Page 31 of Sinful Sorrow

“She was visiting persons who are of interest relating to other cases.”

“Hence, she became a victim,” I grit out. “We don’t blame someone for being hit by a car, by questioning their need to be on the road.”

“Charlie?” Jada lifts our hands and cups my cheek. It’s a kick to the guts, and yet, a gentle caress for my heart. “You need to relax. They’re trying to help me.”

“They’re trying to blame you for being assaulted!”

“They’re trying to get a picture of everything that happened. I know you’d do the same.” She drags her focus to Hutchins and gently nods, her breath catching when the movement clearly hurts her injuries. “I was at a house that has people in it who do bad things.” She licks her lips and swallows. “They sell things to people and make money doing it.”

“What things?” Stevenson presses. He wants the word. He wants her to say it. “What things do they sell there, Ms. Watson?”

“All kinds,” she rasps. “All of the things I was never brave enough to say in front of the man who once loved me. Because he’s a cop, and those things are illegal. Guns,” she sighs, as though the admission brings her pain. “I know they sell those sometimes. And drugs, too. But not the standard kind.”

“Standard how?” Hutchins persists. “What do you consider standard?”

“Like… pot for the beginners. And cocaine for the rich.” She looks across and meets my eyes, tears glistening in hers and spilling over to dribble along her temple. “There’s a gap in the market for affordable and powerful. So they cook meth there, too.”

“Why did they hurt you, JJ? What happened?”

She only shrugs, lifting a single shoulder while the other, the one in the sling, remains still. “I didn’t have enough money to pay. And I didn’t want to go to bed with them anymore.”

My lungs spasm, sucking in a deep clutch of air as my temper boils in my veins. She was being used as a fuck doll in exchange for her next hit. Which isn’t even surprising to me, really. It’s not like I didn’t already think it. But to have it confirmed, to know the girl I once gave everything I am to, is now this… this woman who sells her body for a high, and gets the shit kicked out of her when she says no…

“JJ…” I release my breath and feel bad when the air pushes her hair back. “It didn’t have to go this way.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, attempting to drop her hand. Though I reinforce my grip and hold her close. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”

“Can you tell us who hurt you?” Stevenson speaks up again, firming his voice so he’s heard above the din of a busy hospital. “Ms. Watson? Who, exactly, did this to you?”

Her chest heaves as she cries. It’s soft. Almost silent. These aren’t the tears of a scorned woman searching for attention. But a broken woman, desperately wishing she could go back in time and do things differently.

But she chokes it down. Then she looks at Hutchins and works to firm her voice.

“My arm,” she looks down at the one in the sling. “That was a guy named Tio. And my ribs,” she looks at the other side of her body, “his name was Jorge. My face,” tears slip from her eyes and join the others on her cheeks, “I think his name was Cale. Or Gale. It sounded like that, but I never asked for clarification.”

“Several men hurt you?” Stevenson confirms. “At least three?”

She nods, sad and broken. “And a couple of others, too. But they were doing it because Nathan told them to.”

“Nathan?” Hutchins writes in his notebook, scribbling letters just like I’ve done a million times on the job. Rushing to get details down, but not wanting to interrupt the flow of information once a victim or informant is finally speaking. He looks up from his paper, lifting a brow in expectation. “Nathan who?”

“Booth.” Her eyes flicker to mine, almost like she thinks that name means something to me. “Nathan Booth did it. And now I want to go home.”

“Do you have somewhere you can go?” Hutchins closes his book—for now, but I know he’s not done—and sets his hands in his lap. “Can we call your parents to come pick you up?”

“She can come with me.” I hold her teary stare and nod when hers spark with something. Hope, maybe. Disappointment, possibly. “If you wanna,” I add quietly. “No pressure. But if you want to, you can come stay with me and Moo until things calm down and you’ve had time to heal.”

“I don’t want to do those things anymore, Charlie.” Her hand shakes in mine, the tremor rolling all the way down her arm and into my shoulder. “I want to get clean. Properly.”

“I’ll help you.” I press my lips to the top of her hand and hold her still. I try to take the shakes from her and hold them within myself. “I’ll call up that place again and get you back in. I’ll pay for the whole program. I’ll do anything to make sure you’re okay, JJ. For Mia,” my voice crackles. “She deserves to have her mom back.”

ARCHER

Imake my way back to the George Stanley around five o’clock, because our workday is ending, Minka is fresh with Factor and determination, and Fletch is still MIA.

He’s okay—his periodical, and completely vague, texts prove it—but he’s busy, and I’m getting nowhere with our case as thoughts swirl around inside my mind and yet, answers evade me.

Maybe Naomi wasn’t our target. But maybe she was. And maybe she had no enemies. But rarely do enemies announce themselves. She was expecting a baby, and hoping to carry herself, and Mason, through college so they could have everything: the education, the NBA career, the family, and the happily ever after.

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