Finding Her Son. Robin Perini
grasped Emily’s arm and yanked her to safety before subduing Ghost and pinning him with a knee to his back.
The brute on the floor grunted. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”
“Shut up,” Mitch said. He double-checked the zip-tie cuffs just as a cruiser pulled up, sirens blaring. A uniform raced inside.
“Get this guy out of here,” Mitch said. “I’ll file my report once I get back.”
The cop nodded and escorted Ghost from the building. Officer Bradford walked toward the girls huddled in the corner, his gait slightly off when he put weight on his right leg. As he approached, they shrank away. Emily didn’t blame them. It had taken her months to get past the fragmented flashes of memory when any man in a dark coat had come near her. For these teens—one girl’s eye was swollen shut; another’s face was mottled yellow and green from old bruises—all they’d see would be a tall, muscular brute who had shown he could incapacitate anyone who crossed him.
Then his expression softened. “You did great, Heather,” he said softly. “Is everyone else okay? Anybody need a doctor?”
The girls shook their heads.
“Sister Kate takes care of us,” one said, crossing her arms in defiance. “She’s a nurse.”
He nodded, not pushing just accepting. Emily couldn’t get over the change in his demeanor. He’d transformed in seconds from a warrior—someone she was convinced could’ve killed Ghost if he’d wanted—to a man with a gentle gaze. Still, none of the girls would look him in the eye. His focus lowered to the discolored cheeks of one of the teens. His lips grew tight. Good. If nothing else, the evidence of abuse made him angry.
“Will you tell me about Ghost?” he said, still keeping his voice calm and low.
Amid the blare of more sirens, the girls looked as if they’d rather die than say anything.
“I got proof they’re hooked up with drug dealers.” Ghost’s shouts rammed through the open doorway. “I can give you names, dates, places. I know their johns. I can help you put ’em away. Give their babies to people who deserve ’em.”
Heather shivered and caressed her burgeoning belly. Her gaze rose to Mitch’s. “He trolls for girls who get knocked up. Tries to sweet-talk the ones who haven’t been around too long. He sells himself as someone who can help. We know better. They’re buying a one-way ticket when they go with Ghost.”
“You never see any of them again,” Mitch said, the statement stark and certain, the ending unspoken.
A commotion sounded from the kicked-in doorway.
“I got something for Coach…Officer Bradford,” a young kid shouted.
The cop stood and walked over to the boy, who handed over a cell phone. “I couldn’t find Vance, Coach.”
“That’s okay, Ricky.”
The boy received an affectionate ruffle to his hair, and Mitch guided the kid over to them. “Sister Kate, Mrs. Went-worth, this is Ricky Foster. He’s looking for his sister, Kayla.”
Over the next hour, Mitch questioned the girls and Ricky. Pregnant girls vanishing. Their babies gone. Not one of them reported missing. Until Kayla Foster.
“You’ll find her?” Ricky asked, his voice laced with hope as Mitch led him to the back exit, past the front door he and Ricky had worked side-by-side to barricade to the back exit.
“Get me the picture, and I’ll put the word out. We’ll discover what happened.”
Ricky walked out of the shelter with an expression that could only be described as cautiously optimistic.
“I wish we’d seen her.” She spoke to the nun standing at her side.
“I have a feeling with Officer Bradford on the case, Ricky will be reunited with Kayla.”
“It doesn’t always end the way we’d want, Sister,” Mitch said from behind them.
Emily hadn’t realized he’d approached. She stiffened as his huge presence overwhelmed her, making her heart race. Not with fear, though. With something else—unfamiliar and enticing at the same time.
“Oh, I’m well aware of that, boy-o,” Sister Kate said. “But we can’t give up, can we? One soul at a time.” The nun glanced at her watch. “Now, it’s getting late. We’re safe, and I need to do a bed check on my chickadees. Perhaps you’ll walk Emily to her car? It’s dark, and a pretty girl like her would do well to have a strong protector at this time of night.”
The cop turned to Emily, his chocolate eyes studying her with an intensity that made her shiver. Heat rose into Emily’s face, and she knew her cheeks must be crimson. When had Sister Kate turned into a matchmaker?
Her belly fluttered. He’d been so gentle and caring with the girls and Ricky, but she couldn’t let herself feel anything. She just prayed a man like Mitch was watching over Joshua somewhere. And that someday she would find her son.
“You ready?” Mitch asked.
She clutched the satchel she always carried containing an age-progressed photo, fliers and the case details. Could this policeman help her? She’d never felt she could rely on the police department…or the cops in it. They’d never believed her. This man seemed different somehow, but she didn’t know if she could trust him. With Ghost a lost cause, she needed another way to get information on these missing children and hopefully tie them to Joshua.
Mitch turned, and as his weight shifted to his right leg, he hesitated. She studied him for a few steps. His hip did most of the work on his right side. He tried hard not to let it show. If her job hadn’t been to notice the signs of strain on the human body, he would’ve succeeded. He’d injured himself being a hero, trying to save them.
“You’re hurt.”
He stiffened, warning her to back off, but she wouldn’t. Not when he was so obviously in pain. She dug into her purse for her keys and tugged out a card. “You injured yourself helping me, Officer. Come by. Let me take a look at your leg. Maybe I can do something for you.” She thrust the card into his hand.
“Physical therapist, huh?”
“What’ve you got to lose?”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”
He’d clearly shut her out. Emily remained silent, but she wouldn’t forget what he’d done. He opened the back door for her, and she walked out of the haven that Sister Kate had created for her lost girls into a darkened alley filled with the sounds of angry shouts and crying babies.
When they reached the street, a tall woman in a spandex dress whistled at them. “You and your lady looking for some action?”
“No thanks. We’re exclusive.” Mitch tucked Emily’s arm in his and shifted closer to her.
“Lucky lady,” the woman said and turned her salesmanship toward a slow-moving BMW, so out of place on this street.
“You don’t have to protect me,” Emily said.
“After what I witnessed tonight, I’m not so sure.” His gaze scanned the street before he guided her toward the crosswalk. “If you want to be a crusader, take some advice. Don’t get too involved,” he said. “It’ll eat you up inside.”
“You’re a cop. You obviously think everyone’s a bad guy.”
Mitch’s grip tightened on her arm, and he stopped. “See that kid on the corner? His name is Mario. He’s twenty now. Was an amazing quarterback. Smart. Could’ve gone to any college he wanted. Gotten a degree. Maybe even turned pro. But he couldn’t say no to his so-called friends. He was shot at seventeen. Severed the nerves in his throwing arm. No more scholarship. He gave up. He’s dealing now. He’ll be in prison within the year. Dead in five.”
Emily