Chapter 20
Tabitha, on call for the night, pulled into the Plush Petal Motel’s parking lot just after two a.m. Thursday morning. Two police cars, complete with flashing lights, were parked side-by-side, blocking an ancient red Honda. A male uniformed cop with short brown hair was talking to an agitated older man with a long, scraggly beard.
She parked in the spot in front of room 5A and sat there, staring at the building. The motel, just off East Main Street, was set back from the road, the building itself a U-shape of connected rooms, most of which seemed empty. Not surprising. There was nothing plush about this motel. It was seedy and probably dangerous, and not a place you’d want to stay if you could afford even a little bit better.
Someone tapped on her window, and she about jumped out of her skin. Glancing over, she saw Miles peering at her through the glass.
Her heart raced with excitement. Her stomach got jittery with nerves.
Her chest warmed with hope.
Oh, no, she scolded all those parts of herself conspiring against her. Do not even think of going there.
She and Miles were done.
He’d made that clear enough eleven days ago on the sidewalk in front of her apartment. Reiterated it again that night at his house.
Reminded her every day since then by ignoring her when they saw each other walking down the hallway at the County’s Municipal Building, or when they passed each other in the parking lot before or after work. The man didn’t even give her so much as a polite hello when she bumped into him at Sacred Grounds coffee over the weekend.
She rolled down her window.
He leaned down, eyes narrowed on her. “Everything okay?”
He was in full cop mode, from his watchful gaze and the way it swept over her to take in the interior of her car, to his deep, commanding tone.
“Everything’s fine. Although your concern about my well-being is both noted and appreciated.”
“So there’s no reason you can’t get out of your car.”
How long had she sat there, lost in memories?
Grabbing her bag, she turned off the car and sent him another smile, this time minus any pleasantry. “None whatsoever.”
She pushed the door open, forcing him to step back so she could get out.
“Manager called in possible prostitution involving an underage female,” he said as she shut the door. “Officer O’Neil found a fifty-eight-year-old man engaging in sexual activity with a female minor in room 2A. She’s not giving her name or age, but if I had to guess, I’d say fourteen or fifteen. Probable runaway, though no one matching her description has been reported missing in Mount Laurel. She’s in the room with Officer O’Neil.”
Tabitha followed him as he rounded the front of her car onto the sidewalk.
“She’s lying!” a man yelled, probably the man the other police officer had been talking to. “Little bitch! She told me she was eighteen! She came on to me!”
Her stomach clenching, Tabitha kept her eyes forward, her steps quick. She’d dealt with men like him her entire life. Had never known a man unlike him.
Until she’d met Miles.
Tabitha waited outside the doorway of room 2A while Miles knocked on the doorframe. A white female police officer, her brown hair pulled back into a short, smooth ponytail, was crouched before a girl in an overly large black sweatshirt, the hood covering her head, sitting on the edge of one of the twin beds. The police officer glanced up at him, then straightened. Said something to the girl then walked over to them.
“She give you anything?” Miles asked the officer quietly as she joined them on the sidewalk.
The officer shook her head. “Not one word.” The woman looked at Tabitha. Held out her hand. “Riley O’Neil.”
Tabitha shook the other woman’s hand. “Tabitha Ewings.”
“Ms. Ewings is with the county’s social services,” Miles added.
Tabitha let go of the woman’s hand and smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too. Though I wish I’d been more help. For you and for her,” she said, nodding at the girl. “And I really wished I’d gotten here earlier.”
Tabitha understood that. It seemed some days, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you did or how badly you wanted to help, it was never enough.
You couldn’t save everyone.
“You stopped him,” she told the other woman. “And you got her away from him. Believe me, you helped her.”
“Do you have any idea who I am?” the bearded man roared, and they all turned to see him wiggling wildly, twisting this way and that, struggling against the male cop trying to put him into the back of the police car. “I’ll have your badge and your ass for this! I’m going to sue your entire police department!”
Officer O’Neil sighed. “And now I guess I get to help Keller get our guy into the car.”
“When he’s secured in the car,” Miles told her, “have Keller wait with him while you finish up with the motel’s manager before going back to the station.” He nodded at her. “You did good, Rookie.”
“Doesn’t feel like I did enough.”
“I know. But it was. Now, go on. Do your job.”
O’Neil sent him a quick, grateful look. “Yes, sir.”
While O’Neil walked away, Miles faced Tabitha. “I’ll wait out here. Let you talk to her alone.”
Tabitha crossed to the doorway. Knocked on the doorframe the same way Miles had, but the girl didn’t move. “I’m Tabitha. I’m with social services and I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”
She stepped inside.
And was immediately yanked back in time.
The room was hot and humid with two twin beds, one unmade, the stained sheets rumpled, the other, where the girl sat, covered in a faded red and green floral bedspread. An ancient tube television sat on a battered wooden console table, and a wooden chair with ripped upholstery was wedged between the console and the wall. The table between the beds held an ugly green ceramic lamp with a deep red shade, a notepad and pen and a huge black bible.
The air was musty and smelled of sweat and sex, as if those odors had built up over the years and now permeated every inch of soft fabric in the room. Lingered in the air.
Moving into the narrow space between the beds, she crouched into the same position Officer O’Neil had been in when she’d arrived.
“Can you tell me your name?” she asked the girl.
No response.
Tabitha wasn’t surprised. The clients she worked with were either living in horrible conditions or were going through the worst times of their lives. They were angry and terrified and oftentimes in shock.
“Are you hurt?” Tabitha asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
The girl’s head jerked up. “No.”
“Okay. No hospital.”
The girl had a round face, smooth baby cheeks, and big dark eyes under thick eyebrows. She was chubby with bare legs and feet, the boxy sweatshirt covering her from the top of her head to mid-thigh. Her feet were filthy, her nails cracked and grimy. She had a painful looking purple bruise the size of Tabitha’s fist on the inside of her thigh. Around both wrists were angry, unhealed red marks, as if she’d been restrained.
She was maybe fourteen as Miles had guessed. But Tabitha suspected she was closer to thirteen.
And the only way she could pass as an eighteen-year-old, as that asshole had claimed, was if the person being told that was a complete idiot devoid of any rational thinking skills.
Or a sexual predator who got off by taking children to sleazy hotels.
“Am I going to jail?” the girl whispered, shooting a fearful glance at Miles, who’d remained in the doorway, letting Tabitha take the lead, a broad-shoulder sentinel keeping the people he was tasked to protect safe.
“You’re not going to jail,” Tabitha said. “And no one here is going to hurt you or force you to do anything you don’t want to do, like see a doctor.”
“So I can go?” the girl muttered as she scooted toward the edge of the bed. “If I’m not gonna be arrested?”
“You’re not going to be put under arrest,” Tabitha said, needing the girl to feel safe with them. As safe as she could, anyway. “And you can absolutely leave—”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Miles take a small step forward, mouth open, ready to contradict her, but she sent him her own glance and a quick, furtive shake of her head.
He stopped. Shut his mouth.
Trusting her on this at least.
“But we can’t let you go on your own. Why don’t you give us your address, and Assistant Chief Jennings and I can make sure you get home safely.”
The girl froze, her dark eyes wide and panicked. “I live far away,” she blurted, sounding terrified and desperately young. “Far, far away. Too far for you to drive me.”
“Okay. Well, why don’t you give us your parents’ phone number then? We’ll call them to come get you.”
The girl lowered her head, but not before Tabitha saw a flash of pain and grief in her eyes. “My dad’s dead.”
“What about your mom?”
“No!” she blurted. “Don’t call my mom. Please don’t call her.”
“Why don’t you want us to call her?”
Some runaways worried their parents would be ashamed of them and the things they’d done to survive. Others thought they’d be angry with them. That they wouldn’t forgive them.
For others, though, it was safer on the streets away from their parents.
The girl started crying but didn’t answer.
“Does your mother know where you are?”
She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, then stared down at her hands linked together in her lap. “She won’t care,” she said dully.
“Why do you say that?”
The girl shook her head.
“Ms. Ewings,” Miles said from his spot in the doorway. “A word, please.”
No matter that he’d added that please, what should have been a polite request, instead came out a gruff, impatient command.
It was that authoritative tone he used. As if he was used to not only being in charge, but also being obeyed quickly and without question.
When he’d used that tone on her that night at his house, she’d been all for it.
When she was doing her job and he was about to possibly get in her way? Not for it. Not at all.
“Excuse me,” Tabitha murmured to the girl, then crossed to the scowling man in the doorway. “Yes, Assistant Chief Jennings?”
He stepped out onto the sidewalk, jerking his head in a way she surmised meant he wanted her to trot along after him. Raising her eyebrows, she did so because she was a professional and there was nothing more important to her at this moment than doing whatever she could to help that girl.
“This isn’t getting anywhere,” he said quietly. “Let’s take her to the station and go from there.”
They could. And Tabitha understood why he’d want to go that route. At the station the girl could get cleaned up, change into clean clothes, and get something to eat.
And Miles could check the system to see if anyone matching her description had been reported missing.
They might be able to find out who she was that way.
But if they took her to the station, Tabitha might lose any chance she had of gaining the girl’s trust.
Tabitha glanced into the room. The girl was still huddled on the bed, back in the corner, her sweatshirt pulled over her bent knees, head down.
This girl needed her.
She turned back to Miles. “Five more minutes.”
He studied her with his suspicious, hooded gaze for a good ten seconds. Then twenty. Then finally, finally, he nodded.
She’d take it.
Unlike him, she didn’t have the luxury of ignoring inconvenient truths.
And the truth was, while she wanted his trust, she didn’t need it. Not to do her job. Not to be good at it.
She just needed him to stay out of her way while she did it.
***
Miles would give her five minutes. Hell, he could even give her six.
He could be flexible when the situation called for it.
But he doubted any amount of time would make a difference.
The girl wasn’t talking. She was terrified. And while he didn’t want to add to her fears by taking her to the station, he did want to make sure she was somewhere where she could get the support and care she needed.
He followed Tabitha back to the room, stopping in the doorway while Tabitha went inside. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched as Tabitha carried the chair from the corner to between the beds. Mouth turned down, eyeing the chair warily, she sat on the very edge as if trying to keep as much of herself from touching it as possible. Her posture was rigid, her face pale. But her expression was all stubborn determination.
It shouldn’t appeal to him, but what could he say? He was a Jennings. They held stubbornness in high regard.
“My mom used to bring me to motels like this,” Tabitha told the girl, and though her voice was quiet, her tone was strong. And steady, as if this was a story told many times before. One that no longer held any power over her.
But she was rubbing the scar on her chin. And that stubborn determination didn’t quite reach her eyes. Couldn’t mask the pain in them.
And he knew this wasn’t going to be easy for her. Wasn’t going to be painless.
“When I was little—much younger than you are—I’d hide in the bathtub with my eyes closed and my hands covering my ears so I could pretend I was somewhere else,” she continued. “So I couldn’t hear what she was doing with the men who knocked on the door. So I could pretend I was invisible when some of those men came in to get me.”
Miles went absolutely still, his stomach clenching painfully. He could barely breathe. Was afraid to move. Partly because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.
Mostly because if he moved, he might do something idiotic, something completely unprofessional and out of control and storm into that room and take her into his arms.
Head still bent, the girl brought her thumb to her mouth. Chewed on her ragged, dirty thumbnail. “Did your dad die, too? Like mine?”
“I never had a dad. It was just me and my mom, but she was an addict, so it was hard for her to take care of me the way she should have. The way I deserved. So whenever I see a motel like this, it reminds me of the times she didn’t protect me. Of the things that happened to me in rooms just like this one.”
His heart was thudding in his chest, too hard. Too fast. He knew what she was doing and why. Opening up to the girl in the hopes that she’d earn her trust. That she’d realize she wasn’t alone.
And in doing so, she was also allowing him to understand her in ways he’d never been able to before.
Ways she’d never let him see her before.
“And then,” Tabitha continued, “one night, when I was only a few years younger than you, at one of those motels, my mother left me in a room very much like this one while she went to get us something to eat. I waited for her to come back, just like she told me to. I waited and I waited. I was still waiting when housekeeping came to clean the room the next afternoon.”
“What happened then?” the girl asked around the thumbnail still in her mouth.
“The police came, along with a very nice social worker, and they took me somewhere safe I could wait until my mom came back. But she didn’t. She never came back. And, as far as I know, she never tried to find me.”
It took Miles a moment before he realized he’d stepped into the room. That his hands were fisted, wanting nothing more than to go back in time and beat the shit out of all the fucking monsters Tabitha had been victimized by. He wanted to sweep in there and haul both her and the girl out of that room. Away from their memories. Their trauma.
He wanted what he’d wanted all those years ago.
To take care of her.
To keep her safe.
But she didn’t need him to fight her battles for her.
She was battling her demons all on her own.
And goddamn it, he was so proud of her for it. Was in awe of her fortitude. Her strength.
Her ability to keep going after life had dealt her shitty hand after shitty hand.
But just because she didn’t need him to fight her battles for her, didn’t mean he couldn’t be by her side while she did so.
At least for tonight.
The girl looked down. “Were you sad? When she left you?”
“I was so sad. And scared. And then, when I got a little older and I realized she was never coming back, I got very, very angry. But mostly, I just wondered what I’d done wrong. What I’d done to make her leave. Why she didn’t love me the way a mother is supposed to love her daughter. For a long time, I thought there was something wrong with me. Something that made it impossible for anyone to love me. I thought I was…”
“Broken,” the girl whispered when Tabitha trailed off.
“Yes. I thought I was broken. Broken beyond repair.” She leaned toward the girl, settling her hands on the bed near the girl’s feet, her gaze earnest. “But I was wrong. Because I’m healing. It hasn’t been easy and it hasn’t been quick, but I am healing. I’m not as broken as I once was. And who knows? Maybe one of these days I’ll even be whole.”
“You won’t,” the girl said, her tone flat, the bleakness in it, making her sound way more adult than she had so far tonight. Way more adult than a kid her age should ever sound. “You’ll never be whole again.”
Tabitha studied her for a moment, then she nodded. Eased upright. “Maybe not. Maybe there will always be bits and pieces of me that are cracked. Parts of me that are beyond repair. But I won’t let those parts take over. I won’t let those cracks get wider and wider until they threaten to tear me apart again. Because I deserve better than that. What happened to me wasn’t my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. And no matter how my mother treated me, no matter what those men did to me, I am worthy of love and respect. I always was.”
Miles wanted to cheer. Hell, he wanted to throw a fucking parade in this woman’s honor. He wanted to celebrate her strength and resiliency. Her courage and kindness.
But he was terrified of softening toward her. Even a little.
Afraid if he did, he’d end up where he’d been when she’d left him.
Or worse.
He’d end up back in love with her.
“I am worthy of love and respect,” she repeated to the girl. “And so are you. What happened to you wasn’t your fault. And if you let me, I can help you.”
She waited, but the girl kept silent, head down once more, back to chewing on that thumbnail. A minute ticked by. Then another.
If Tabitha was disappointed, she didn’t let it show, her face full of only concern. Sympathy. And so much patience and understanding, it made Miles realize how much he was lacking in those two things.
How badly he’d fucked up by not having more of them with Tabitha.
“When you’re ready to talk,” she told the girl, “I’ll be here. No matter what time it is or where you are or what you need to tell me. Okay?”
Again, no response. The girl just curled into herself even more, trying it seemed, to make herself as small as possible. As if she was trying to disappear.
Like Tabitha had admitted she’d done when she’d had to hide under the kitchen counter.
And he wanted, more than anything, to tell her she didn’t need to hide anymore. That she was safe.
That he’d protect her. No matter what.
“I need to speak with Assistant Chief Jennings for a moment,” Tabitha said as she stood. “I’ll be right back.”
He straightened as she approached, his body going tense and alert when she brushed past him so closely, he breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Felt the light brush of her arm against his.
He followed her when she stepped onto the sidewalk.
“You win,” she told him, soft and simple, her hands linking at her waist. “We’ll take her to the station.”
His eyes narrowed. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like her thinking he thought this was some kind of competition between them. Another battle she had to fight.
That he was in some way trying to conquer her.
But why shouldn’t she? That first night when she’d followed him home, he’d made it clear what he wanted.
I want to dismantle you.
I want to wreck you.
He stabbed a hand through his hair. Fuck.
Dropping his hand, he curled his fingers into his palm because he wanted to reach out to her. To brush his fingers down her arm or touch the back of her hand.
Something to show her they weren’t on opposite sides in this.
That he was on her side.
“There’s no winner,” he told her, gruff and quiet. “Not here. Not tonight.”
“No. I guess there’s not. Either way, I want to thank you.”
“What for?”
“For giving me those five minutes.”
“Don’t do that,” he said more harshly than he’d intended—louder than he should have as the girl’s head came up, her startled, wary gaze going to them. He swore under his breath. Modulated his tone. “Don’t thank me for doing my job. And you sure as hell shouldn’t thank me—or anyone else—for letting you do yours.”
“I’m not sure me doing my job didn’t seem to do her, or either of us any good. Maybe you were right, maybe those five minutes were nothing but a waste of time.”
Not to him. Never to him.
Because in those five minutes he’d learned even more about her.
He caught sight of movement behind her. “Maybe not.”
Tabitha sent him a questioning look and he inclined his head toward the room.
The girl stood a few feet away, her overly large sweatshirt falling to her knees. Her hands hidden in the sleeves. “Was that true?” she asked Tabitha. “That stuff you said. Was that true?”
Tabitha faced her, but stayed on the sidewalk, keeping the distance between them.
Keeping the doorway clear. So the girl wouldn’t feel trapped.
“It was true. Every word.”
The girl hesitated. Shifted. “She believed him.”
“Who believed him?”
The girl swallowed. Hugged her arms around herself. “My mom.”
“Who did your mom believe?” Tabitha asked gently.
“Her boyfriend. He told her I was lying and she believed him. She said I was jealous and wanted attention. But I wasn’t lying about what he did,” she said, tone bleak with betrayal. “What he made me do.”
“I believe you.”
The girl sniffed. Wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You do?”
“I do. I believe you. But we can’t just let you leave. We need to call your mother—”
“No!” The girl leapt back, glancing around frantically as if looking for a way to escape. “You can’t call her. He’ll be there.”
“Listen to me, okay?” Tabitha said, in that soothing tone she’d used to help him calm down from his anxiety attack. “She is your legal guardian, which means it’s part of our job to let her know you’ve been found. But the other part of our job, the more important part, is to make sure you’re somewhere safe where no one else can hurt you.”
“I don’t have to go back there?” the girl asked in a small, hopeful voice.
“Not tonight,” Tabitha said, but then her expression turned apologetic. “But I can’t promise you’ll never have to go back. What I can promise is I will do everything in my power to make sure the truth comes out and that you’re safe. I promise I will always believe you. And I promise to never lie to you. But none of this works if you don’t believe me, too.”
“I’m afraid,” the girl whispered.
“I know. I know it’s hard for you to trust me, to trust anyone. And that’s okay. It’s okay if I have to prove that you can trust me. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to do that.”
After a moment, the girl nodded. Sniffed as she used her sleeve to wipe under her nose. “I can try.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that. Now, I’d very much like us to leave this awful room—for both our sakes. What do you say?”
The girl sent him another of her wary glances. Took a step closer to Tabitha, then whispered something in Tabitha’s ear.
“Absolutely,” Tabitha said when the girl finished. “I promise.”
Despite Tabitha’s vow, it still took the girl a good minute of deliberation before she nodded.
Tabitha turned and met his gaze. “We’re ready to go, Assistant Chief Jennings.”
He gave a nod, then turned and walked over to his cruiser. Went to the back, passenger side door and opened it.
Tabitha waited until the girl had stepped out onto the sidewalk, then guided the girl toward him. The girl kept her head down, that hood hiding her face, her arms hugged around herself once again. She hesitated a few feet from him, but Tabitha said something only she could hear and the girl let out a visible exhale, then practically dove into the backseat, her body angled away from him.
Tabitha stepped closer to the car, keeping the open door between them. “I told her I’d ride with her. Is that going to be a problem?”
He frowned. Hell. Had he really been that big of an asshole that she even had to ask that?
Wait. Never mind. He didn’t want to know.
“No problem,” he assured her, then went around the front of the car.
By the time he’d climbed behind the wheel, Tabitha and the girl were settled in the back, their door shut.
While Miles called dispatch to let them know he was bringing in a possible runaway, he could hear Tabitha quietly telling the girl what she could expect for the rest of the night. Not keeping anything from her.
Doing exactly what she’d said she’d do. Proving that she could be trusted.
All I’m asking is that you give me a chance…
He was damn glad she hadn’t asked him that.
Because he was no longer so sure he’d be able to say no.