“I fell and, uh… hit the wall… I mean stairs…” she mumbles, voice jagged, hands balling into fists. The story fits like a paper patch over something ragged. I don’t push. I’ve learned how fragile the first answers can be.
“Just so you know,” I say quietly,“if someone hurt you, we can help.”
She shakes her head, a tiny, hopeless movement.“I can’t,” she whispers.
“Why not?” I step closer. Her scent hits me, peaches and vanilla, and for the briefest second my brain performs a cruel double take.
Not now. She’s a victim. Focus!
“He’s rich, works in politics. He knows people. And I… I don’t have the means to go up against him.” A tear slides down her cheek. My hand moves before I think and I wipe it away. She flinches.Damn it.
“I see,” I say, keeping my voice level though my insides are screaming for retribution.
I point to my patrol truck“I don’t have a spare that fits, and every shop around here’s closed.” I look at the darkening tree line.“Will you allow me to call a female officer to come take you wherever you need to go while we tow your car? You can call the mechanic on Monday.”
Her face falls. “I have to wait until Monday?” She looks around panicked,“I don’t really know where I am,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, cheeks flushing with quiet shame.
“So you have nowhere to go?” I ask, keeping my tone gentle, careful not to push.
She nods, eyes darting away, shoulders drawing in like she’s expecting the wrong reaction.
“If you want, you can stay at my parents’B&B,” I offer. The words come out steady, though my chest tightens at the thought of her spending the night out here alone. I already know I wouldn’t let that happen, but she needs to feel safe, not cornered.
Her worry deepens, panic flickering in her eyes.“Oh no, I could just sleep in the car and wait till morning.”
“Penny,” I say quietly, steady but unyielding.“You can’t stay out here. It’s not safe.”
She exhales a long, shaky breath at the nickname.
“I can’t afford a B&B,” she whispers, voice half-embarrassed.“I used the last money I had on gas… only five dollars and seven cents left.”
Anger pulses hot under my ribs, but I rein it in, she doesn’t need my anger, she needs calm. The thought of her stranded and alone on the highway with five dollars to her name gnaws at me.What if I hadn’t seen her? What if someone else had?
“Don’t worry about that. My parents would kill me if I left a lady stranded.” I try to keep the levity light; Chris nods, backing me up with a grin.
She hesitates, eyes flitting from her car to me.“Please, I can’t just…”
“You can.” I speak slow and firm.“My mama will be happy to have you, and you wouldn’t be the first person in need that my parents help out, so don’t worry about it right now. You won’t be a customer, you’ll be a guest.” I glance at Chris for support.
He smiles and says,“Absolutely.”
She wrings her hands, torn between pride and need. Finally, she takes a small, shaky breath and nods.
“I don’t want to impose,” she whispers.
“You won’t,” I assure her.“Do you feel comfortable riding in the truck with Chris and me, or should we call our female officer, Corinne?”
She shrugs.“It’s okay. I’ll come with you.”
She grabs a small bag and a camera bag, shuts her car with a final glance back, and walks toward us. Only one tiny bag and a camera bag.Not much else.My jaw tightens.
I help Penny into the passenger seat of the truck, careful and deliberate. Chris climbs into the back, giving her space. She folds herself in like she’s trying to disappear, and I hate that for her. Every move I make is measured:check for signs of injury, give her space, let her choose small things so she can start to feel safe again.I mentally go over everything I’ve learned about handling abuse victims.
The cab smells faintly of old leather and coffee.
I settle into the driver’s seat and start the engine. The heater hums to life, a low, steady sound that seems to settle the air between us. Penny's fingers brush the vinyl armrest once, then clamp around the strap of her camera bag as if to anchor herself. From the back seat, Chris shifts quietly; the soft click of a seatbelt and the distant chirp of crickets beyond the highway are the only other sounds. I turn on the radio, letting soft music fill the cab, a small comfort against the tense quiet.
A cold promise settles behind my ribs:I’m going to find that bastard and make him regret ever laying eyes on her.
