Jake and I shared a look. “Was someone hurting you? We can help if you’re in trouble.”
Again, her gaze fell, which was all the confirmation we needed.
“If you give us a name,” Jake started but she shook her head.
“I just want to forget him,” she said in a whimper. “Please.”
“We’ll just keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn’t head your way,” Jake assured her, though I knew Jake wouldn’t let domestic violence go unchecked. He sure as hell would pay a visit to the guy as soon as he was back in Atlanta.
She studied his face, then nodded. “Michael Thurston.”
Jake pulled his phone out and typed the name into the memo app he used. “Okay. Can you tell us where the box is?”
Her face crumpled, and she dashed at the tears that had begun to fall. “I’m so sorry! I just needed…”
Jake stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “We all make mistakes, Amelia. Help us get the box back, that’s all we ask, okay?”
She didn’t look at him. “I sold it after I got here to help me pay for the deposit on the house I’m renting.”
“Do you remember who you sold it to?” I asked.
It took her a moment, but finally she nodded and asked for a pen and paper.
