Saving Detroit (Excerpt)
© Copyright 2017 Michelle Bolanger All Rights Reserved
Chapter 1
Luke
Thirty-nine race cars roared past the pits as the final laps of the race wound down. Seconds behind the leader, Dad’s silver and blue Ford, painted with his signature number thirty-seven, dove between two lapped cars in an attempt to block the third place car from getting underneath him for the pass. If we could get out of traffic, I knew we were fast enough to catch the leader. If we didn’t run out of fuel before the checkered flag.
From my seat at the top of the pit box, I could only see the cars when they came out of turn four until just before they vanished into turn one, forcing me to keep my eyes glued to the monitors in the bank of screens in front of me.
With Dad challenging for the lead, the cameras focused on his progress around the track, but too often it was my face on the monitor. At twenty years old, I was the youngest interim crew chief for a pro stock car team ever, or at least that anyone could remember. Added to that bit of trivia, I was the son of Ruger Kelso, the driver and owner of the famous number thirty-seven. Dad owned a two-car team, with the forty-eight, in sixth place, also flying his colors.
As his son, I became an instant media draw and quickly discovered I hated the attention. Being in the pits, even on the pit box, was a thrill. The combined smell of tire smoke, racing fuel, and adrenaline was addictive. That part I loved.
Today I barely noticed. The pressure of making all the calls for pit stops, ordering two tires or four, deciding what adjustments the crew should make to loosen or tighten the car based on Dad’s feedback from what the car was doing, stripped my focus to the bare necessities.
I was thankful my step-mom, Shelby, was seated behind me. She knew me well and sensed when the pressure was getting to me. The gentle touch of her hand and a brief whiff of her soft perfume as she leaned close to offer a quick prayer steadied me.
Especially in the moments when the cameras chose to zero in on me chewing my nails.
“Outside. Outside. Hold your line. Inside. Clear.” Cool as ever, Dad’s spotter, located at the top of the front stretch grandstands, constantly kept him aware of what the cars around him were doing. “The twenty is half a second back. Be smooth.”
My thumbnail was long gone. I had chewed it off after the last pit stop eighteen laps ago. I bit down and tasted blood as the screen in front of me switched from a view of the track to my profile. Dad and Shelby were used to all the attention and enjoyed it. For the most part, I had managed to hide behind the hood of a car or at the back of the shop.
When I agreed to sit in for Braxton, Dad’s closest friend and usual crew chief, I should have expected the cameras to spend as much time focused on me as they did the cars. I was the big news at the track for this race.
I was practically raised under the hood of a race car, and from the time I was old enough to hold a wrench I’d been fixing them. For the last six years, I’d worked in Dad’s shop, doing every job imaginable. For the last two, I had been Braxton’s second. Meaning his absence put me in the spotlight.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as the announcer reminded me of the pressure to not only get Dad a win but to keep him at the top of the point standings. A win today would set him four points ahead of Axel Hamlin, last year’s champ.
Shelby’s hand tightened on my shoulder, and I reached up to give it a quick squeeze before leaning forward to scrutinize the latest fuel calculations.
“How are we on fuel?” Right on cue, Dad’s scratchy voice came across the radio. His tone was edged with the tension and weariness of three hundred laps at a hundred and fifty miles an hour.
I wanted to hesitate, because the numbers didn’t lie. We were going to be short. I swallowed, knowing the whole world was listening, but Dad needed to know.
“We might be a little short.” I glanced at the tech next to me, glad Dad couldn’t see my nervousness growing as the laps ticked off. “Good news is, I don’t think we’re the only one.”
“How short?” Dad snapped back.
“Not enough to worry about.” I tried to sound as nonchalant as Brax always did. “Keep digging.”
Dad didn’t have time to respond as he and the leader wove through lapped traffic.
Since my thumbnail was gone, I started on my index finger. The spotter effortlessly guided Dad around the slower cars, and we all watched the speeds go up when he and the leader hit clean air.
“Six laps to go, and Kelso in the thirty-seven is gaining on the ninety-six. Will there be enough laps to pass him?” The announcer’s voice echoed around the track.
I knew he could pass him. I didn’t know if he would finish.
“Caution is out! We have a car in the wall down in turn three,” the announcer crowed.
I slumped back in the chair with relief. Caution laps just might buy us the fuel we needed. I keyed the mic. “Preserve all the fuel you can. We’re staying out.”
“It’s been twenty-three laps. Are you sure?” Dad asked.
I recognized the doubtful tone in his voice. I’d heard it a thousand times while sitting in the tech seat, and he never questioned Brax’s answer. But this time it was me reassuring Dad we were making the right call. The tech next to me raised a finger.
Still one lap short.
I grimaced, glad Dad couldn’t see it.
“I’m sure,” I said. “Preserve fuel during this caution, and we’ll make it no problem. You’ve got this.”
The tech shook his head, but I ignored it. Taking risks was part of sitting in this chair, and they didn’t give me this opportunity so I could play it safe.
“Roger that.” The smile in Dad’s voice said he believed me, but my stomach gave a lurch when the lights went out on the pace car a second later.
“Be smooth into turn one.” The spotter knew Dad would be itching to jump the start. “Wait for Axel, don’t blow the restart.”
The cars roared to life as they crested through turn four, their engines cranked to full throttle. Dad was on the outside, and Axel’s restart was flawless, giving him a half car lead. We lost sight of them to the far side of the track, and I dropped my attention back to the monitor, but the cameras were tracking the battle for fifth.
“Inside. Inside.” The spotter’s calm voice confirmed Dad and Axel were side by side going into turns one and two. “Still inside. Hold the center. Hold your line. Rear inside.”
The cameras swung back to Dad and Axel as they charged down the back stretch door to door. Dad was closest to the wall, his car skating along inches from the white concrete.
“Stay high. Inside. Inside.”
Two laps later, Axel slipped going into turn three. Dad’s spotter never changed tone even though the rest of us surged with excitement.
“Go low. Go low. Hold the white line. You’re clear. Now, hit your marks.”
The marks he referred to were visual aids and mental spots Dad used to maintain his timing and rhythm around the track. It allowed him to stay focused and put the car in the best place for speed and aero advantage. It worked. He pulled away from second place, putting nearly two full seconds between them.
“Three laps to go!” The crowd was on its feet and screaming as the cars passed the grandstands. The announcer’s excitement bled into the late afternoon air. “Oh no! The forty-eight is out of fuel. He’s on the apron. No caution. Two laps to go!”
That was our team mate out of fuel, and I knew Dad had to be worried. But there was nothing to do but watch.
“The seventy-five is out of fuel, and the white flag is out! One lap remaining.”
I was on the very edge of the seat. Dad should be out of fuel any second, but he was still pulling away. I clenched my fists, staring at the monitor as his car dropped into turn three.
The radio crackled as he keyed the mic. “The car just misfired. I think I’m out.”
The announcer’s voice was shrill as his enthusiasm hit new heights.
“Is the thirty-seven losing speed? Axel has gained almost a full second. Could Kelso be out of fuel?” He sounded positively happy about it all.
I didn’t share his excitement and rested my fists on top of my head, begging God that dad would make it just one more turn. The camera panned out. Axel was gaining quickly through turn three as Dad came out of turn four - visibly slowing. Dad’s car shot forward as the pickup sucked the last of the fuel from the tank, but Axel was already alongside his rear quarter panel. It was too little too late.
I leaned forward, banging my head on the shelf in front of me just as the announcer shouted.
“Axel is out of fuel! He’s out! Will the twenty win it from third?”
“I’m out. I’m out!” Dad screamed into the mic as they crossed the finish line three abreast.
I couldn’t tell who was first, and we all stared at the monitor as they replayed the finish. No one breathed until the still frame looking across the finish line popped up on the screen. The splitter of Dad’s car was less than an inch in front of the twenty, and Axel’s car was mere inches behind them both.
I sagged back into the seat, not quite sure I believed what I was seeing.
The grandstands erupted, and the announcer laughed. “It took a photo finish, but Ruger Kelso wins the Blue Spark 450!”
“Great job, Luke.” Dad’s voice in my ear was choked with emotion. “But don’t ever scare me like that again, got it?”
“No promises.” I laugh-snorted, then braced myself against the support pole of the box as Shelby crashed into me. My stepmom’s arms wrapped around my neck as I tried to decipher her words.
“Luke, you did it. He won!” She leaned back and punched me in the shoulder. “But you knew he wouldn’t make it!”
I caught her hand as she started to swing again, spotting the cameras trained on us.
“I knew he could do it.” I hugged her, then turned and high-fived the tech next to me. “Thanks for not outing me.”
“I’ll tell him tonight what a great liar you are. He’ll be so proud.” He laughed, then waved me off as he started down the opposite side of the box. I wanted to follow him back to the garage, but for the next several races there would be no escape for me.
I turned and followed Shelby down the ladder, dropping the last few feet to the ground where a line of reporters were waiting.
“Mr. Kelso!” One of them shoved a microphone in front of me before I could even look around to see where Dad was. “Mr. Kelso, how does it feel to get your Dad his first win in three seasons?”
I pushed the ball hat up on my forehead, then pulled it back in place. The square glass of a huge camera inches from my face made me uncomfortable. “I don’t know how to feel just yet. Pretty good?”
The man laughed, stepping closer to get us both in the shot. I tried to back away but was trapped against the pit box behind me. Sweat broke out on my forehead, and I looked for a way to escape.
“You told him there was plenty of fuel in the car.” He pushed the mic back toward me. “Did you miscalculate?”
The cheers of the crew upped a notch, letting me know Dad was on his way past the pit wall. I tried to shoulder past the reporter, but stopped. Dad’s popularity with the fans had as much to do with his rapport with the media as it did his success on the track. I flashed the grin that finally broke through the tension of the last few laps.
“We won. Does it matter?” I shrugged.
The reporter patted me on the back. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. Go celebrate with your Dad. I’m sure he’s proud of you.”
Dad’s car rolled to a stop and the men pushing it surrounded us for a moment. I leaned as far across the wall as I could, barely locking hands with Dad through the car window. His face split wide with a grin, and his eyes danced with excitement behind a sparkle of tears.
“Great job, kid,” he shouted, and then the car was moving again. The rest of us jogged beside it toward the winner’s circle.
Dad climbed from the car, his signature soda in hand. He shook it gleefully and sprayed the crowd as we ducked and laughed. The next hour was a whirlwind.
I was interviewed so many times I couldn’t remember what I said, only that I was tired of saying it. Photographers snapped thousands of pictures as every sponsor we had - and a few I didn’t know existed - passed out hats, signs, and banners to capture their contribution to the win.
After a while, the sounds and excitement died out, and the car was pushed back to the garage for final inspections. I stuck around as it was weighed, measured, and inspected from every angle. When the fuel tank was dropped and inspected, it was bone dry.
It was almost midnight when I shut down the lights in the hauler and headed back to Dad’s motor home. He and Shelby were already in the air, having caught a flight back to the home shop in North Carolina hours ago.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside, relishing the quiet. Dad knew I would need the down time before the debrief back at the shop tomorrow, and offered to let me sleep in the motor home as it was being driven home.
I sat with the driver until we hit the open highway, then made my way into the rear bedroom. Propped on the pillows were my Bible and a pair of notes from Dad and Shelby. I lowered to the edge of the mattress and opened Shelby’s first.
Luke,
Your maturity and growth as a man make your father and me so proud. Seeing you do what you love, and do it with excellence, is all we could ever want for you. God has blessed us beyond our wildest hopes and prayers for you.
Love you always,
Shel
Psalm 37:4 Delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.
As usual, dad’s note was much shorter.
Great job. I am proud of you.
Dad
Psalm 127:3 Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him.
I slid the notes into one envelope and added them to the collection growing inside the cover of my Bible. There were cards marking each milestone in my life. Starting with my baptism at twelve, graduations from high school and trade school, birthdays, and now professional achievements. I flipped through them, re-reading each note and the accompanying verses.
Completely exhausted, I kicked off my shoes and settled back against the pillows. The Bible and notes fell against my chest as I drifted to sleep.
Chapter 2
Ira
A headache started the moment I got out of the car and heard the chest deep rhythm of the band inside the bar. The front door was open to the cooling Winston evening, and the place was already packed for a Wednesday night. My meet-up, or outcall as it was more commonly called in this business, wasn’t scheduled to be here for another fifteen minutes, and I wanted to scope the place out before he got here. This was the second time I’d tried to connect with this kid. I hoped he would show up this time.
The badge under my shirt and the picture in my wallet of a kid who had been missing for years reminded me why I was doing this. John and I had taken down three pimps already this week. All of them were street level, and none of them would admit to knowing the trafficker we were looking for. Elias. I ground my teeth. Another street kid disappeared yesterday, and my gut told me Elias was to blame.
I handed over the cover charge and headed for the long oak bar along the back of the room. I found an empty stool at the far end near the wall. From here I could see the whole place, including the door and the dance floor. It was writhing with couples in various stages of drink and lust. I leaned my elbows on the raised edge and caught the bartender’s eye.
Lisa was one of the good ones. She knew I was a cop, and did her best to follow the ‘if you see something, say something’ mantra. More than once she sent a kid home with me who’d had a rough night.
“The usual?” She laid a hand on my forearm.
“Yeah. And a little prayer would be appreciated.” I smiled. “I need this one to show up.”
“You can’t save them all.” She squeezed my arm and moved away to make my drink.
I knew that, but it was getting harder and harder to let it go. I turned my attention toward the crowd and truly looked at them. Most were your typical patrons, but this town had a growing underbelly that had been slowly changing the carefree nightlife into a haven for prostitution, and worse.
For the last eight years, I had been deep undercover, posing as a john in an attempt to infiltrate or at least disrupt a growing sex trafficking organization.
Operations similar to the one I was a part of usually focused on rescuing young girls and women. But when three teen boys were found in the basement of a house, the stories they told lit a fuse in me. Two of them had been approached and promised jobs, a safe place to live, and money. Instead, they found themselves locked in a basement and raped over and over again every night as sex slaves. The third had been kidnapped, snatched from a party when he went outside to make a phone call.
I was already assigned to a human trafficking task force and asked to be re-assigned to the sex trafficking unit. Over the next four years, I helped track down and dismantle seven brothels, three of which catered to those who preferred boys.
Each setup had grown more sophisticated. Victims were kept in isolated containment rooms. The houses were full of surveillance and film equipment and lushly appointed selection rooms. In many cases, the victims were presented in a group for the client to choose from before being escorted to a private room.
There were still the opportunists and the small operations. The ones who coerced at risk kids with the promise of friendship and belonging, but the growing number of outright kidnappings and disappearances were alarming.
That’s why we had to find Elias. He was slick, but I knew we were getting close to catching him. At least one of the guys I’d hauled into the station last week was connected to him, and the kid I had a hookup with tonight used a number that traced back to one of Elias’s abandoned houses. It was a long shot for sure, but the best lead we’d had in a long time.
Lisa set a highball glass on a napkin in front of me as a familiar face emerged from the dance floor. Allison. Auburn hair layered around her shoulders, and if I hadn’t known the truth about her, I would have taken a minute to appreciate how beautiful she was. She was working her magic on a pair of kids who barely looked legal. The boys danced with her and my stomach churned. The local police had brought her into the station twice for solicitation and fighting but she was released both times. She’d been with the same pimp for years and refused every shred of help ever offered her.
I shook my head and took in the rest of the room. The crowd was energetic and diverse, but there was an edge to it. If you knew where and what to look for, the place took on a different mood. Nothing I could define, but it left an uneasiness that sent prickles up the back of my neck.
A couple bumped into me on their way to a booth on my right. His hand was already inside the waistband at the back of her skirt. Two guys at the table were wrapped in each other, looking up and laughing when the new couple dropped into the bench across from them.
Three stools away were two girls. Their heads were tipped close together as they scrolled through a phone. All around the room, friends and couples made out, laughing and dancing. Now and then, if I made eye contact with one of them, there was a brokenness, a haunted look that cut me to the bone every time. Winston was becoming a sex trafficking hub, and it made me sick to my stomach.
A hand touched my back, and I turned to see the kid I’d been waiting for. He wedged himself between my stool and the wall, trying to shield himself from view.
“You Skate?” His voice was deeper than I’d expected, but my hope he wasn’t a minor was dashed when I got a look at him.
He’s fifteen. Sixteen, maybe. Lord, help me.
Steeling myself for what I had to do, I pasted on a smile and let my gaze travel the length of him. He wasn’t tall, and only a blind person would actually believe the ad proclaiming him to be twenty-two. I noted a fading bruise under the collar of his shirt and forced myself not to react. His button down shirt was open to about mid chest and untucked over a pair of dark jeans. He had one hand shoved deeply into his pocket, the other still on my back.
Wanting him where I could see him and the rest of the room, I reached back and took his hand.
“I am.” I pulled him toward the stool next to me. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?”
His telltale shiver when I ran my thumb up the inside of his forearm lit a flame under my temper. He was wound tight and had probably just left another john. I needed to get the kid to relax a little.
Lisa approached, wiping her hands on a towel. “What can I get you?”
“Can I have water?” He looked at me for approval, and the fear in his green eyes nearly made me blow my cover.
“Get whatever you want.” I forced a lightness to my voice and released him as he slid onto the stool next to me.
Over his shoulder, I saw a group of guys come in, and one face, in particular, made my breath catch.
What is he doing here? He can’t possibly be old enough.
Luke Kelso, my former best friend’s son was laughing but he looked more than a little uncomfortable. Seeing him in a bar was almost shocking.
He was tall like his dad, wiry and lean like his mother. Slim fit jeans and a snug t-shirt emphasized his lankiness, but he carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew who they were even if the situation was awkward. I snorted internally.
Just like his dad.
Lisa placed a glass of water in front of the kid beside me, and he took a long drink. His hand was shaking, and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand - getting this kid to agree to get out.
“Long night?” I asked, taking a sip of my coke.
He shrugged and bowed his shoulders, tucking his hands between his knees as though he was trying to fold away to nothing. His features were sharp, and he’d probably be a good looking man one day.
If he survives.
I leaned an elbow on the bar trying not to crowd him. “They call you Rick?”
“Yeah.” His eyes darted to mine, then back to the bar. “Are we staying here, or do you have a place we can go?”
I sighed. “I have a place.”
“Is it close by?” He shifted uncomfortably.
My gaze was drawn across the room as Kelso’s son came from the bathroom hallway like his backside was on fire. There was fear in the tightness of his shoulders, and it took effort to stay where I was. He kept his head down and as he crossed the room his body language grew angry. I glanced behind him and noted Allison cutting her way through the crowd. I relaxed a little figuring she’d probably hit on him.
She’s harmless, but probably not what he would have been expecting.
Just as I was about to turn back to Rick, Luke raised his head and looked directly at me. He was closer this time, and his features struck me as what some would call pretty for a guy.
His gaze was steady and curious, almost as though he recognized me. Maybe he did. I hadn’t talked to his dad in a long time. I could only hope he’d forgiven me by now.
Rick leaned closer and tentatively rested a hand on my thigh, jerking my attention back. “We should get going. I don’t have all night.”
I gritted my teeth. His hurry meant the kid likely had another job scheduled after me. I didn’t have time to waste worrying about a face from the past.
I faked a grin and covered his hand with mine. “Let’s go back to my place then.”
He offered a small smile and swiveled away from the bar to stand. Lisa caught my eye and folded her hands, letting me know she would be praying the kid took my offer.
The first time she told me she would be praying I almost laughed. A praying bartender? But after a year of cultivating a relationship with her and the bar staff, and hearing her give some of the wisest advice I’d ever heard, I believed her.
I’m going to need those prayers tonight, Lord.
Chapter 3
Ira
I nodded to Lisa and put an arm around the kid’s waist, guiding him toward the door. He stiffened but didn’t pull away.
Once we were in the car I dropped the pretense. “How long until your next john?”
He folded his arms and stared out the passenger window. “What are you a cop?”
Always suspicious. “I’m not going to arrest you,” I said.
“Taking advantage of the system, then? That’s perfect.” His tone was bitter. “You’re not the first.”
That boiled my blood. I bit back the anger from my tone and tried to sound casual. “When was the last time you had a decent night’s sleep? A private shower?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
I glanced sideways and decided this was the moment. “You don’t have to go back.”
He snorted. “Why? You want me to work for you instead?”
“I can offer you a real job if you want it, but how about starting with a place to sleep where no one will find you.”
“I tried that once.” His hand went to his throat, then dropped into his lap. “Just let me out here.”
We were a few blocks from my shop, and I at least wanted to get him that far before giving up and letting him go. “Look. Let me show you the place then you can decide. You can grab a couple of hours of sleep and a decent shower. If you still want to go back, I won’t stop you.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re serious?”
“Very.” I took the turn into a warehouse complex and stopped. “The only thing I need you to promise is that if you leave, you don’t tell anyone where this place is. It’s a safe place for kids who want out. I’d like to keep it that way.”
He looked out the window and chewed on his bottom lip, considering. “Do you think I could have something to eat?” His voice was quiet and small like he was embarrassed to ask.
“I can get you anything you want.” I waited for him to confirm he wouldn’t say anything. He just stared. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but you also don’t have a reason not to.” I pointed to the buildings ahead of us then hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “An empty bed, a shower, and a decent meal, or you can go to your next john.”
His chin trembled. “I don’t want to go back.”
I exhaled and shifted back into drive. “Then I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to.”
My shop was at the end of the row, and I pulled around to the back. The kid followed me inside, and I led him up a narrow set of stairs to the apartment above the workshop. Not many in the department knew about this place. I’d worked on it for almost a year after two of the older kids I’d managed to get to trust me had no place to go. I gritted my teeth. Girls who were rescued from these situations had many options for aftercare and recovery resources. Teen boys and men were most often treated as if they were the criminals instead of victims, and the stigma of a man being the victim of sexual assault made the situation even harder to overcome.
I’d seen enough, rescued enough boys - and men - to know assault had nothing to do with how masculine, strong, or male a man was. Most of society doesn’t see it that way, and I was determined to change that. One victim at a time, if I had to.
I pushed open the door and flipped on the lights. The apartment wasn’t much. A living room and kitchenette, a bathroom and a tiny bedroom furnished with second-hand stuff from the thrift store down the street. I stepped inside and waited for him to follow. He peered around the corner, then came in.
The moment he was inside, I moved back to the landing, pointing. “Bathroom is there, and the closet to the left has towels. The dresser in the bedroom has sweats, shirts, clean socks, and underwear if you need it.”
He turned in a slow circle. “What is this place?”
“Safe.” I tossed a set of keys on the couch. “Lock the door, and I’ll go get some food.”
He wrapped his arms around himself as the reality of what I was doing set in. He looked at me in disbelief. “You’re really not staying?”
“I’ll be back in about half an hour. Shower if you want and lock the door behind me.” I showed him the deadbolt. “It locks from the inside, and you have both keys.”
To get out, he would have to go through the shop downstairs, and it was alarmed. If he decided to roll with the keys, I’d know it. It happened once, and I simply changed the lock.
“You’ll hear the alarm shut off when I get back. If you don’t, don’t open the door.”
He looked impossibly young. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I pointed to the keys, and he picked them up. “Lock the door, and I’ll be back with something to eat. Do you have a preference?”
He shook his head, and I pulled the door shut. When I heard the click of the lock, I shot out to the car, hitting the keypad by the back entrance on my way out. It was almost one AM, and I headed for the closest fast food place as I dialed John.
“How’d it go?” He never wasted time on pleasantries.
“The kid’s at my place. I’m getting him something to eat.” My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “He’s younger than we thought.”
“Has he told you anything yet?”
I sighed. “I haven’t asked.”
He cleared his throat. “You met him at the usual spot in Winston, right?”
“Yeah, why?” I swung the car into the drive-through and ordered a couple of meals, missing whatever John said in response. “Sorry, yeah. We met at Gibbon’s.”
“One of the regulars over there OD’d. Allison’s been picked up for it.” John must have been at the office because another phone started ringing. “Did you see her with anyone?”
“I don’t think so. She was on the prowl, but I didn’t notice anyone in particular. Why?”
He grunted. “Not sure.” His phone rang again. “I need to take this. Call me tomorrow and let me know what the kid decides.”
“Will do.” I paid for the food and disconnected the call. When I got back to the shop, I was glad to find the kid hadn’t left. His hair was wet when he let me in.
He took the bag of food and moved to stand at the island in the kitchen. I stayed across the room, making sure he knew nothing had changed.
“Thank you.” He set the burgers aside and leaned into his palms on the counter. “I don’t know what to do.”
I lowered to the arm of the couch. “How old are you?”
He glanced at me. “Sixteen.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fifteen,” he conceded.
“Your parents?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Foster?”
He blew out a breath. “My last foster family had seven other kids. I was the oldest. They didn’t pay much attention to what I did.”
“Eat, Rick.” This was a story I heard far too often.
“My name is Todd.” He unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite. He ate both burgers, obviously hungry. The food seemed to take some of the edge off, but his body language remained guarded.
“I’m not going to lie.” I crossed my arms. “I work for Forsyth County.”
“So you are a cop.” He wiped a smear of ketchup off his chin. The hardness was back in his voice, and he turned to brace his hips against the counter. “They said if I ran away again I’d go to jail.”
“Did you run away?” I asked quietly.
“Not at first.” He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “I wanted to hang with the older guys.” His focus went distant. “I stayed with them a couple of nights. Did…things.” He looked at me like he expected me to condemn him. “After that, I didn’t go back to the foster house. The guys said they would pay me. That they would help me get a place of my own.” His voice cracked.
“I’ll do what I can to help.” I nodded toward the bedroom and headed for the door. “Get some sleep, and I’ll be back in the morning.”
He looked at the ceiling. “I’m going to be placed with another family, aren’t I?”
My heart broke for him, but I couldn’t lie. “Probably. I wish there was another answer.”
He dropped his chin and pushed away from the counter. “Me too.”
Protocol dictated I take him directly to the station the moment he showed up, but I’d found giving them a little time in a safe place helped ease their worry about it. If he stayed until morning, I’d have to take him in. My hope was he would tell me something he wouldn’t tell a uniformed cop.
When the text alert for the shop alarm went off at five AM, I was disappointed, but not surprised. I rolled to my feet and headed over to confirm he was gone. The keys were still on the counter, and when I checked, he’d taken two sets of clothes with him.
“I hope you heard Lisa’s prayer, God.” I slammed my palm into the door. “There has to be a better way.”
Chapter 4
Luke
“Hey, adorable.” My face heated as Steve patted me on the back and took a seat next to a pair of ladies who had invited themselves to join us at the table.
I was frustrated one of them was the brunette who had followed me to the restroom and introduced herself as Allison. She was beautiful but I had done my best to make it clear I wasn’t interested. Obviously, she hadn’t gotten the message. Made worse by the fact that Steve had obviously heard her flirtatiously call me adorable in the hall moments before. This evening was nothing like I hoped.
“I’m calling it a night.” I stood as Steve reached for one of the glasses.
“Oh no, honey. That one is Wendy’s,” Allison cooed and pushed the glass toward a well-endowed blond who glared at her but took the drink.
Kevin didn’t look up, and Wes frowned at me. “It’s only eleven.”
“You’re not really leaving are you?” Steve waggled his brows.
“Yes. I am.” The back of my neck was on fire and my fingernails dug into my palms. I wasn’t a fighter, but I wanted to punch him. “Are you with me or are you staying?”
Steve glanced at the ladies, then back at me with a knowing grin. “You aren’t afraid of a couple working girls are you?”
I involuntarily took a step back as the whole table laughed.
“He’s kidding, honey,” The blond took a sip of the soda and winked. “We’re off duty tonight.”
“Good to know.” I glanced at Steve. “I’m still leaving. Are you coming?”
“Not yet,” he said, and the whole table broke out in laughter.
I gritted my teeth. The guys were nothing like this at the shop, and I wasn’t comfortable with the change. We always had each other’s back. It was an unspoken rule, but apparently, it only applied at the shop.
Now I understand why Dad doesn’t go out with them.
“Well, have fun.” I pulled out my wallet and dropped a twenty on the table. “I’ll see you at the track.” I glanced at Allison, then the others. “Ladies.”
I forced myself to walk slowly even though I wanted to run. Once outside, I sucked in a deep breath, and hit the unlock on my key fob. The car chirped, and the lights flashed as I approached. My heart hammered at my ribs with embarrassment and frustration.
God, why do people think this kind of thing is fun? I dropped into the car and headed home. Though the bar was only a few minutes from the track, my house was about an hour away. By the time I stopped at the grocery to pick up something for breakfast, my nerves had settled.
It was almost one as I made the turn onto my street. Dad and Shelby lived in a gated subdivision a few miles away, but I had wanted something a lot less grand. My house was the last home built in the cul-de-sac last year. Dad was able to get a decent price by paying cash for it when the original buyer’s loan fell through.
The houses were all quiet and dark as I approached the house. I reached for the garage opener as my phone vibrated. I pulled it out to see Steve’s number, chased by several texts from Dad. I hadn’t taken it off silent after the meeting earlier today.
I swiped the screen. “What’s up, Steve?”
“Thank God you’re all right!” He was slurring his words so badly I could hardly understand him, but the panic in his voice got my attention.
Before I could ask what was going on, my phone alerted me to another call. I glanced at the screen.
“Dad’s calling. Do you need me to come back and get you?” I bypassed the drive and parked in front of the house in case I needed to go back.
“No.” There were other voices in the background, and what might have been a siren. “He’ll want to know you made it home.” He sounded defeated.
Before I could ask why - he hung up. I shook my head and pressed redial on Dad’s number.
“Luke! Thank God!” The relief in Dad’s voice sent a chill down my back. “Where are you?”
“I just got home. Why? What is going on?” I asked.
“Did you meet some women tonight?” The way he phrased the question sounded suspiciously like an accusation.
“If you mean a couple of them came onto all of us at the bar before I left, yes.” I shoved the car in park and leaned back. “Why?”
“One of them died of an overdose an hour ago,” he murmured. “Kevin caught her when she collapsed.”
An ominous twitch crept over my scalp. “Which one? I think there were three of them.”
“I don’t know, Luke. All Wes said was that she was blond. They panicked because she had your glass and you weren’t answering your phone.” His tone hardened, and I could almost see his jaw clench. “What were you drinking?”
“All I had was soda.” I gritted. “They wouldn’t have served me, and the glass she drank from wasn’t mine. I was already leaving and didn’t order another.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Who thought it was mine?”
“No one knew for sure.” He sounded as tired as I felt. “I think they panicked when you left so suddenly then didn’t answer the phone.”
I pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the car door as the lights from another vehicle swung onto the street. The spotlight swinging from car to car told me it was a cop.
“I think the cops are here looking for me.” The light landed on me and stayed.
“Good. Took them long enough to get there.” Dad sighed. “Call me when they leave, okay?”
“Sure.” The car rolled closer, stopping nose to nose with the Charger. “I’ll call you back.”
I hung up and laid the phone on the dash, then put my hands in plain sight on the wheel. The officer exited the car and approached, one hand hovering over the holster. I squinted into the light.
“Mr. Kelso?” For some reason, the female voice caught me by surprise.
“That’s me.” I tried to see past the blinding light as she approached.
She paused a few feet from me and relaxed. She nodded to my hands. “Thank you for your cooperation. Please step out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them.”
I did as she asked, my hands raised and in front of me. “I’m going to guess this is about the woman at the bar?”
She nodded. “You heard?”
“My Dad just called, and so did one of the guys I was out with.” I realized how that might sound and shook my head. “They wanted to make sure I was all right.”
“So do we.” She ticked her head toward her car. “Come on back here with me, and we’ll get your information.” She stepped aside. “After you.”
I kept my hands out to the side and did as she asked. When I passed the front window, there was another officer in the front seat wearing a ski mask. The window was down, and a badge on a chain lay on his chest.
“My partner tonight works undercover, so he’ll just be listening.” The woman opened the door behind the masked officer and indicated I should sit.
She closed the door and rounded the vehicle to take the driver’s seat. She typed something into the computer on the console then glanced back at me.
“Why don’t you start by telling us what happened?”
I did, detailing everything from the time Steve and I left the shop until I got the call from Dad.
“The brunette didn’t offer you anything?” The man asked. It was obvious he was disguising his voice, and I almost laughed.
“Other than a dance? No.” I crossed my arms. “When I got back to the table, she was in my seat. That’s all.”
I couldn’t see what he did, but the female watched him and then nodded before getting back out of the car. When my door opened, and I stepped out, she offered her hand.
“Thank you for your help tonight, Mr. Kelso. You’ve told us what we needed to know.” She shut the door and started to walk away.
“You don’t need a written statement?” I asked.
She paused and regarded me across the roof of the car. “No. We already knew you weren’t involved, and we have four other statements that say the same thing you just did. We were sent here on a welfare check.” She seemed to be considering saying more but didn’t. “Have a good night, Mr. Kelso.”
I stood frozen in the middle of the street as the police car drove away. I had no idea what to feel. I was still frustrated and confused by the guy’s behavior, and the reality I had narrowly missed seeing a person die right in front of me was chilling. Though I’d heard Allison call the woman Wendy, I hadn’t paid much attention to her.
I stared up at the inky sky, threaded with a few wispy clouds. God, I don’t understand what happened. I’m just glad I left when I did.
The clatter of my phone vibrating on the dash of the car pulled me back to reality. I reached inside and snagged it up. It was Dad, making sure everything was all right. I sent him a text letting him know the cops had what they needed, and that I would call him tomorrow.
As I was slipping the phone into my pocket, another text came through. The number didn’t have a name, and I didn’t recognize it as being local, but I opened it anyway. It was an image.
I clicked on it and almost dropped the phone. It was a picture of Allison coming out of the men’s room at the bar. Another image buzzed in, but when I clicked on it, it was a video. It was shot from inside the restroom next to the urinals, and judging by the motions of the guy on his knees in front of her, Allison wasn’t female. My hands shook as the short clip looped over and over.
Confusion quickly gave way to a churning in my stomach as the reality of what she - he? – had been doing in the restroom sank in. What would I have done if I’d walked in on that?
I shivered with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. I’d never had an issue with how anyone chose to live their life, it was theirs, but walking in on anyone engaged in such an act made me uncomfortable. And angry. Didn’t people have the decency to at least go out to their car?
There was no scenario I could think of to explain why someone had sent me this message. Suddenly embarrassed it was still looping over and over on my screen, I glanced around and then deleted both the images and the video. I was in the process of blocking the number when a third text came in. A picture of me, standing in the street, staring at my phone.
We have our eye on you, Adorable.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.