Page 8 of Logan

I clenched the phone tighter in my hand. I had to focus on Clay first. Now that I had a solid plan, I couldn’t delay. If Clay gotword that someone was going around the city looking for him, he might spook and run away, and then I’d never track him down again.

Still, guilt gnawed at my stomach when I left Jordy sitting under that old, abandoned archway. I gave him all the cash I had on me so he could at least get himself a decent meal and hopefully, wouldn’t have to work for a few days, but that didn’t ease my conscience.

I’d joined the Air Force at eighteen because I wanted to save the world, and I’d become a detective when I was twenty-two because I wanted to save people who couldn’t save themselves.

The one thing that both careers had taught me, was that I couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard I tried.

CHAPTER 5

Clay

A generic lookingblack sedan pulled up to the side of the street. I could tell as soon as I laid eyes on it that it was a rental.

Someone didn’t want to be recognized. Which meant either they were important, or they were new to these kinds of ‘transactions’ and were paranoid. The latter option would be fine, but if it was the former...

Well, I’d had enough experience in my life servicing ‘important’ men to know not to get involved with them.

Not moving from my place leaning against the wall, I turned my attention away from the car to the rest of the back street.

I wasn’t the only hooker working this street. All the regulars were out tonight. Faces I’d seen on and off for five years since coming to San Francisco. Sometimes a face would disappear, or a new one would show up, but no one ever asked any questions. It was always the same story. We didn’t need to know the details.

One of the newer faces approached the car, and after talking to someone through the window for a moment, they got inside.

Hopefully they’d still be here tomorrow, but every time someone stepped into a strange car, there was always a chance that would be the last time we saw them.

The dangers of the job, and all that.

It was a slow night, and the weather wasn’t looking great. Clouds had rolled across the sky, barely distinguishable from the city smog that usually blocked out the stars, but there was an electric charge in the air that said a storm was approaching.

This wasn’t how I usually preferred to work. I had a better system set up with a middleman—who I refused to call my pimp—to set up appointments for me under an alias and then send me the details. The middleman got a cut, but it saved me from having to work the streets and hunt down my own jobs like this. Unfortunately, it had been a slow week, and not many jobs had come in for me. So, I’d taken to hunting down my own clients the old-fashioned way.

No matter what, I needed a client tonight. If I didn’t make any money soon, then I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d ended up homeless. Since coming to San Francisco, I’d been kicked out of three different apartments. I always found a way to survive, but having a roof over my head was still infinitely better than sleeping on the streets.

At least it was summer right now. Homelessness in the winter sucked, even in such a warm state, but summer wasn’t too bad so long as I could find shade during the day.

Tugging at my crop-top shirt, I shifted my posture on the wall to adopt a more intentional lean that showed off my figure, rather than the exhausted slump I’d been displaying before.

The work was simple. I’d done it a million times.

So why did it never get any easier?

Another car pulled onto the street. Nice, but not too nice, and not an obvious rental as the previous one had been. This one had promise. Especially when I saw that they’d disabled the light over their license plate to discreetly hide the number. This client knew what they were doing. That meant they were probably a repeat customer, and not as likely to turn out to be a serial killer.

Prostitutes talked. If street workers kept going missing after meeting with the same client, word would be spread immediately.

The car stopped closer to me, and the window rolled down. He was a portly man, but he seemed to have good hygiene at least.

Already counting the dollars in my head, I put on my best sultry look and kicked up one leg against the wall to make sure the exposed skin of my thighs was visible.

Just as I’d expected, the man called out to me.

“Hey, Angel. You free tonight?”

Angel.

The word echoed in my head, and suddenly I was no longer standing on a San Francisco street corner. I was fourteen, and I’d just woken up in a strange, locked room that would be my home for the next four years. A man I’d never seen before sat at the bottom of the bed I was lying on.

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