“Misty. Are you stalking me again?” I didn’t break my stride as I headed for my office. She could barely keep up with my long legs.
“Yes, sir. Whatever it takes. You’re late.” Said while giving me the evil eye.
“Tell me something I don’t know. Do you have news or are you just harassing me for fun?”
She laughed, more so when I threw her a nasty look. “I do love harassing you, but I’ll skip doing so until later. I thought you might want to know you have guests in your office.”
That stopped me short of reaching my door. She knew exactly how I felt about an unannounced visit from anyone. “Who?”
“Detective Jackie Abbott. I believe you know her.” Now Misty’s expression was one heavy duty smirk. The little wench.
Know? Jackie and I had almost come to blows more than once. She was as hardnosed as they came and didn’t like me very much. Neither did her boss. The feeling was mutual. Gee. Maybe I wasn’t a lovable guy. Nah. That wasn’t it. I just refused to accept bullshit from anyone. “A social visit or another one of her famous beat downs?”
Misty grinned as if keeping a hot little secret. “She needs your help with a case.” Now she sounded like one of those cats who ruled the roost and every human involved.
I sucked in my breath, almost stating my feelings out loud. When hell froze over. I refrained. With all favors came a return. “Any idea of the case?”
She shook her head. “No, but she has a young woman with her. The girl looks pretty beaten up.”
Huh. It wasn’t typical for a detective to meet with the prosecuting attorney when a case hadn’t been assigned. Jackie must really need a favor. “Okay. I appreciate you letting me know. Hold my calls.”
“You got it, boss. Oh, be nice to the girl. Please. She’s been crying.”
Great. A crier.
“I’m always nice.”
“Um. Your nose is growing, Pinocchio.”
As Misty walked away, I stood where I was, grumbling before taking a few deep breaths. The moment I entered my office, I had a bad feeling whatever story I was about to hear wasn’t typical on my docket of cases. The detective stood by the window, staring out at the Miami skyline. The girl, who couldn’t be more than nineteen or twenty, was sitting in a chair, her head down and her body rocking.
And she was bruised.
That immediately brought outrage to the surface. Any level of abuse was the lowest form of criminality in my book. When it involved a woman or child, the perpetrator needed to spend the rest of his or her miserable life behind bars. My entire career had been based on the determination to put abusive scum in prison.
I’d taken an oath to protect the innocent. As of late, it seemed the bad guys were on a winning streak.
The detective finally turned her head, studying me as she always did, with utter disdain in her eyes. Yet something was different. As if the case she was involved in was personal.
“Detective Abbott. To what do I owe the pleasure?” My greeting was always the same, a curt reflection of her attitude. We both had our reasons for our antagonistic behavior.
Her hesitation to answer caught me off guard. I closed the door, putting my briefcase down. The young girl immediately jumped, although the sound was minimal. Even her lower lip was quivering. She was utterly petrified.
“Mr. Stark, this is Denise Taylor.” Jackie’s tone was entirely different than I was used to hearing. Softer. Comforting. She was also giving me a look I’d grown accustomed to in my line of work. Go forward with kid gloves.
Instead of sitting behind my wooden throne like some bureaucratic asshole, I chose to sit on the corner of my desk. Far enough away I wasn’t crowding Denise’s space, yet close enough to make the moment more personal.
When Denise didn’t lift her head, Jackie gave me a warning look.
“Hi, Denise, I’m Kendrick. It’s great to meet you.” While I wasn’t known to be a patient man, I sensed the girl was already on overload. When she didn’t respond immediately, I was allowed a few seconds to make a generalization about her condition.
Her hair was disheveled yet not dirty. The clothes were nice instead of being torn and filthy, which were subtle signs of a runaway. While a few of her fingernails were painted a lovely blush pink, others had been ripped off, a sign of a struggle. She was tapping one foot on the floor, her entire body shaking.
Whatever Denise had been through, she’d managed to place a shield around herself.
“It’s okay, Denise,” Jackie offered. “Kendrick is here to help you. He’s one of the good guys.” In her hands was a file and I couldn’t help but notice her fingers were white knuckled from her firm grip. The case had gotten to her.
I wasn’t certain if the compliment was stroking my ego for the favor or encouragement for the young woman. Whatever the case, it worked, Denise finally lifting her head.
