Finn pulled out a chair. The room was brightly lit. The table seemed empty with just the two of them. He looked out the window—well, the mural painted like a window—then at Chase.
“What’s up?”
Chase leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath. “Another abuse case.”
“Damn.”
“I got a call earlier from Elena Morales over at Willow Haven Shelter.” Chase stopped and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Finn could see the pain and frustration in them.
“One of the women left with a kid. Snuck out in the middle of the night. The story is the boyfriend sweet-talked her into leaving, promising he was a changed man. Said he was going straight. He loved her. Yada yada yada.” Chase shook his head and shut the laptop with more force than necessary.
Finn clenched his fists. Men who hurt women for whatever reason were the scum of the earth, and those who hurt the mama of his child—they were the lowest of the low.
“Let me guess,” Finn said grimly. “She found out the bastard was lying.”
“Yup,” said Chase. He reached for a piece of paper. “Here’s the address. It’s not far. Shouldn’t take you too long to get her and the kid back to safety.”
Finn stood and reached for the paper. “Gonna be dark soon. I better get going.”
“Take a weapon with you, just in case. This jackass just got out of prison, so there’s no telling what he’ll do.”
“Not a problem.” Finn patted his side.
“Let me know how it goes,” said Chase.
Finn nodded.
Thirty minuteslater he pulled up to a run-down, three-story apartment building in an area that was slowly re-gentrifying. Too slowly, Finn thought.
The streets were practically empty except around a small bodega. A few women walked out carrying bags, a couple of kids played on the sidewalk, and several men lingered around outside, some watching him. Parked on each side of the road were cars and trucks, most of them having seen better days.
He parked his truck in front. Finn glanced up at the building, which looked like it had never been renovated. He hadn’t been in a place like this for years.
He pulled open the front door, not surprised there was no security. The scent of fried food, mildew, hopelessness, and something metallic hit him.
The cracked tile in the lobby was sticky underfoot. A sagging bulletin board with faded flyers was on one wall, and the mailboxes were stuffed with mail.
There was no elevator, but he expected that.
Finn took the stairs two at a time, listening as he approached each floor. On the third floor, he found apartment 3B. He stopped outside the door and listened. Silence.
He knocked and waited.
Silence.
He knocked again. After a moment, the door cracked open. A woman’s face peered out, thin, tired, wary. Her left eye was black and blue and closing, her lip split. A small boy, maybe six or seven, peeked from behind her. His eyes were huge with fear and something else.
Hope.
“Elena sent me,” his voice low. “Name’s Finn Ryder.”
The woman hesitated but finally opened the door wide, stepping aside.
The room was a dump and barely furnished. There was a mattress on the floor, a few scattered toys, cans of food on the countertop, a small table with two chairs and a TV on a crate. A trash bag packed with belongings sat by the door.
“Thanks for coming,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t sure Elena would take me back.”
“You safe?”
