are marginalized or in difficult circumstances. Usually undocumented. Traffickers don’t kidnap daughters of prominent attorneys.”
Her eyes darted around the coffee shop, checking if anyone was listening, but I’d already made sure. I also had a device in my pocket to prevent any recording, but as the place was mostly empty, I wasn't worried. When she looked back at me, the warmth had vanished from her expression.
"My father's lawyer advised me not to discuss the details with anyone," she said, her voice suddenly formal. "For my own protection."
"Your father's lawyer," I repeated, unable to keep the edge from my tone. "The same father who cut you off when you decided to become a social worker instead of following his plans for you?"
Her mouth fell open slightly. "You... you really did do your homework on me." But then she looked away and I felt like complete shit. My own parents would hardly win any awards.
"And now? Why are you still investigating me?" There was hurt in her voice, and it twisted something in my chest.
"I'm not investigating you," I said, softer now. “But none of this makes sense.”
She pushed her cup away and made to stand. “Thanks for the coffee, but—”
“If they targeted you for a reason, what makes you think they won’t try again?”
Any color fled her face as she sat back heavily in her seat, and I cursed myself again. This time when she picked her nearly empty cup up, her hands trembled. Fuck, I was nothing but a bully.
“Jennifer doesn’t know the extent to which we help people,” I hastened, “but she knows we all have military backgrounds, and she was hoping we might know someone who could help.”
Emily's lower lip trembled slightly before she caught it between her teeth, but then her eyes met mine. “Aren’t you risking a lot by telling me, then?”
I reached across the table, not quite touching her hand but close enough that she could take mine if she wanted to. "Emily, whatever you're afraid of, I can help. My team and I, we specialize in protection, and you might not be safe."
She gave a hollow laugh. "And what exactly do you protect people from, Dion?"
"Bad guys," I said simply. "Sometimes they crawl up from the gutter, and sometimes they wear suits and have fancy lawyers."
I knew I’d finally gone too far when she snatched her hand away as if I might touch it. She met my gaze. “I’m very grateful, you know I am, and of course I won’t repeat anything you tell me, but I think it’s best if we don’t meet again.”
I watched as she walked out of the shop and wondered if I could have possibly messed that up more.