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“We have that in common,” I tell him.
“Doesn’t have to be that way, though.”
“We’re fixing to do some bad things to some bad people,” I growl. “There are men down your way doing one of the worst things people can. We’ve seen it. The reality of it. The containers and the conditions, the buckets and the screaming. Talking about me isn’t going to help that.”
“Jeez,” Liam says, then lets out a long breath. “Fair enough.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “Lately, I’m just…” I grit my teeth and unclench them a moment later. If I can tell some strangers in a bar, I can tell my friend. “I’ve met someone.”
“Holy f… That’s great news.” He sounds far more upbeat than I’ve heard him in years. “Why do you seem so damn pouty if you’ve found someone?”
“Because she’s nineteen, and we haven’t even met in person. She’s vulnerable, too. She has an addict for a mom, mixed up with the wrong people. I’ve put her and her folks up in a safe house. I can’t make a move on her. It’d mean taking advantage.”
“Says who?” Liam snaps. “That all depends on how she feels, doesn’t it? Listen, I’m no Casanova, but if I know one thing, it’s that the fairer sex really doesn’t like it when we treat them like babies.”
“She’s nineteen.”
“I’m not sure if you know this, bro, but nineteen means she’s a grownup. It means she’s capable of making her own decisions.”
“Remember Malta,” I say. “We saw tha—”
“I know damn well what we saw,” he snaps. “Some old creep with a young woman.”
“That creep was probably around forty, and that woman was probably around twenty. You judged them, and I think I did, too.”
“Because he looked like a goddamn weirdo and had his arm draped over her like he was trying to stop her from running away. Listen, I’m not saying I approve of big age gaps, full stop, but—”
“What? I’m different? I’m special?”
“It just so happens you are. After this job is done, you should try to meet her in person. I mean…”
“Say it,” I tell him. “It’s okay.”
“How can you say you’ve found someone when you haven’t met her?”
I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself ever since this started. How can I be so sure? How I knew, the second I laid eyes on her photo, that she was the woman for me. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m starting to think I’m going crazy. I’m starting to wonder if that’s what falling in love is—going absolutely nuts.”
“You need to bridge that gap,” Liam says. “Just listening to you… I can hear how badly you want this.”
“Yeah, I want it, but it doesn’t mean she does.”
“There’s only one way to find out…”
He’s right. After the phone call, I almost text her again. I almost tell her I want to see her tonight. It’ll be my last chance until we finish the human trafficking crap. Hell, if things go south, this could be my last chance ever.
But fear holds me back, plain and simple. The terror of knowing she might not feel the same.
CHAPTER 15
Katy
The day after Sam leaves for his work—it’s easier to think of it simply as work rather than the cold fact of what he’s doing—I sit in the cafeteria of a high-rise office building. It’s a fancy business, with a large cafeteria, almost like a restaurant. I sit in the corner, eating my homemade sandwich, swiping on my phone, waiting for Sam to text me.
After a few minutes, I go to our text conversation and start typing a message. I don’t want to bother you, but I just wanted to let you know I’m thinking of you. Good luck, and please come back to me soon.
I don’t want to distract him. I delete the message and bite my lip, staring at the conversation thread. I keep waiting for three dots to appear, letting me know he’s typing a message. I need to get a grip because he’s got way more important stuff going on. The last thing he should be doing is sending me a text.
Returning to my social media app, I keep swiping. That’s all I need to worry about—swiping and eating. Then, I can put my headphones back on and return to the oh-so-fun task of cleaning this giant building.
“Oh, good, another swiping addict,” a woman says in a British accent, sitting opposite me on the table.
I instinctively stand as if to move. As I’ve been lost in social media land, the cafeteria has become much busier.
“What are you doing?” the woman says, looking at me with narrowed eyes. She looks to be around forty if I had to guess. She has her dyed hair tied up in a bun, minimal makeup, and rings around her eyes. Maybe she went out last night. Her eyes are bloodshot, too. “You don’t have to leave. You haven’t finished your food.”
