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She looked up to Chase slowly as if he’d just announced he was the next sheriff, and for a second he thought she was going to deny him and tell him to sit his ass down and shut up, but then she firmed her lips and dropped the papers and file on the counter before mumbling what Chase thought was some crude remark under her breath. He wasn’t entirely sure, though.

  She walked down the hall and knocked on a door before opening it, leaning her head in, and saying something he couldn’t make out. Whatever it was had the sheriff appearing from the room, his blue shirt sleeves rolled up as if he’d been working hard, his scuffed boots scraping the floor. He didn’t look happy.

  “What’s this about you saying you’re the girl’s lawyer?”

  Even Chase realized it wasn’t really a question, and the sheriff, whatever he was doing and saying, didn’t want any lawyer walking in and messing anything up in his slam-dunk case. “She got a lawyer in there with her? Were her parents called, or did I hear right at the station that she’s in foster care? In that case, I’m sure you alerted her social worker,” he said, ready to remind this sheriff of the rights the girl did in fact have.

  His arm was still aching, and though the blood had dried, it was now looking worse by the minute, reminding him he really needed to get it looked at before the infection he was sure was setting in got worse. He knew the sheriff was looking at it too, maybe thinking up something to get him out of there and off to the hospital, so Chase rolled down his sleeve and buttoned it at the wrist to hide where the girl had bit him. Out of sight, out of mind.

  “She didn’t ask for one,” the sheriff said, and he began to turn and give Chase his back. It wasn’t lost on him that the sheriff hadn’t acknowledged her age or her current state in the system or whether she had a parent or guardian with her.

  “Hey, did you read her her Miranda rights?” He shoved his way through the gate, knowing he was pushing his luck. The sheriff leveled him with a hard look, and even he knew he was getting himself on the bad side of the law with this guy.

  “She was…”

  “Great, then not another word with my client. I’ll be speaking with her alone now. You don’t talk to her again without me.” Chase was still walking, and the sheriff was still standing there, crossing his arms. For a second, Chase thought he’d block him from getting to that door, from getting to the girl.

  “Now why would you want to go and help some girl who ain’t worth no one’s time? You ain’t from around here. Lawyer, you say? Really?”

  “Seriously,” he said. “Do you always have strangers stopping in and saying they’re lawyers?”

  This time the sheriff was quiet.

  “You’re right, I’m not from around here. Was visiting my brother in Salem and was on my way to Henderson. Lucky for the girl, I was passing through. To be clear, I am a lawyer and can have my credentials faxed to you if need be.”

  He was licensed in Washington—DC, that is. He’d graduated from Yale and had articled under Griffith, one of the top picks for the Supreme Court. Even he was impressed with his own credentials.

  “Are you going to keep me from speaking to my client? Because I’ve got to tell you that if you do, it will be grounds to have this entire case and the charges thrown right out the window. Would make my job easier,” he added with a hint of sarcasm. He was pissed, and he had to fist his hands and grind his teeth to keep from telling this sheriff how exactly he could go and fuck himself. He kept picturing what Rose had said, that the sheriff was a patron of the whorehouses in Nevada, where more girls and young women were exploited.

  “By all means,” the sheriff said, surprising him as he walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside.

  Chase took in the girl with her dirty brown hair, her closed expression. She was cuffed to the table. Good God, she was just a kid, and she looked smaller than he remembered. “Take off the cuffs, now!” he said as he stepped into the room.

  “Now you just hold on a second, here.” The sheriff stood between him and the girl, and he had all his attention now, bearing down on her. “This guy says he’s your lawyer, but just say the word and I’ll toss him out of here.”

  Chase wondered whether the sheriff really believed this girl would look to him as if he were some kind of hero. For a second, Chase wondered, from the hardness the girl was flashing at him and the sheriff, whether she just might tell them both to go fuck themselves.

  Then she blinked as if she hadn’t heard what he said the first time. For just a split second, by her entire expression, Chase could tell she seemed to question a lot. Maybe she was wondering whether they were all fucking with her and this was one big joke.

  “I said to take off the cuffs,” Chase said again. He gestured with the full force of his hand to the sheriff before landing all his attention on the girl. “You say nothing else to him, because as far as he’s concerned, he’s going to have you before a judge and locked up before the sun sets, but I’m going to get you the hell out of here.” He was around the table, looking down at the girl, who still had said nothing, but at the same time he knew she had to be thinking through everything. It bothered him because he didn’t know which way she’d go.

  “You can get me out?” She didn’t look at Chase, but her head turned his way, at least.

  “Yeah,” he said, moving to stand in front of her.

  “But you put me here. This is your fault,” she added, and she was right.

  “Sorry about that. Timing,” he said, not wanting to say more and willing her to shut up.

  Then she nodded, holding up her wrists as he listened to the clang of metal. She said nothing, but the motion said everything.

  “Sheriff, I said remove the cuffs,” Chase said with a lot more attitude.

  He heard the sheriff shove his large hand into his pocket, and his boots scraped the floor as he slowly leaned down, key in hand, and unlocked the girl’s cuffs, then slid them from under the table, where she had been hooked to a bar. Chase had never seen the inside of a concrete interrogation room, and it was humbling to him, giving him a firsthand view into how arrested people were treated. Then he realized the sheriff was still there, standing, waiting. Maybe he expected to stay.

  “You can leave now and close the door behind you,” Chase said, staring at the sheriff and waiting until he finally left.

  When he turned to the girl he was responsible for putting in this room, he realized she may have been younger than he’d first thought. “So let’s start with your name, your age, and what the hell you were doing pulling a gun on that dirt bag at the gas station,” he said.

  What the hell was he doing, getting involved and committing himself to something that was taking him away from the problem he still needed to fix? Luc and Aaron would have to wait…and his parents? Well, they were adults, and they’d just have to figure some things out until he got there. He’d help them sort out their issues and then figure out what was next for himself, Chase McCabe.

  “My name is Billy Jo. I’m eighteen,” she added, lifting her chin. The way she said it, he could tell she was lying through her teeth. She wiggled in her chair.

  “Bullshit! If you’re eighteen, I’m seventy. Try again.” He pulled out the chair and sat across from her, and her eyes went to his right arm, where blood was staining his shirt.

  “Sorry about biting you,” she said, her hands folded in front of her. Then she leaned back in the metal chair, looking around, fidgeting again.

  Chase flexed his hand, which only served to remind him there may be damage other than broken skin. He blew out and watched Billy Jo, who wasn’t looking at him. “Let me explain a few things to you. As your lawyer, I won’t repeat anything you say. Whatever you tell me stays between you and me.”

  The girl still said nothing, but at least she was looking at him, even if it was with attitude and an expression that said, I hope you eat shit and die. He knew the look. He’d seen it a time or two from Aaron and Luc. Vic, his eldest brother, had been different. He had taken care of things for the rest of
them before he’d fucked off and left them all, too.

  “The silent thing doesn’t work in situations like this. With the sheriff, yes, and I hope you did us both a favor and didn’t say one word, leaving the sheriff to believe even pulling your toenails off wasn’t going to get you to talk.”

  She paled. “He’d really do that?” she said.

  He wondered for a moment whether he’d gone too far with his get-real talk, but he was reminded again that this girl had probably seen worse. “Just making a point. You see, that’s why you have me, your lawyer. I speak for you. What you say is sacred and goes nowhere.” He made the sign of the cross in front of him. Why the hell had he done that? She now seemed to close down. It had always worked on the right-wingers in Washington, but he had to get his head out of that game.

  “Whatever happened, whatever you planned to do at that station, you tell me, and you and I together will decide what you say and what you don’t. Got it?”

  She was thinking, and it wasn’t lost on him that this kid was smart.

  “Now how about telling me how old you are? And before you try telling me you’re eighteen again, which I know you’re not, remember this.” He gestured with both thumbs at himself, smiling, wanting to pat himself on the back. “I’m on your side. Whatever happened, whatever you did, and for whatever reason you seem to think lying about your age will solve the problem and make things better, let me spell it out to you so you understand the facts and how things really work: If you’re an adult, which you are at eighteen, pulling a gun lands you in a different court, a different system. It means hard time.”

  He wondered whether she already knew that by the expression on her face and how she glanced away again, considering. “But eighteen means I’m on my own and there’s no one I have to answer to, and no one can tell me what to do and put me places and tell me I have to live there, with those people…”

  “Ah, I see,” he said when she didn’t finish. “So that’s it. I heard something about you being one of the Humboldts’ foster kids. Are you in the system? They your foster parents?” He didn’t need her to answer, because he had his answer in the way she flinched. “I see,” he said again.

  “You don’t see nothing. How would you feel having to go somewhere you aren’t wanted, knowing it’s just one more place where all you are to people is another paycheck? Where you’re given rules, expectations, demands, knowing you’re nothing to them…” She was shaking her head. “I ain’t going back there, and you can’t make me.”

  So that was it. He looked at his watch, knowing already that he wouldn’t make Vegas tonight. This wasn’t going to be an easy fix. There were too many elements about this that were going to take a certain way of handling, of looking into, of checking out options. It struck Chase as he took in the girl, who seemed so alone, that soon he was going to be emotionally invested in this whole thing.

  With this kid and this system, everything about both seemed broken.

  Chapter 5

  The room was gray concrete, with bars on one window. The steel table was scraped, and the metal bar to which she’d been cuffed was gouged, most likely from all the others who’d been chained there before her.

  She hated that prick, the sheriff. He reminded her so much of her foster dad, Marty Humboldt, a self-proclaimed evangelist who believed the world was going to shit. He had a pole shoved so far up his ass that he thought saving her and every other kid was his duty, his responsibility, as if he were God’s gift to the world. His wife, Elma Mae, was ordinary, not fat and not thin, just a plain woman who’d never stand out anywhere. They had rules, and the list of acceptable conduct, of dos and don’ts, was taped as a reminder to the back of the bathroom door. Damn their rules! She swore she’d never go back again. But here was this polished, handsome man with dreamy eyes and a smile that was far too flashy, showing perfectly straight white teeth. She had to remind herself that guys didn’t save girls. He wanted something, but what?

  Okay, so he’d gotten that prick of a sheriff to take off the cuffs, which had been too tight and pinched her skin. They’d been put on to make her uncomfortable, not to protect that big-ass cop from her. She’d known from the start what he was doing. She’d lived through power plays from jerks all her life.

  So what the hell did mister fancy pants want anyway? “You never told me your name and why you’re interested in helping me,” she said. “So what’s in it for you? Because strangers don’t help others out of the kindness of their hearts. Or is that what you are, just another do gooder who has some checklist he keeps so he can tell everyone he’s a good Christian who’s helping the less fortunate, and I’m just one more plus mark you can share with your fancy friends to make yourself look good because you helped this no-good piece of white trash?”

  Usually her mouth got her backhanded or a fist to her face a time or two, but this guy actually laughed at her. He was amused. Seriously!

  “Fuck you, asshole!” she said, and he laughed harder. “Stop laughing at me.”

  “I’m sorry. You just remind me so much of my brother. It was like reliving old times.” His eyes were a bright blue and were filled with a kind of amusement she’d never seen before. This guy was messing with her. What did he want?

  “My name is Chase McCabe, Billy Jo. Just so you know, I was passing through and needed gas. That was the only reason I stopped and walked in on your little show.”

  “My lucky day. You should have kept going. I’d have been miles away from here then, because you, asshole, are responsible for this.” She would have been across the border by nightfall and one step closer to finding her real mom.

  “Really, and where were you going, Billy Jo?” he asked.

  Stop talking to him, she thought. He was smooth, the kind of guy who made it easy to talk, but she also knew trusting anyone would be a mistake, because everyone in her life who’d said they were on her side had betrayed her and let her down. The only person Billy Jo could rely on was Billy Jo. Maybe she needed to tattoo that piece of advice on her arm as a visual reminder.

  She crossed her arms and looked to the door, feeling this man who said he wanted to help her watching her closely. It should have been unnerving, but she’d lived under a microscope all her life. Peace was something she didn’t understand. This was normal. This she could handle, and she could go for days without saying a word.

  “I see you don’t want to tell me. Don’t trust me. Smart girl. Let’s say we start with getting you out of here.”

  Now that had her attention. “You can really get me out?” she asked, seeing that front door in her mind, the one she’d been dragged through, cuffed, before being dumped in this room. “You wouldn’t be messing with me, would you?” The moment she was free, she’d walk all night and get away from these people, this county. She’d disappear for good.

  “I told you already that I’m here for you, whether you believe me or not. You need to trust me for that much, but first I need some things from you. Let’s start with your age, why you pulled the gun, where you got it from, and why you were running from your foster family.”

  Her mind was working, and she stared at the closed door, wanting so bad to walk through it and out of here, then back to the man across from her, who was dangling freedom in front of her like a carrot. He was smart, but she was smarter. “So you won’t share what I tell you?”

  He nodded, raising two fingers in the air. “I swear, scout’s honor.”

  Great, a boy scout now. Just her luck. “I’m sixteen,” she said. Actually, she was fifteen, nine months, and twenty-eight days. Her birthday was June 9. “I borrowed the gun.” She’d stolen it from her foster dad, one of fifty-eight unlicensed firearms she’d found stashed in a crate in his barn. “Roy owed me money. I went to collect, is all.” As she’d done every day for the past sixteen days. She’d counted, because he’d blown her off with every excuse. She’d taken the gun to scare the crap out of him and force him to pay. “He’d have paid me if you hadn’t walked in and gone all
Jean Claude Van Damme.”

  She would have hitched a ride, then been across to Idaho by nightfall and made her way up to Canada in a day or two. How to get across the border was something she was still figuring out. “The Humboldts will be just as happy I’m gone,” she said, and the truth was that she would no longer have to worry about visitors showing up late at night, when the door to her room would open when everyone else was asleep, and Dick Humboldt, the eldest son, would sneak into her room, wake her with his hand over her mouth, and take from her what no man had a right to. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not going back there,” she said.

  The way he was watching her now, his expression turned serious. The smartass wasn’t saying anything, and she waited for him to get up and walk, tossing over his shoulder that she wasn’t worth his time and effort and that he’d share everything she’d said. She expected no less.

  That was what everyone did.

  Having honor and keeping one’s word were just fancy things people tried to get her to believe they did, to give hope to fools.

  “Okay, then. So, Billy Jo, we leave the age out of it so no one alerts Child Services or the Humboldts for now, and let’s say we start working out a way to get you out of here tonight and get you some place to stay.” He pulled out his phone and started thumbing through it, then looked at her in a way no one ever had. “In the meantime, what do you say I order a pizza and soda while we work?”

  She swallowed again and nodded, because pizza and soda were never allowed where she lived. Those cost money that was never spent on any of the ten fosters under the Humboldts’ roof. “Yeah, I could eat,” she said. She was starving, considering she’d last eaten a chicken drumstick for dinner the night before. The platter had been full, but with all the hands reaching for what was there, one was all she’d managed to grab.

  “You got it. Large, with everything,” he said. Then he was standing, talking, and her heart ached, because for the first time she wanted to believe maybe someone cared. As soon as she thought it, she wanted to kick herself, because only fools did that, and Billy Jo was never again going to be someone’s fool.