Page 8 of Little Bird
I pause, wondering, and narrow my eyes. The last few years have been harder than I expected, and things aren’t going the way I want them to. Those sunshine days when Taryn lived with us are long gone, replaced by the cold, hard reality of a business that’s failing.
A son who barely talks to me.
The goddamned cold that’s invaded my bones.
One phone call from Taryn, though, and I feel warm all over.
And that’s not the reason I jumped in my truck and ran for her, I tell myself firmly. That has nothing to do with it. I came because I made her a promise that I always would, and that’s all this is.
A promise kept to a kid I used to know.
Hard stop.
I pass a sign that tells me I’m only three miles from the city and lean harder on the accelerator. I don’t know what sort of trouble Taryn is in—she wouldn’t tell me on the phone—but she was very clear about needing to get out of there quickly.
I just hope I get there in time to save her from whatever she’s done. A small voice in the back of my head whispers that I need to think further than that, about what I’m going to do with her once I rescue her, because this entire situation could get complicated. She’s not my kid and I’m no longer on speaking terms with her mother. I haven’t seen the girl in four years and have no legal right to her.
And she’s in jail. Maybe we should start with whatever she did to get there in the first place.
I shut that voice down, though, and don’t look at those questions again.
Because for right now, just for a moment, I want to be the guy she called to come save her. I want to be the hero in someone’s story.
Just for a second.
Once I’ve had my fill of that, I’ll figure out whether I also need to be the villain.
The moment I pull into the parking lot, I can see that playing the hero is going to be more intense than I expected. The lot in front of the police department is small but empty at this time of night, with only a few cars sitting next to several police cruisers. There are people here, though not many: a man and a woman facing a younger girl, and a couple of cops behind the girl.
I park quickly, my eyes on the scene as I try to figure out what’s going on here. It’s nearly 4 in the morning, and the last time I checked, that was outside of standard business hours, even in New York City. Why the fuck are there so many people standing around in the freezing cold of a December evening? I turn the truck off and stare at them for a moment, trying to figure out what to do about this. I need into that building and they’re standing right in front of it, which means I’m going to have to interrupt them.
This is going to be awkward.
When I open the door, I realize it’s even worse than I realized, because they’re actually shouting at each other. The woman, who has her back to me, is talking quickly, her voice high and shrill, and the girl in front of her is backing up several steps like she’s just been slapped, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She looks shocked at whatever the woman just said, but also resigned, as if she knew it was coming.
She also looks like she’s about to turn and run.
Then the man steps toward her and runs his fingers down her cheek, his hand too familiar, his touch too demanding, and the girl freezes. She turns those wide eyes toward him, half horrified and half furious, and I see her own hands clench into fists. Her body tenses and she draws in on herself like she’s trying to protect something.
Like this isn’t the first time she’s been touched when she doesn’t want it, and she already knows how to get away from it by retreating into herself.
And honestly that’s all I have to see. I don’t know who these people are or why the cops aren’t doing anything about that man touching a girl who doesn’t want to be touched, and I don’t care. I’m moving before I can think about it, my hands forming fists and my eyes on the man who’s caressing the girl. I can hear his voice now, low and conniving, slimy and wheedling like he’s telling her all the reasons she should let him take her home, and the fury inside me grows until it’s a fire I can’t tamp down.
That girl can’t be older than twenty, and that man has to be forty at least.
What the fuck is he doing touching her like that? Why isn’t someone doing something? Why aren’t the police protecting her?
I go in swinging, my fists connecting with the man’s back and then his shoulder, and he flies to the side. I whirl on him, furious beyond reason, and am just about to go after him when I look up and see the horrified face of the woman who was standing next to him.
Helen Matthews.
My mind comes to a screeching halt. “Helen?” I ask hoarsely. “What are you...”
Wait. Helen Matthews standing here in the parking lot of the police station. The station Taryn asked me to come to because...
Because...
I turn slowly, the pieces coming together like they’re moving through cement. And when I see the girl standing there, I finally start to recognize her.
