Page 105 of Tell Me Something True

Tabitha shook the other woman’s hand. “Tabitha Ewings.”

“Ms. Ewings is with the county’s social services,” Miles added.

Tabitha let go of the woman’s hand and smiled at her. “Nice to meet you.”

“You, too. Though I wish I’d been more help. For you and for her,” she said, nodding at the girl. “And I really wished I’d gotten here earlier.”

Tabitha understood that. It seemed some days, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you did or how badly you wanted to help, it was never enough.

You couldn’t save everyone.

“You stopped him,” she told the other woman. “And you got her away from him. Believe me, you helped her.”

“Do you have any idea who I am?” the bearded man roared, and they all turned to see him wiggling wildly, twisting this way and that, struggling against the male cop trying to put him into the back of the police car. “I’ll have your badge and your ass for this! I’m going to sue your entire police department!”

Officer O’Neil sighed. “And now I guess I get to help Keller get our guy into the car.”

“When he’s secured in the car,” Miles told her, “have Keller wait with him while you finish up with the motel’s manager before going back to the station.” He nodded at her. “You did good, Rookie.”

“Doesn’t feel like I did enough.”

“I know. But it was. Now, go on. Do your job.”

O’Neil sent him a quick, grateful look. “Yes, sir.”

While O’Neil walked away, Miles faced Tabitha. “I’ll wait out here. Let you talk to her alone.”

Tabitha crossed to the doorway. Knocked on the doorframe the same way Miles had, but the girl didn’t move. “I’m Tabitha. I’m with social services and I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

She stepped inside.

And was immediately yanked back in time.

The room was hot and humid with two twin beds, one unmade, the stained sheets rumpled, the other, where the girl sat, covered in a faded red and green floral bedspread. An ancient tube television sat on a battered wooden console table, and a wooden chair with ripped upholstery was wedged between the console and the wall. The table between the beds held an ugly green ceramic lamp with a deep red shade, a notepad and pen and a huge black bible.

The air was musty and smelled of sweat and sex, as if those odors had built up over the years and now permeated every inch of soft fabric in the room. Lingered in the air.

Moving into the narrow space between the beds, she crouched into the same position Officer O’Neil had been in when she’d arrived.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked the girl.

No response.

Tabitha wasn’t surprised. The clients she worked with were either living in horrible conditions or were going through the worst times of their lives. They were angry and terrified and oftentimes in shock.

“Are you hurt?” Tabitha asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

The girl’s head jerked up. “No.”

“Okay. No hospital.”

The girl had a round face, smooth baby cheeks, and big dark eyes under thick eyebrows. She was chubby with bare legs and feet, the boxy sweatshirt covering her from the top of her head to mid-thigh. Her feet were filthy, her nails cracked and grimy. She had a painful looking purple bruise the size of Tabitha’s fist on the inside of her thigh. Around both wrists were angry, unhealed red marks, as if she’d been restrained.

She was maybe fourteen as Miles had guessed. But Tabitha suspected she was closer to thirteen.

And the only way she could pass as an eighteen-year-old, as that asshole had claimed, was if the person being told that was a complete idiot devoid of any rational thinking skills.

Or a sexual predator who got off by taking children to sleazy hotels.

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