Page 153 of Dead Man's List

“Hi, Amy. Why do you think he has a rash? Did you see one?”

“No, but he, like, did this. A couple of times while he was talking prices with us.” Amy pushed two fingers under the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt and rubbed her wrist. Then she tugged her sleeve into place. “That’s why I didn’t get into his car, honestly. I didn’t want to get a rash.”

“When did you see him?” Sam asked.

“Two weeks ago,” Dawn said.

“About that,” Amy agreed. “He was on the corner a few blocks from the high school in El Cajon.”

“That’s really helpful,” Sam said, taking out his phone. He jotted notes to himself, then looked up to find the girls watching him. “Just taking notes. I’m old, y’know.”

“You kind of are,” Dawn said, her sympathy clearly a sham. There was also challenge in her eyes. She was trying to see if she could provoke his temper.

Sam chuckled. “I can’t argue against facts. Did you see what he was driving?”

Let it be a tan Chevy Suburban.

“Big car,” Dawn said thoughtfully.

“An SUV,” Amy corrected. “Like a tan color.”

Yes!Neckbeard’s Suburban was tan-colored. Sam wanted to fist-pump the air, but then Amy swallowed and tears filled her eyes. “One of our group got into the SUV with him and didn’t come back.”

Sam’s heart squeezed painfully. “I’m so sorry, Amy. Who was it?”

“Daniella,” Amy said. “She hadn’t been with us long. Her not coming back scared the shit out of us. It was why we came here.”

Dawn nodded. “She was really young. Thirteen, fourteen.”

And you’re oh so old at what…sixteen?Sam’s heart squeezed again. “Dammit,” he muttered. “I’m glad you’re here, all of you. But I’m sorry your friend didn’t come back.”

“Is she dead?” Amy whispered.

Sam thought of the bodies he’d seen, their throats slit. But this might not be the same Neckbeard. “I don’t know. But I will ask my friends in SDPD to check this out.”

Dawn scoffed. “Like that’ll work. Nobody cares about us, especially not cops.”

“Kit does,” Emma said, her loyalty returning with a vengeance. “She’s a cop. Her parents are our foster parents.”

“Good for you,” Dawn said sarcastically. “So some cop with a heart of gold is trying to help the runaways. Big deal.”

“She was a runaway, too,” Emma said. “Grew up in foster care. She ended up with the McKittricks and now she’s got a career. Shecares. They allcare.” Her voice broke. “The McKittricks saved my life. Tiffany’s and Rita’s, too. They’re adoptingRita. They adopted Kit. And, maybe someday, they’ll adopt Tiff and me, too.”

Dawn’s eyes shifted from sarcasm to a childish vulnerability laced with a hopelessness that broke Sam’s already battered heart. “Good for you,” Dawn said huskily. “I mean, really.”

Sam had to help these kids. He wondered if Harlan and Betsy could handle a few more. If they couldn’t, he’d find someone else. A good place for Dawn, Amy, and the third girl, who watched them with wide eyes.

Dawn cleared her throat and tossed her hair back. “Anyway, that’s all we know. Hope it helps.”

“Me too.” He wanted to ask them if they’d come to SDPD and sit down with a sketch artist, but he knew that would send them running. “If I get some pictures of this guy, maybe some video, can you have a look? Maybe tell me if he looks familiar? Sometimes seeing a person move triggers a memory.”

Dawn shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”

“You’ll stay here tonight?” Sam pressed. “Don’t go back on the street?”

Another shrug. “It’s cold out. We get a hot meal here and a clean bed. We’ll stay another night.”

Relief swamped him, partly because he did need their help but mostly because they wouldn’t be on the street tonight. “Thank you.” He turned to Emma. “And thank you.”

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