Page 11 of Good Girls Don't Kiss and Tell

She set the phone down, and once the socks were in place, she smiled warmly. “I think you should put on the pants next, don’t you?”

The little girl smiled around her thumb.

Ten minutes later, the girl was bundled up as best Gracie could get her. The jacket she had was a joke, and Gracie ended up zipping her into her own coat. Although the little sweetheart didn’t exactly smell like a rose, Gracie forgot all about the order as she felt the bones of the child’s shoulder’s poking out. Her eyes pricked as the girl snuggled into her chest, realizing that someone had been starving her.

“Can you tell me your name?” Gracie whispered.

She didn’t answer.

“Don’t you have a name, pipsqueak?”

Gracie stepped outside just as two patrol cars pulled up in front of the house, and Gracie walked down the steps carrying her. The little girl still didn’t answer, and as Sam approached, the tiny body started to tremble.

“Hey, are you okay? That’s just Officer Sam. He’s really nice.”

Sam stopped a few feet away and smiled that wide, good old boy grin. He had a black beanie pulled over his thinning hair and a heavy police coat on. His breath fogged in front of him as he said, “Hey, Pumpkin. You don’t gotta be scared of me. I’m just a big kitty cat. Meow.”

Gracie felt the little girl bury her head into Gracie’s chest painfully, and she shrugged at Sam.

Rubbing the think back under her jacket, she whispered, “Why don’t you and I go sit in my car, turn the heat up high, and I’ll find some cartoons for you on my phone.”

Gracie passed by Officer Quinn Morgan, who she’d had one terrible date with, and smiled. He was a good guy though, so they’d decided they were better off friends.

“Hey, Quinn,” she murmured, aware of the terror radiating from the toddler. It was so strange that she hadn’t showed any fear of Gracie at the door, but was now petrified.

Quinn nodded. “Gracie. What were you doing here?”

“Delivering Thanksgiving dinners for the church.”

Quinn grinned at her, his eyes twinkling. “Aren’t you just Mother Teresa?”

Gracie rolled her eyes, and when she opened the car door, she unzipped her coat, but the little girl didn’t want to let go.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m just going to turn the car on.” Gracie put the keys in and thanked God the engine was still warm. Hot air blew out of the vents, and she slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind her. The toddler stayed glued to her lap, and Gracie moved the seat back to give them more room.

She searched through Hulu and found some Disney show about a cat that was a sheriff. The child just sat there, her thumb in her mouth, staring at the screen quietly. Gracie wished she had a brush to get the hair out of her dirty face, but could imagine how detangling that mop would hurt. Softly, she stroked the little girl’s back and arms, waiting on Sam.

A few minutes later, Sam and Quinn came out, and she rolled down her window. Tiny arms wrapped around her neck in a death grip and she mumbled low, soothing words.

“We need to bring her down to the station. Wanna follow us?” Sam asked.

“Sure, but I don’t know if she’ll let me go.”

“Have you gotten her name yet?” Sam asked.

“No, she hasn’t said a word.”

“I got a kids’ seat in the car. Hang tight while I grab it.” Sam jogged back to his car, and Gracie pulled back enough to brush the little one’s hair back off her face.

“Are you hungry, sweetie?”

Gracie could tell by the hollow of her cheeks that she was, but she still didn’t want to let go.

“I promise you, I’m going to take care of you and keep you safe.”

* * *

At the police station a half hour later, Gracie watched in horror as tiny hands shoved hunks of banana and donuts into the little girl’s mouth. Quinn had stopped off at Hall’s per her request, and picked up a couple things a child might like.

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