Page 71 of Daddy P.I. 3.0

“Logan promised nothing bad would happen to you but I did not,” Mac says, enunciating each word. “Don’t lie to us.”

She shivers and hugs herself tighter. “I’m not. My birthday’s in May.”

“Your sixteenth birthday’s in May?” Mac presses.

The girl nods.

“What’s your name?” I ask more gently. Guess I’m playing good cop.

“My club name’s Truly. True to my ... friends.”

I think Mac growls “ironic” under his breath but I ignore him.

“You’re too young to have a club name,” I say. “What’s your real name?”

The girl shakes her head. “Truly’s the name I’ve picked for myself. It’s the name inside me. If I tell you my outside name, you’ll turn me over to child protection. I’m not going back there.”

I glance at Mac. He looks back at me.

I sigh.

“You can’t keep breaking into the club,” I begin.

“Why not?” she flares suddenly. “I haven’t taken anything anyone will really miss. Just what I needed to survive. I’m not hurting anyone. I haven’t damaged anything. I won’t. I’m not like that. I just want a safe place.”

I start to say Sacrum isn’t a safe place but of course, that’s exactly what we want it to be. Every sign, every flyer posted around the club talks about safety, consent, risk-awareness. As soon as she stepped through the door, or climbed through the vent, she was surrounded by indications this place would keep her safe.

“The club could be closed down if anyone found out a minor was inside,” I say instead. And then a really awful thought hits me. “You said your friends call you True. Do you have any friends here? In the club? Have you been meeting anyone here?”

If she says “yes” and I find out one of the club members has been grooming this kid, I’m going to puke, and then kill them.

She shakes her head. “I heard about it at school, from some seniors who came. They said they tried things and it was safe and there were monitors and everyone was cool. They said the sandwiches were good afterward. I just wanted a safe place. And the sandwichesaregood.”

Thank goodness for small mercies.

“I’m sorry, you can’t keep coming here. We’ll ... we’ll find you another safe place.”

“Lo,” Mac grumbles, shaking his head.

“Come on, Mac. We can’t leave her here.”

“We can’t take her with us. What are you going to do, let her sleep on our couch tonight? You can’t. She’s a minor and you’re not a foster.”

Damn.

I rub the back of my neck, praying for divine inspiration.

A spark ignites and I pull out my phone. Tapping up my Blunts contact list, I thumb a number that I’ve called more lately than I want to but less than I should have, given our last interaction, which was decidedly unfriendly.

“Someone better have died,” Theo answers with a groan on the third ring.

“Sorry to call in the middle of the night, mate,” I say. “I have a situation at Sacrum. The thief’s a fifteen-year-old girl. She says she has no safe place to go. What do I do?”

“Call Jersey’s Division of Child Protection and Permanency.”

True bristles and opens her mouth. I hold up a hand. “Whatelsedo I do?”

“Lo, fucking motherfuck, it’s three in the morning.”

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