Page 34 of Isaac

"Relax." I keep my voice soft and measured. "We're not going to hurt you. We just need some information."

She whips her head back to me and says with a sneer, "You a cop?"

Marco snorts.

I detect an accent. Eastern European.

"I don’t talk to cops," she supplies, her big eyes drilling a hole into my skull.

"Do I look like a cop to you?"

She shrugs. "Dunno."

"I’m not a cop, okay. And I'm not here to harm you."

Her wary gaze remains on me, but she doesn't respond. Ignoring her silence, I press on, "What's your name?"

"Marina," she replies hesitantly after a long pause.

"Where are you from, Marina?"

"Russia."

"How long have you been in the States?"

"Six months," she mumbles, her eyes flickering downward.

"You work for that man, Tucci, all this time?"

She nods.

"How did you end up here?"

"I met someone back in Russia. The person said she worked for a company that organized work opportunities for students."

"Do you have a visa?"

"I don’t know."

Great. This just gets better and better. "Did you submit any paperwork to the US Embassy to come here?"

Marina shakes her head. "No, the company that organized the trip said they would do this for us. They asked us for our passports and then we got on a plane."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen," she admits.

"And your family let you leave Russia?"

"I have no family. I lived with my aunt but she died. There was nowhere else to go."

Fuck.

I glance at Marco, knowing he probably won’t approve of what I’m about to say but I have no idea what to do with a sixteen-year-old orphan who most likely was smuggled into this country illegally and then forced into prostitution.

"Okay, now listen to me, Marina," I tell her. "If you want out of this life, I can help you find a decent, safe job you can work until you’re eighteen."

Marco is giving me a side-eye but I don’t really care what he thinks.

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