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My father nods. “We'll have everything in place by the end of the day, and a full dossier. Whatever resource you need is yours.”
Good. With a bit of luck, I might just save the girl’s life.
I doubt she’ll thank me for it when I’m done with her, though.
ChapterThree
I have been very careful to conceal my employment. Thorn Falls might be a larger town, but rumors run rampant if left unchecked, and I can’t afford a reputation. Lola has one, and I’ve seen her brothers get into so many fights because of it. I don’t give a shit about what the people here think of me, but I don’t want my job to haunt Willow’s footsteps.
I walk to my rusty bicycle, unlock it, and ride home, a weight lifting off my shoulders. It’s done. I don’t work at Silks anymore. I’m free.
Finding a new job isn’t going to be easy in this town, especially since I don’t have a work history. I never intended to use a reference from Silks, and no one expect someone eighteen years old to come with years of previous employment, so punching Bernard is inconsequential.
I should try the florist. My friend Erica used to work there, up until she got engaged to one of the biggest wallets in town. I didn’t try to get her job when she quit back in January because Silks paid a lot better, and her boss only offered her about two hours of work per day. Still, considering my bank balance, I can’t afford to be choosy. Willow needs her meds, and we both need a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. My savings can support us for a month, but not much longer. Maybe they still need help.
Thorn Falls is situated in a cluster of peaks, which is picturesque, except when you’re cycling uphill to reach the trailer park. My place is at the very end of the west side, as far away from the gaudy McMansions of the riverside as possible. That way, the wealthy folk can forget people like me exist.
I notice the sound of the sirens before I see the police lights. I speed up, my heart heavy in my chest. It definitely sounds like it’s coming from the park.
I try to reason with myself. If there is an issue, it could be any of the thirty-something trailers in Bellerive Park. It doesn’t have to be mine. Willow’s fine. She is. There’s no other alternative.
And yet, when I arrive, the three police cars are parked right in front of our trailer. Willow’s in the back of one of their cars.
Along with my mother.
“What’s going on?” I cry, dropping my bike to rush to my sister.
A burly man in uniform blocks my path. “Miss, we are in the middle of an investigation.”
What the fuck? “That’s my sister in there,” I seethe. “She’s a minor. You can’t do this. She didn’t do anything.”
Willow’s a bookworm; her biggest offense is reading entire trilogies in one night when she has school the next day.
“Are you Ms. Morgan Brown?”
My stomach sinks. Why does he know my name? They could be here for me. That doesn’t explain what Willow and our mother are doing in the back of the car.
I remember worrying every police raid was meant for me for years. Then, one day, they came for my father. He was locked up for dealing three years ago, and since then, I’ve stayed far away from shit that could get me in trouble. I commit only one offense: working under someone else’s name. I used Lola’s ID because she was eighteen back when I applied at Silks. We don’t really look alike; she has green eyes, while mine are blue. We’re both blonde, but she dyes her hair pink. Vinnie didn’t spare more than a glance at the ID, and he paid cash, so I got away with it.
“Why?” I’m reluctant to confirm my identity without more information.
“You’d better come to the station.” The man takes my wrist and starts to lead me to a different cruiser than the one my mother and sister are locked inside.
What is it tonight with men who think they can touch me? “Let go of me!” I pull my arm back. “Am I under arrest?”
His brows knit. “No, Ms. Brown, but your mother is. And as Ms. Willow Brown is underage, she has to stay with a foster family for a time. If you’ll follow me—”
No fucking way. “I can take care of Willow. I’m nineteen.”
The policeman sends me a condescending look. I want to hit something. That’s not likely to help, so I just get into the car, fuming.
What is going on?
I’m relieved the police cars are on the move shortly after. My mind runs a thousand miles per hour, trying to guess what my mother could have done. Soliciting? Possibly. Stealing? Likely.
Fuck. How can I fix this?
We park at the back of the station and they usher me inside like I’m a criminal. “Where’s my sister?” I demand.
