Page 25 of Feel Me

“Very little,” I admit.

“Then why do it, especially when you can get hurt or killed doing shit like that? Christ, Mel, invading crack houses, driving around the worst parts of town, that’s nothing short of suicide.”

“At the time, all I could think about was helping those who really needed me.”

“What about your dad? Don’t you think he needed you, too?” He holds a hand out. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But like I said, anything could have happened to you.”

He’s not being judgmental. At least, that’s not how I take. If anything, he seems concerned for my welfare even though the events happened long ago. It’s sweet and I do my best to assure him. “I usually hired a bodyguard to come with me?”

“Usually?”

Okay. He went from being sweet to thinking I’m crazy, not that I blame him. But now that I opened that can, I keep going. “Sometimes even bodyguards packing big guns, big muscles, and big attitudes were hesitant to enter the places I needed to search.”

“So you’d go alone?” he asks, barely able to get the words out.

“Never alone,” I say, thinking back to my more desperate cases. “But sometimes it was just me and another victim services advocate.”

“Another woman?” he asks. “Mel, again, I’m not trying to be a dick, but how do two women stand a chance against dealers and pimps bent on keeping what they feel belongs to them? I love Philly. It’s my home and heart, but I know firsthand how unforgiving it can be.”

In his last words, I catch a flicker of bitterness and maybe pain, too. I want to hug him, knowing those he loves have been hurt despite the A.D.A. title he holds out like a shield.

I don’t of course, watching with sadness as that flicker vanishes, leaving only the shield in place.

“I know what I did was dangerous,” I agree quietly. “But I was young and wanted to give these girls a chance that no else would.” I smile softly, even though these memories are nothing to smile about. They were the suicide missions Declan inferred. But it’s my way of assuring that that despite what I saw and encountered, I’m okay on the inside.

“I don’t get you,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask, taken aback how upset he appears.

“The odds weren’t in your favor,” he points out. “And like you said, your success rate was low.”

“Oh, my success rate was hideous,” I agree. “I think I only helped three people at most.”

“Three?” he stresses. “After all that you only helpedthree people?”

“I know it doesn’t sound like much, and it’s not given the absurd number who remained on the streets, selling themselves and wasting away. But to me, they were three people who didn’t die.” I shrug. “They got their chance at life.”

“Do you still go out like that, into those neighborhoods and abandoned buildings?”

Because I’ll officially kick your ass if you do, he doesn’t add.

My stare travels to the wall behind him, struggling to admit what I do. “No. Although I’m thankful I was able to help those that I did, I stopped going when I realized exactly how much I was risking compared to what I was getting.”

He lets out a breath, as if relieved. It takes me by surprise as does the kindness in his stare. “Good,” he says.

“I don’t know about that,” I reply slowly. “It’s like so many are on this sinking ship and there aren’t enough life preservers or boats to save them. Sometimes, I still want to be that person out in that ocean, pulling people onto my rowboat or tossing them a life preserver. But I can’t, not when I risk them pulling me under.”

“Or stealing your boat?” he offers.

I laugh a little. “Yes. That, too. But if I’m struggling to reach someone or get them to trust me, like with Tricia, I attend these ‘field trips’ as I call them.”

“Why is victim services so important to you, and don’t tell me it’s because it’s your job.” He threads his hands behind his head, scrutinizing me closely. “What’s your story?”

My lips part. Declan doesn’t know about me, only what he’s sees on the surface. I was sure Dad had mentioned at least a little about what I’ve been through. I guess I was wrong.

I adjust my position in my seat, that awful sense of unease I bury deep crawling uncomfortably along my skin. Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised Dad didn’t say anything about my past, he’s always been protective. But for some reason, I am. Probably because he adores Declan.

For a moment I don’t answer, wondering if I can trust this man that only days earlier, I could barely stomach. But when something softens in his features, I take a chance. “There are too many like me in the world, Declan. But most never get the help I received on that sinking ship.”

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