“Okay,” I say. “You don’t talk to anyone you don’t want to talk to. If something feels wrong, you say it.”
She nods once. “Deal.”
We move.
We take the black SUV because we always do when we don’t want to look like we’re trying too hard. I drive. Phoenix sits in the passenger seat with her hoodie pulled up enough to make shadows but not enough to hide from us.
Tybee falls away behind us. The causeway is empty except for a truck that smells like bait and a lonely patrol car that doesn’t look up. The city glows ahead like old money and new greed and the kind of hope that keeps coming back even when you tell it to stop. Phoenix looks out at the water as we ride the curve and puts her palm flat to the glass like a girl making a deal with her reflection. She doesn’t talk. She doesn’t need to. I reach over and rest my hand on the back of her neck, light pressure, no claim. She leans into it once and then sits straighter.
The Titan-Wynn looks different tonight. It’s not even pretending to sleep. Too many people don’t have homes that let them rest, so they come to soak in the noise until their bodies give in. Phoenix recoils at the busyness the tiniest bit, moving closer to my bulk before steeling her spine.
I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze.
By the time we arrive, Marcy has the officer in my office with a styrofoam cup and a stale sugar packet. The employee—Rosa, housekeeping, twenty-three, hair in a neat bun because she learned early that neatness buys the benefit of the doubt—sits in the manager’s chair, hands clasped so tight the knuckles are white, face set toI am okaybecause she knows people expect the performance.
Phoenix takes that in like a computer and then looks at me for the smallest yes. I tilt my head toward the door. She goes in with me.
“Officer?” I say, offering my hand. “Maverick Locke. Thanks for taking a beat here.”
He’s young. Not a rookie, but not far off. He’s got that careful posture that wants to pass the test and doesn’t know what the test is. He glances at Phoenix and flinches like he knows he’s seen her face somewhere and now his brain is running tabs he didn’t approve.
“We received a call,” he says. “Allegation of solicitation in the alley behind the lot. I observed Ms. Rivera here speaking with a man who flagged me down. He alleged she offered services.”
“Services?” Phoenix says mildly.
“He implied prostitution,” the officer says, avoiding the word. “Ms. Rivera was dressed in a way that?—”
“She’s wearing a housekeeping uniform,” I cut in. “A name badge. ID clip. Men can see what they want to see even when a woman is wearing a parka.”
The officer winces but hangs on. Good for him. He has a spine.
“Did you witness an offer?” Phoenix asks him. “Or just hear an allegation?”
“Allegation,” he says. “And the man ran. My sergeant is on his way and will want to know how we’re proceeding.”
Phoenix moves to Rosa. She sits on the edge of the desk instead of looming, keeps her voice low. “Do you want to speak?” she asks. “You don’t have to. If you want me to speak, I will.”
Rosa’s mouth trembles and then steadies. “I was taking the trash out. The man was out there. He asked me if I wanted company. I said no. He said he had cash. I said no. Then the officer cameinto the alley and the man said I had asked him for money. I didn’t. I would never… I can’t…” She swallows. “I can’t have that on my record. I’m trying to get my sister here. I’m trying to be… I’m trying.”
Phoenix nods and turns back to the officer.
“Here is what we can offer,” she says. “You have no statement from the man, no evidence. You have an employee in a uniform, on shift, on camera walking out a bag of trash. We’ll show you the footage. You’ll see the man approach her. You’ll see her step away. We will put her on paid leave for the night and escort her home because she is shaken, not because she is guilty. You can take her name. You can call me if you decide you want to follow up. In the meantime, we will log the interaction on our end and make sure she has a point of contact if someone wants to retaliate or fish for more information.”
The officer looks relieved, but just as swiftly a look of doubt chases the relief. He straightens his shoulders. “The sergeant will have thoughts.”
“Let us have them,” I say. “We’ll show him the footage. If he wants to talk to me, I’m free. If he wants to talk to her, he goes through our legal counsel. She is not a problem to be solved; she is a person who took out the trash while a man acted like a cliché and tried to take what wasn’t his.”
The sergeant arrives, older, tired, not a fool. He watches the tape with us and his jaw sets in a way that makes me like him. “I’m not writing an arrest there,” he says. He looks at Rosa. “You take someone with you next time. Don’t go behind that building alone, even if it’s your job. It shouldn’t be. Work with your boss.”
“I will,” Rosa says, eyes shining but steady.
Phoenix squeezes her hand. “We’ll adjust the route,” she says. “No one takes out trash alone. Men or women. And we’ll light that alley so it’s not a danger to any of the employees.”
The sergeant nods. He writes a number on a card and gives it to Phoenix, not me. I take no offense because watching her take command honestly gave me a chub that I’m trying not to draw attention to. “If the guy comes back, call that line,” he says. “We like easy arrests.”
When they leave, Rosa breaks. Not loud. Just a soft collapse that makes my chest hurt. Phoenix is there before I can move. She guides her into a chair and lowers her head gently between her knees and talks to her until her breath evens.
“Go home with one of our drivers,” Phoenix says when the worst of it passes. “I’ll have Marcy text you tomorrow about your schedule. Take tomorrow off if you need it. That is not an order. It is permission in case you feel like you need the time.”
