“Stay here,” I say, stepping into my room and quickly returning.
She watches me in the mirror as I bunch up my hoodie to put it over her head. Once I do, she slips her arms into place, her eyes never leaving mine, full of complete exhaustion and heartbreak—not a night’s worth, but a lifetime.
Tucked inside the soft material, she turns to face me. Without a word, she takes a tiny step, and her forehead falls to the center of my chest. With her resting against me, I do what I’ve longed to do all night. If I’m honest, even before she got the phone call from TJ. I’ve wanted to hold her since I looked up at her from the sideline, wondering what the hell has become of my life.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her to me. Her arms remain between us, and I surround her, breathing her in.
This woman is the kind of brave I’m not sure I knew existed, and I’m certain I still don’t even know the half of it.
We stand there for a long time, so long my legs start to ache, but eventually, she shifts.
“Can we watch a game for a while?” she whispers.
I release her, but I’m not really ready. I want to tuck her into my bed and keep her beside me the rest of the night. “Yeah.”
I take her hand. “You want the chair or the bed? It’s too late for the couch.”
She glances at me. “Uh. . .chair.”
“All yours.” I extend my hand to the large recliner and grab the control as I rest back on my bed.
Ryder curls up in the chair, and I turn on a game. After a bit, I peek at her. She’s tucked into a tight ball, and her eyes are heavy. I wonder if she’s afraid to go to sleep.
I am. I know when I wake up, absolutely nothing will ever be the same.
______
NICK: What the fuck is going on?
ME: Someone switched my playbook.
NICK: What the hell? You’re still being threatened? Is this part of it?
ME: Has to be.
NICK: That was a complete shit show.
NICK: Be careful. Watch your back.
Chapter 27
RYDER
“You guys are slick, but how about a little forewarning when you’re going to leave a mess for me to clean up?” Rodrigez leans back in his chair, crossing his tattooed arms as his shaved head falls to the side.
Damien is our contact with the Feds, who oversee an undercover unit for human trafficking. When necessary, he helps turn cheeks when we disrupt and disturb things. Fun fact: when people find out children are being trafficked through their establishment, they suddenly stop throwing around words like “damages” and “lawsuits.”
We’re able to do things the Feds can’t with all the red tape and pre-bust planning parties. It takes far too long to be effective at saving lives when those needing help compounds exponentially. They spend months and years planning takedowns when these kids are on the move and disposable to those holding them. There’s no time in trafficking. When you see an opportunity for rescue, you go.
“Security footage is wiped, and hotel management is telling the media it was a drug deal gone bad, but you might have to cough up some change for the damage,” he winks at me. “You just couldn’t get out of there without leaving blood on the carpet.”
“Have you been tracking this guy Nichols?” Tracker asks from his spot opposite Rodrigez.
“Not for trafficking. From what I know, the man rolls up in his jet or his yacht, takes a quiet spin around town, hits a couple of golf courses, and rolls out. I don’t like his disappearing act.”
“No shit,” TJ says.
“How’d you find him?” Rodrigez asks.
