Page 4 of Dirty

“Slow down.” I reached for her shoulder. “What’s going on?”

She looked up and wiped her eyes. “Lex.” She gulped a breath. “Someone’s taken her.”

I was lost. “What?”

“Lex.” She exhaled heavily. “She was at the 7-Eleven. A bunch of people were there and saw it, but the police haven’t done anything. I just…I thought maybe…you were the only person I could think of…”

Still confused, I reached for her other shoulder, steadied her shaking body, and looked her in the eyes. “Breathe. Just slow down. What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. “You remember Lex?”

I shrugged. “No.”

“Alexandra?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Your little sister.”

“She’s not my sister.” Her eyes fell to the porch. “She’s my daughter.”

Now I was really confused. “Alexandra’s your daughter?”

She looked up and nodded. “Yes. And, someone has taken her.”

“What do you mean?”

She brushed her hair away from her tired eyes. “She was at the 7-Eleven. She was uhhm. She was…they kidnapped her. While she was getting in her car.”

“Holy shit.” I released her shoulders and crossed my arms. “Did you talk to the cops?”

The last time I had seen Alexandra, she was eight or nine years old. The thought of her driving didn’t quite register. The thought of her being kidnapped didn’t either.

She nodded. “The cops are a bunch of idiots. The guy at the register saw it all, and he gave a description. I just. With your connections…you know, to the gangs,” she stammered. “I thought maybe…I thought you could…”

“I’m not in a gang anymore,” I said. “Well, not really.”

All the air shot from her lungs. “You’re not? Oh God. I--”

I wanted to comfort her, but didn’t really know what to do. As I considered hugging her, she all but fell against me.

Out of reflex, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close. “Tell me everything you know. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Do you think you can--”

“I’ll see what I can do,” I assured her. “Did you get a good description of the car? Of the guys?”

“Uh huh. They were Mexicans, and they all had tattoos. The guy at the register got a good description of everything, even their tattoos.” She reached into her purse. “I’ve got a copy of the police report.”

If they were Mexicans and had tattoos, my guess was that they were in a gang. If they were, I could find out who they were. I didn’t want to give her any false hope, though.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

She leaned back, wiped away her tears, and then looked at me. Even with her make up running down her cheeks, she was beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said.

I looked her over, and couldn’t help but smile. In ten years, she hadn’t aged a bit. It was sad that her daughter’s disappearance brought us together, but I wasn’t about to complain.

Hell, maybe after I found her daughter I’d take the time to tell her how gorgeous I thought she was.