Why was I bitter? Because I was furious that I’d lost my badge and was being forced to handle all of this outside the law? Or because I was angry I’d waited so long to color outside the lines?
I decided to ignore the question and tell him something more important. “Cassandra says she thinks the girl is about fourteen or fifteen.”
A hard look filled his eyes.
“Hey, girl,” Cassandra called out, louder than I’d ever heard her. “You in for your nightly treat?”
I shot a glance at James. “She’s here. And early.”
“Be careful,” he ground out.
“I’ve got this,” I whispered, and headed to the front.
I did not have this. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was almost no chance she’d talk to me. I was a complete stranger and a woman. Even if she wanted help, she’d probably assume I couldn’t protect her.
When I emerged from the hall into the store, I paused and flicked a glance at Cassandra. She nodded toward the far back corner, her eyes wide.
I headed that way, pretending to browse the coolers as I closed the distance. I stopped about six feet away from the girl, opened a cooler door, and ran my fingers over the bottles like I couldn’t decide.
Then I stole a quick look at her.
She was a few inches over five feet, though her worn black ankle boots added a couple of inches. Her legs were covered in sheer black tights with a few small holes, topped by a black micro-mini skirt. A denim jacket covered her top. She was blond with a quarter inch of dark roots. When she opened the cooler, she turned slightly, and I caught her heavy, dark eye makeup and bright red lips.
Cassandra was right. She looked young. Maybe even younger than fourteen.
I shoved down a wave of horror and fury. If she thought I was angry, I’d scare her off.
She grabbed two energy drinks from the cooler and turned toward me. Under the denim jacket, she wore a low-cut black tank top. A sliver of her red bra peeked above the plunging neckline, too deliberate to be accidental.
She saw me looking and dropped her gaze.
How the hell was I going to approach her?
Cassandra said she usually got candy too. I took a bottle of water and drifted to that aisle. After snagging a Snickers bar, I hovered like I was debating something else. She followed but kept her distance. She was skittish, like she’d been coached not to interact with anyone in the store. We had a product stand between us and the window, but it was low enough that anyone outside could see our heads.
As if to prove it, she glanced over her shoulder toward the door.
I followed her gaze to the white, older Buick parked just to the left of the entrance. A dark-haired man sat behind the wheel. I’d peg him to be in his mid-to-late thirties.
“You gettin’ somethin’ for your dad?” I asked, keeping my tone light and conversational.
Her eyes flew wide. She snapped her gaze to mine, terror washing over her face.
“Hey,” I said, softening my voice. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”
I took a single step toward her out of pure instinct, but she took one back, clutching the energy drinks to her chest as if they were a shield.
I cast a glance at the Buick again. The guy was looking down at his phone.
I dropped to a squat, putting myself out of his line of sight. “I won’t hurt you,” I said quietly. “I want to help.”
She stared at me, frozen.
Fight or flight … and this girl wasn’t a fighter.
Then again, a trafficker didn’t want a fighter. They’d cause too much trouble. But girls like the one in front of me—small, scared, easily controlled—they were easy pickings.
My stomach roiled. I felt like I was going to be sick.
