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Not many have landlines anymore with the convenience of cell phones. Prez insists on keeping the line, though.
Zoe makes the call and I notice that for a toddler, Kieleigh sure as shit is quiet. She’s staring at the screen, almost like she’s in a trance, and I realize she’s about to fall asleep as her eyelids flutter.
Zoe frowns. “Thanks, Lou. Yeah. Okay. Talk soon.”
“The car is gone. She doesn’t recall if it was still there this morning or even yesterday.”
“Wonder if she took off?”
“Maybe, but I don’t see her leaving her baby with strangers.”
“Unless she anticipated she’d be taken care of by someone with a big heart.”
“I think that would have warranted a discussion or a note. A phone call. I don’t know. We didn’t talk much, and I only met her a few times. I’m sure she has family.”
“That’s a problem for later. Why don’t you take her up to a room so she can stretch out? I’m gonna check the footage of the parking lot and from the mansion.”
“Is that sanitary?”
“I’ll see if you can put her in Prez’s room.”
“Okay.”
“Let me take her for you.”
Zoe transfers Kieleigh to my arms. I can’t believe how small she is for her age. She weighs next to nothing.
“Do you want to take a nap, Kieleigh?”
She nods and rubs at her eyes.
“Doesn’t talk much, does she?”
“Probably a little shy and scared.”
Prez had no problem putting Zoe and the kid in his room until we figure out our next move.
The right thing to do would be to report her to child services, but then she’d probably end up in the foster system.
I don’t have all the answers right now. I’ve scrolled through the footage and Marie can be seen on camera driving her car off the lot around one in the morning. Where she went from there, I have no damn clue.
Bridger just rolled in. Sweaty palms. Shuffling around like he can’t stand still. Like a naughty kid would do. Guilt coats his expression, and I can’t help but wonder what he is so fucking nervous about.
“Have a seat, son,” Prez orders him and he complies. “Do you have any idea why I called you in?”
“Not really.”
“Not really, huh? Funny.” He walks around him, stopping when he’s directly behind him. Bridger gulps. Prez may be over fifty, but he’s one mean son of a bitch. “Heard you left your post about nine-thirty last night,” he grits in his ear.
“Had to take a piss.”
“That’s not all you were taking, was it?” His deep voice roars echoing through the room. “You’ve been trading sex for favors from the girls. Do you think you’re special and get a free pass? That you don’t have a job to do or have to pay like any other motherfucker that wants to get his dick sucked?”
“No.”
Prez grabs him by the back of the neck and gives him a rough squeeze. “No, what?”
“No, Prez.”
