Chapter 2
DAKOTA
“Do you have time to watch with me today?” Sadie Collins asks from her recliner while I finish changing her sheets. “I think they might finally vote out that horrible man with the ridiculous mustache. He reminds me of my best friend’s first husband. Did I ever tell you about him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Being a home health aide is a mixed bag.
The pay isn’t amazing, but it’s decent for the amount of training needed, and there’s always work.
It’s why I picked it when I needed to get my life together fast, but it’s not easy.
A lot of the patients are stressed, confused and embarrassed at needing help.
Some are downright mean, but Mrs. Collins is one of my favorites.
She lives with her daughter and they just need a hand a few times a week to get a break from each other.
I tidy up a little and make sure she gets clean and her dressings changed properly.
“He was a horrible man. Like one of those pretty red apples in the store that taste like sawdust. He could charm the pants off a nun, but he was as nasty as they come. He started knocking her around when she was pregnant with their second.”
“What happened? Did she leave him?” I ask as I check the stock on her medical supplies.
“She didn’t have to,” Sadie says with a dainty snort. “He had a horrible accident at work. Tragic, of course, but the insurance was such a big help. And one of his co-workers was so kind afterwards. Taking care of her and the kids. They got married a year later.”
I blink at the back of her snow white head. “That’s… fortunate.”
“Wasn’t it? I introduced them.” She sounds smug as she points the remote at her TV and finds Surviving Traitor Island. “There we go. Come, sit and watch.”
Sadie likes to talk, and she watches a lot of TV, so it can be hard to tell which of her stories are true and which are pieced together from something she’s watched.
Even if she had some murderous tendencies in her youth, though, I’m pretty sure I’m safe.
I check my watch. She’s my final house of the day, and I don’t have to pick Logan up for a couple hours.
“Sure, let me just finish up here. How about I take care of your nails while we watch? I brought a nice blue shade that reminded me of the sweater you were wearing on Monday.”
“Oh! You’re such a darling, Dakota. Yours are so pretty today. Perfect for Thanksgiving.”
I grin and wiggle my fingers. I can’t keep them long because of work, but short nails can still be cute. Today they are a jewel toned mix of red and orange with some delicate green dots on my ring fingers. “I let Logan pick the colors.”
“And he did a lovely job.”
Nails are one of my hobbies and it’s something I do for my friends and neighbors for a little extra money.
I’d never charge Sadie, though. All I do is shape her natural nails a little and give her a fresh color.
It’s mostly just something I know she enjoys, and so many of my clients miss these small luxuries that brighten their day.
My pocket vibrates as I’m finishing her top coat. It’s my personal phone. It’s from Logan’s emergency phone and my heart speeds up a little. “Don’t you dare mess up all my hard work,” I tease.
“I wouldn't dream of it.”
I duck into the hallway where I can still see Mrs. Collins, but I have a little more privacy. “Hey, baby boy. What’s up?” His phone only works for a few select numbers, and it has to stay in his bag while he’s in preschool.
“Haven’t been called that in a while, but if you want to play Mommy, I’m game.” The voice on the other hand is deep, rough, playful, and definitely not a four year old.
“Who the hell are you and what are you doing with this phone?” I snap, instantly terrified. I can’t think of many good reasons a grown man would be calling me on my son’s cell phone.
“Whoa, sorry. Relax. Sometimes my mouth moves before my brain does. The kid’s fine, promise. We found the phone in his backpack.”
A nervous laugh slips out. “Is that supposed to be helping? Why do you have his backpack? He should be in preschool. Who are you?”
“Name's Stiff, and I got no clue why he isn’t where he’s supposed to be, but we found him on his own in a fucking alley. He seemed a little young to be wandering the streets and I found this phone in his bag. Swear to fucking God, we're just keeping an eye on him until someone comes to get him.”
Shit shit shit. “Can you put him on the phone for me?”
“Sure.”
A few seconds later, I hear a rustling sound and a deep voice murmuring in the background before Logan’s little voice comes through. “I’m sorry!”
It takes everything in me to keep my voice calm. “Honey, you’re not in trouble. Where are you?”
“With the motorcycle men like Auntie Georgia said.”
Who? I'm going to freaking kill her. I don't care if she's my sister, I'm going to outright murder her. She knows the rules. She knows. “Where’s Auntie Georgia now, Lo?”
He doesn’t answer, but I can almost hear him shrugging.
“Did Auntie Georgia take you out of preschool early?”
“Am I in trouble?” he asks softly.
I take a deep breath before answering. “Of course not. It’s not your fault.
” But once I know Logan’s safe, I’ll be having a nice long talk with Diana at the preschool, and Georgia when I get my hands around her neck.
“You just have to behave for… Stiff, and the nice men who are watching you until I get there, okay? Can you hand the phone to him, please?”
“Hey, little mamma,” Stiff says with a chuckle.
Another time it might be cute, but I’m not in a teasing sort of mood. “My name’s Dakota. Can you give me your address? I’m so sorry for all of this. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
“Our pleasure. He’s a good kid.”
“Is everything alright?” Sadie asks, turning her head my way.
“One sec!” Stiff rattles off an address and I plug it into the map on my phone. It’s close to the river and about a half hour if I hurry. “Please… please just keep him safe,” I beg quietly, not caring that this is a complete stranger. He has my whole world in his hands.
“Of course. We’ve got him, Dakota. Nothing’s going to happen to Logan. I promise.” For once his tone is completely serious.
“Thank you. Really, thank you so much.”
I tell Mrs. Collins a half-truth; Logan needs picking up early from preschool.
Fortunately the visit was almost over already, but I still pop upstairs to tell her daughter Lisa that I’m leaving a little early.
She gives me a thumbs up from her video call, and I rush to my car.
The address isn’t in a great part of town, which worries me.
The last time Georgia was spending a lot of time around there was before she got pregnant and she was working at some dive bar, drunk and stoned most of the time.
I’m not naive enough to think she’s been sober since then, but her biggest problem for the past few years has been a different sort of addiction.
My fingers drum against the steering wheel. I can only worry about one of them at a time, and for the moment, the four year old is a lot more important.