Page 82 of Faron
“You think it’s trafficking?” I asked.
“I think it’s something,” she said. “And I’m tired of waiting for the system to care.”
Her hands were shaking. Just a little.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” I said.
She looked up. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”
She stared at me for a beat longer than she needed to. Then looked away like it burned her to hold eye contact too long.
“Fine,” she said. “We do this together.”
I nodded. “What’s the first move?”
“There’s a pawn shop two blocks from the last known location. They don’t talk to uniforms. But I know the guy behind the counter. He owes me.”
“Then we go tonight.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “What, no plan? No backup?”
I shrugged. “You said you wanted me. This is what that looks like.”
Her lips twitched, just a little. “Remind me to be more specific next time.”
I took a step closer, dropped my voice low. “I hope you won’t.”
The air between us snapped taut.
But she didn’t back away.
Neither did I.
76
Aponi
The neon sign buzzed like a dying wasp.
Open 24 Hours,it claimed. But the bars on the windows and the reinforced steel door saidEnter at your own risk.
Tag didn’t flinch. He just stood beside me like a damn mountain, silent and steady. His presence made the shadows feel less dangerous. Or maybe just easier to walk into.
I knocked twice. Waited. Then once more.
A slit opened in the door. “We’re closed.”
I leaned in. “Tell Rick that Aponi Hartman’s here. He owes me three favors and I’m cashing in one.”
The slit snapped shut.
Tag raised an eyebrow. “Three favors?”
“I saved his daughter from a trafficking sting. She was sixteen. He hasn’t forgotten.”
The door unlocked with a metallic groan. Inside, the air was stale—burnt coffee, stale weed, and desperation. Rick sat behind bulletproof glass, pale and sweating, like he hadn’t slept in a week.
