AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One thing is for sure, a girl like her does not belong in the neighborhood that I found her in. Young and beautiful, coming from a life of foster homes, she needs someone to protect her. She needs someone like me.
The officer turns and looks at me through the office door, signaling that he’s completed her interview, and I step out to collect her.
“Did he tell you what the next steps are going to be?” I ask her.
“He said the guy’s public defender will probably strike a deal for him. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll be required to go to court,” she tells me.
“And did he let you know that it could take up to a year for that to happen?” I’m hoping to lay her concerns to rest.
She nods and I lead her into my office.
“Have a seat, Ms. Richards,” I point to the chair that faces my desk.
She sits down and crosses her legs. I can’t help but imagine how nice they are underneath her baggy jeans. I try to shake the thought from my head because the case should be my primary concern, but looking at this petite blonde beauty with her C cups and frosty blue eyes is making it difficult to think about anything else.
She’s young and though she’s managed to stay alive on the streets, she has an unlikely air of innocence about her. Not that air-headed, eye-batting demonstration that so many college girls try to use to get out of speeding tickets but true pureness that triggers my protective instincts.
I clear my throat and look down at my desk, thinking that maybe if I stop looking at her, I can get back to the task at hand.
“I’m gonna cut to the chase, Ms. Richards. I know that you were with Ashley Morgan the night that she died.” She squirms in her chair and her eyes grow wide. “I don’t think you had anything to do with what happened to Ashley, but I do think that you know who killed her. Maybe you’re covering for him or maybe you’re scared that he’ll do the same to you if you talk, but I need you to understand that I won’t leave you alone until you talk to me. If you’re scared, don’t be. I promise that I’ll protect you. You have my word on that,” I tell her.
“What makes you so sure that I was there?” she asks me.
“Carrie. May I call you Carrie? You disappeared the night your roommate died. Everyone knows that you were there.”
“What’s your name?”
“Detective Christopher Cappella. You can call me Chris,” I reply.
“Well, Chris, what happens to me after I talk to you? I can’t go back to my friend's place. Even if I wanted to, she wouldn’t let me after all of this. Where do I go and how do you keep me safe?”
“You tell me what you know and I’ll take you somewhere safe. Nobody but me will know where you are. Not even my boss. You have my word. I’ll take care of you.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Let me prove it to you. We can go right now. We’ll do some first aid on those hands, get you fed and showered, and then, when you’re comfortable, you can tell me what you know about that night. Deal?” This move is an absolute violation of protocol and something that I would never do for any other witness, but I don’t care. Something about her twists me up inside, and I want to keep her close.
She looks at me for a moment then says, “Okay.”
If I request access to a safe house for her, the Chief is going to be all over me. He’ll put heat on me to get her to talk and then, once she tells me what she knows, he’ll put her back out on the street. That’s why I do the only thing that I know to do.
I keep my mouth shut about her and take her somewhere only I know about. Somewhere I can control what happens to her. I take her to my family’s cabin in the woods outside of town.
She sits in the passenger side of my car with her head against the window, and I wonder what must be going through her head right now. She’s had a rough life for sure, but that hasn’t seemed to harden her in any way. She must have been terrified night and day and, until now, she’s had to face this all alone.
I don’t just have a professional need to protect her. Every inch of my manhood demands that I keep her safe.
THE SAFE HOUSE
CARRIE
Chris takes me out of town and down a long, winding road into the woods. I’ve watched enough horror movies to know that this kind of trip doesn’t always end well, but for some crazy reason, I trust him.
He stops the car and gets out to open a large metal gate. We drive through and park in front of a log cabin with a huge wraparound porch.
“This place belonged to my parents. My sister and I inherited it when they died, but she doesn’t come up here anymore. She got married and moved to California. You’ll be perfectly safe here. Nobody even knows that exists,” he tells me.
“Do I have to stay out here alone?” I ask, listening to the sounds of the wilderness all around me.
