Page 114 of Dead Girl Running

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Nothing in Cecilia’s life had prepared her for the months on the Philadelphia streets. With no resources, no defenses, she drifted from one underpass to another, from an abandoned building to a homeless shelter to that place by the river where a gentleman in an Armani suit tried to rape her. She stabbed him in the neck with rusty scissors and ran again.

The only things she had, the only things she treasured, were Kellen’s identification papers carried in the worn travel wallet beneath her clothes. Keeping them safe obsessed her. They were her link to her cousin, the proof that Kellen had existed, the honored preservation of her memory.

She trudged along the streets, wrapped in rags and her own misery, until the day she saw that man dragging the little girl behind him. The child looked like him, like his daughter, but she was screaming, “No. No! I want my mommy. I live with my mommy. The judge says you can’t have me. I want my mommy!”

He turned and slapped her, one hard blow across the cheek.

The girl staggered and would have fallen, but he held her up by her arm and said, “Shut up, Annabella. Your mommy will pay to get you back.”

In that moment, Cecilia saw herself in the child and Gregory in the man, and she was livid. She couldn’t recall when she’d last eaten. Last night, she had slept on a pile of trash behind a restaurant. But from somewhere inside, strength born of injustice rose up in her, and she attacked. She ran, jumped on the man’s back, wrapped her legs around his waist. She pulled his hair, clawed at his face.

He let go of Annabella’s arm. He whirled in circles, cursing in languages she didn’t know.

People on the sidewalk gaped. She didn’t care. In a frenzy, she dug her filthy nails into his neck, smashed her fist into his nose. She screamed, “Run, Annabella!”

He pried her legs off and dropped her to the sidewalk.

She smacked hard.

He took a moment to kick at her, then raced after the child.

Cecilia shrieked like a banshee. “Stop him. He’s kidnapping that child!” She didn’t know for sure if it was true; she only knew he was abusing that little girl and she would not stand for it.

From down the block, another man was shouting, “Stop him. Stop him!”

“Save the child,” Cecilia yelled. She staggered to her feet.

The father captured the little girl again, picked her up by the waist and flung her over his shoulder. His face was bleeding, his pristine tie askew; his dark eyes were murderous.

Cecilia jumped between him and his town car.

He tried to block her with the flat of his hand.

She ducked beneath and butted him with her head. She nailed him, too, because he released Annabella and leaned over, holding his family jewels.

The kid knew what to do this time. She took off down the sidewalk, veered into traffic, dodging cars, using them as blockades and concealment.

Her daring stopped Cecilia’s breath in her throat.

The father ran after her.

Cecilia flung her weight into his back.

An oncoming car slammed on its brakes, struck him with the right front bumper, spun him into the street.

Cecilia hit the still-moving car on the passenger door, whirled backward and fell facedown on the asphalt. She knew she had to get up. She had to help that child, but the best she could do was crawl… Vaguely, she heard sirens and a man’s rumbling voice she now knew to be Max’s said, “You saved Annabella. You saved my niece.”

Cecilia relaxed, slid toward unconsciousness, then tensed again. Desperately, she groped for the travel wallet hidden under her clothes. Kellen’s documents. She couldn’t lose them.

“What’s wrong?” the man’s voice asked. “What can I help you with?”

She wrapped her fingers around the string, tugged the wallet out so she could grasp it. She opened her swollen eyes, and for the first time, she looked into Max’s strong, grave face.

“Do you want me to keep that for you?” he asked.

At the thought, terror gripped her.

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