Page 6 of Protecting Charity

“Okay, I hope you’re right. Let me know where I can help.”

Max took the hint. I was finished discussing this festering situation. He rose to his feet then strode out, leaving me in quiet, but never in peace.

I snagged a hand full of darts and threw them at the dartboard all at once. They dispersed, going in all directions much like my train of thought. One, though, was dead on—a bullseye, much like the understanding of my feelings for her.

Chapter 4

Charity

The police department was booming and hectic. Men in uniforms and others in civilian clothes bustled like busy little bees, all on a personal mission. Perpetrators sat on a bench with their hands cuffed behind them while leaning against the wall. As I zagged through desks, making small notations of paperwork being left out for me to see, I spotted a certain blonde I wished would just vanish already, strolling out of a back room. God… she is just everywhere.

Officially uniformed men and some detectives held a meeting in a windowed conference room. A man with neatly trimmed brown hair, a tired face that made him look mean and gruff, and a five o’clock shadow, stood at the front of the room by a white board, leading the discussion.

My dad sat by his desk, his hands full of manila folders, looking worse for wear. “Dad.”

His head shot up at the sound of my voice, and his weary eyes widened with surprise.

He dropped his folders, stood from his chair, and grabbed my arm, leading me to a room off to the side while looking around and treating me like a dirty secret.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he clicked the door shut to an interrogation room.How fitting.

“I came to see how you were doing. Maybe talk a little.”

“I’d like to talk, but we are really busy. The FBI is here assisting our case, and they are causing confusion every which way we turn.” I bit my lip and nodded. Knowing that the FBI was here made me stand a little taller on the tips of my toes. “Where have you been? Your mother has been out of her mind with worry.”

“I talked to her this morning and smoothed things over,” I said, avoiding the subject of my whereabouts. “What case is the FBI helping on?”

“The missing girl. Remember, I told you about her?”

“The one where you were looking into her sister?” I recalled him mentioning the jealous sister I now knew was Morgan, while I was washing my motorcycle.

“Yes, that’s the one. Well, we believe the little girl was taken by her sister, but now she's gone missing too,” he said, keeping his voice low so as not to be overheard, even though we were in a soundproof room.

“That’s terrible. Sounds like she's guilty if she ran off. Is there anything I can do to help? At least until I get back on my feet with a job.”

He rubbed my arm in a comforting gesture. “That's what we were thinking as well unless we had it all wrong, and whoever took Allie has now taken Morgan as well. As far as you helping, it’s a nice thought, Cupcake, but I can’t have you here while they’re running things.”

I shrugged. “Well, can’t say I didn’t try.”

“I’ve got to get back to it. I should have been in that meeting.”

We trudged out of the interrogation room together then split off, going our separate ways. My gaze locked with the tired agent leading the meeting as I raced out of the precinct. He had bitter eyes. Much like a lot of the men I come into contact with. It takes a special person to see beyond the veil of ordinary and never let it bother you with nightmares. Some cops didn’t have it in them and ate their gun by the time they retired.

As far as Morgan was concerned, I had left her body in a well-trafficked warehouse, so I was quite surprised when he told me she was still missing. They should have discovered her decaying body already.

I drove my motorcycle towards the warehouse, then parked by a side entrance that was well hidden. Cracking the heavy steel door open, I peeked inside the dusty building. It was silent, aside from the sound of pigeon wings as they took off to the rafters.

My footsteps echoed in the wide-open space as I flipped my hoodie up to block out my face because who knows who or what is prowling in the shadows.

Morgan’s body was right where I left her. Her skin turned a dusky violet where the blood pooled from gravity and her belly bloated to a large round ball from the gasses being released from her gut. Bloody foam leaked from her mouth, and the stench of decomposing meat hung heavy in the air. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and inhaled the slightly filtered air with a hint of fresh laundry detergent. I turned on my heel, satisfied that no one had disturbed her or the evidence I’d planted, and left for an old diner down the way to plan my next course of action.

Taking a seat on the sticky, fifties-style bench, I read the menu, trying to pick from an array of classics. My growling belly wanted to order everything on the menu, but I decided on something very specific.

“What can I get ya, hun?” said a heavy-set woman in a pastel pink uniform.

I smiled, sweet and innocent, then said, “Can I get a BLT with extra bacon and tomato? That’s it. Thanks.” I handed her my menu, and she tottered away, looking miserable in her black non-slip restaurant shoes.

I pulled out my phone and sent a series of messages.

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