Page 35 of Bringing Chelsea Home

She silently released a sigh of relief. “An ass or a walk?”

“Both.” His smile stretched across his gorgeous face. “Can’t have one without the other.”

She laughed and said, “Youarecrazy.”

“Very nearly,” he agreed.

She started to hug him, but he stepped back. “Hold up,” he warned, easing the makeshift sling over her head. “Can’t have you messing up this fine garment.”

He dropped it to the floor and very, very gently slipped his arms around her, pressing his forehead to hers and his heart beating against hers was a welcome pleasure.

“Are we good?” she whispered her question, carefully placing her arms around his back.

“Yeah,” he said. “Do you think we should talk about that kiss?”

“Which one?” she teased.

“Dinner is ready.” Patrick called from the suite’s front door. He held up a large slow-cooker, oversize oven-mitts coming halfway up his arms. He squinted at them and asked, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” they said simultaneously and reluctantly Elaine stepped out of Griff’s embrace. “Where have you been?” she asked.

“Checking on this,” he said, holding up the pot. “And we need to check the fax machine. I just got a text from Griff’s aunt about short-term rental properties in the area, anywhere from three days to six months. She just faxed them over. Didn’t you get her text?”

“Guess I need to look,” Griff admitted and from the twist of Patrick’s lips, Elaine guessed the man was trying to hide his smile.

Delicious aromas teased out of the slow-cooker and Elaine asked, “Is there a kitchen downstairs?”

“A small one,” Patrick said cheerfully. “Started this bad boy early this morning. Hope you like brisket with ‘taters and carrots. I’ll put the rolls in the over and we can eat in fifteen minutes.”

He ambled to the kitchen and Elaine looked at Griff. “What do we do now?” She hoped her simple question got a simple answer.

Because there was another question, one that had nothing to do with their mission, but the unspoken one of desire hovering between them. It hung and pulsed in the air like the growing tension before a storm, threatening to break and shatter and release a torrent of emotion and need.

Griff picked up the sling and draped it over her shoulders. “Dinner, first,” he suggested. “Then we’ll look at what my aunt sent and see if we can eliminate where the girls wouldn’t be kept. After that–we’ll see.”

CHAPTER17

Still later thatevening

“I thinkthis rules out where the girls wouldn’t be saying,” Griff announced from the dining room table, pushing a pile of papers to the side. “We’ve looked at every bed and breakfast and Airbnb in Knoxville, Knox County, and two surrounding counties. Never knew there were so many. But I can’t see any responsible person with those kinds of properties renting them to a large group of young women coming into town for just a few days.”

“Unless The Cadre or Big Daddy plans on keeping them past the conventions,” Patrick called from the kitchen, where he was mopping the floor. He was restless, he had told them after dinner, and cleaning helped him re-focus.

“There is that possibility,” Griff agreed. He looked at Elaine, who sat at a smaller table, studying her laptop screen. She’d changed out of her sparkly dress and fancy shoes before dinner and now wore jeans, a white button-down shirt, and no shoes. She’d agreed to use the sling, so her left arm now rested against her, while her right hand manipulated the mouse from time to time. She looked fragile and vulnerable, but her gaze on the screen held all the determination of a woman who would not stop until she got what she wanted.

A sudden urge to be beside her drove Griff to take one of the dining table’s chairs and carry it to sit beside her and ask, “Whatcha doing?”

“Reviewing statistics on human trafficking nationally, regionally and locally,” she said, still staring at the screen. “Especially for children and teens. I’m always overwhelmed by the sheer numbers. As often as I tell myself it can’t possibly be true, I know it is.”

“As in, how could anyone be so sick as to hurt or molest a child or young person?” Griff asked.

“Yeah.” She canted her head toward him. “We’re supposed to protect and love children and keep them safe, not hurt them.”

“Aren’t a lot of trafficked kids runaway?” Griff tried to remember the literature he’d studied during his rehab at Better Days. “Running from abusive and neglectful homes?”

“Yes,” and he winced at the sorrow in her voice. “The childcare system can’t handle the thousands and thousands of cases of abused and neglected kids out there and no one seems to have a good answer on how to fix it. So, lots of kids who are abused or neglected at home, especially older ones run, hoping to find a better life. And they get caught or tricked by traffickers all too often.”

“But not Chelsea and Martin,” Griff put in quickly. “They weren’t abused or neglected.”

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