“It’s Ainsley. Ms. Burch.”
I raised a brow. He looked as though she’d poured kerosene down his throat and lit him up. “Did she argue?”
“No.”
“Then, spit it out. What’s got you this angry?”
He huffed a sigh, cracking his neck from side to side, visibly agitated. He took out his phone, swiped to the side a few times, and placed it face up in front of me. “Just look.”
“What am I look—?”
The picture of Ms. Burch didn’t need any zooming in for my question to answer itself. The odd discoloration around her eyes was the blue leftovers of a black eye that extended down over her cheekbone.
“Who did this?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where is she now?” I asked him, fury bleeding into my tone. I meant it when I said I didn’t hurt kids. That meant slapping them around too.
He checked the time on his watch.
“She’ll be getting out of the summer youth center in forty minutes and then heading to pick up the kids at theirs.”
I stood up from my desk, slipped on my gun holster and suit jacket, adjusted my cuffs, and grabbed my gun and phone.
“Let’s go.”
There was little traffic at this hour, and we made it to the center just as the first trickle of adolescents began walking out the glass front doors.
We waited across the street as a growing group of blockheads with their pants halfway down their asses ran over, stroking and patting my Porsche, effectively blocking our view. “Sick ride, man” and fawned flattery seemed to be the limit of their vocabulary.
“Move.” I dangled my gun outside the window. When one of them came too close, I lifted it just slightly. Hands up in surrender, they quickly fled and dispersed, their backbones as shabby as their loose clothing.
Maybe that was what was interesting about little Ms. Burch. She didn’t let life scare her off.
“There she is.” Ricco pointed out.
The fifteen-year-old walked alone, with her head held high through every slow, limping step down the sidewalk, as if daring those around her. At first glance, nothing about her really stood out. Not her disheveled dishwater-blonde hair, makeup-free face, and oversized threadbare clothes. Even with that black eye, everything about her was plain except for her resilience. It shone out of her, like a big “fuck you” to the world. I respected that about this kid. She took the cards handed to her and shuffled them to fit her creed, no matter how misguided.
I pulled the car around, driving up slowly beside her, and gave the engine a few revs to grab her attention.
She didn’t even glance my way, just kept walking, murmuring, “Stupid assholes trying to show off.”
I smirked at her bitterness but quickly schooled my expression into boredom. “Is that right, Ms. Burch?”
Her head snapped left, and her eyes widened comically. “You!”
“Get in the car.”
I’d never seen a face go through quite so many emotions in so little time before. “Fuck a dick, you shit-ass motherfucker on a limp noodle biscuit with crap on top, you goddamn asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Vivid. Now get in.”
“No.” Then she went right back to ignoring me, picking up speed despite her limp.
With an irritated grunt, I hit the brakes and put the car in park. Six steps later, I was towering over her, even as she tried to speed up.
“I don’t like to repeat myself.”
