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That catches my attention. “What happened?”
“Your girl is nuts. She was clawing at the windows, screaming like a damn banshee. I thought she was going to break through the partition at one point.”
I frown. “How is she now?”
“Quiet, at least. I don’t hear her screaming.” He sighs. “You can’t make arresting her a regular thing. I don’t think I can handle it. I’ve arrested dudes on PCP before and they had nothing on your girl.”
“She isn’t my girl.”
“Sure, sure,” he says quickly. “Your nanny. Whatever.”
I don’t exactly love that descriptor, either. She’s more to me than that, isn’t she?
When I think about it, I guess not. I barely know her. What should I care if she hated being in the police car or if she isn’t thriving in solitary confinement? Why should it bother me if Rooney thinks she’s nothing more than my employee?
By all accounts, he’s right.
“Just go get her,” I say aloud.
He huffs out a pouty breath. “Fine. But meet me in the back.”
I hang up and walk around the building. The precinct is in an L-shape that takes up half of the block. The other half is dedicated to a parking lot—most of the spaces are taken up by old police cruisers—and a fenced-in recreation area with rusting basketball hoops. There’s a white transport bus parked next to a dumpster. That’s where I find Rooney waiting for me. He’s propped open the back door with a rock.
“She’s right through here.” He turns and ducks inside. I follow him in. As he passes a door up ahead, he gestures to his right. That door is propped open, too.
“Through there,” he says, not turning around. “The key is on the floor and the cameras are rebooting for five minutes. She didn’t get booked on her way in, so no paperwork or nothin’ like that. Be out before they turn back on.”
He turns the corner up ahead, disappearing from view, and I go through the door he pointed out.
The light in here is much dimmer, so it takes my eyes a few seconds to adjust. When they do, I see a series of cells against the wall. They’re all empty.
Except for one.
In the center unit, I see a petite figure curled into a ball in the corner. Piper is rocking back and forth, her head wedged between her knees. Her soft whispers fill the air and echo off the cold stone floors.
Maybe a psych unit would have been the right call.
The key is in the middle of the floor. I bend over and grab it. The metal scrapes against the hard floor. At the small sound, Piper jerks her head up.
I meet her gaze. Her eyes are wide and terrified, her pupils blown so wide I can’t even see the green in her irises. She’s only been here for two hours, but she looks like a ghost of herself.
“What are you—” She gasps when she sees me, her mouth falling open. “How did you—where did you come from?”
I walk to the bars and slide the key into the lock. “There’s nowhere you can go that I can’t follow, Piper. Remember that.”
The thought should terrify her, but she is far too distracted by the tumblers in the door shifting and sliding.
In one breath, she launches to her feet and throws herself against the door to the cell. “Let me out. Please.”
“Why else do you think I’m here?”
“Really?” she breathes. “You’re letting me go?”
Up close, I can see tear tracks streaked down her cheeks. Her lips are bloodied and swollen from her chewing on them. Even now, she pulls one between her teeth and bites.
I step away. “That depends. What have you learned today?”
She grips the bars until her knuckles are white. “Timofey…I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Please, I—I can’t stay in here anymore. Timofey.”
