Page 88 of Prey for You

Both men had their hands on her back, and their hands dwarfed her shoulders. Her head was down, just a little, messy ponytail sticking into the back of her jacket.

A blue dress hung out of the bottom of the jacket.

Skinny little legs.

White socks and sneakers.

She wastiny.Nothing.

A fucking child.

I wanted to cry looking at that picture. Actually weep.

Elbows on my little desk, I dropped my face into my hands and made myself breathe because my chest was getting tight.

Why hadn’t she told me?

She’d told me so many other fucked up things, and she couldn’t just look at me last night and say “Tomorrow’s the day my mother died?”

But then I looked up at that picture on my laptop again. She wasseven years oldwhen this happened. A fuckingbaby.I’d known that, but the reality of that fact hit me square in the face.

If she was regressing, falling back into memories and trauma, tipping backwards into the dark like a little kid falling into the well. Scared of her own shadow and…

If I hadn’t worked with women and prisoners for so long, I might have struggled to put my memories of the reckless, fearless Bridget together with a woman who couldn’t talk about the anniversary of her mother’s death. But Bridget had always avoided the hard things—and done scarier things to prove to herself that she wasn’t a coward.

It all made sense now.

At seven years old, we wereallobsessed with Christmas. Santa Claus, presents, yummy food, people getting together. Or consumed with the jealousy of those who got to enjoy that.

But she didn’t get to do any of it. Not ever again.

Forever, those sights, sounds, and sensations were associated with watching her mother die. Listening to her father threaten her life. And watching him kill other people too.

No wonder she’d been so tense lately. Frankly, I was stunned that she’d kept it together as much as she had..

Then I went still, remembering Jeremy in that bathroom.

No, idiot—you don’tknowher. I do. I’ve known her since she was a kid. She always disappears at this time of year. A few weeks later, she comes back. We knew it was going to happen and we’re handling the fallout.Forher.

I’d been wounded by those words. Seeing him know her better, not be surprised, or worried. He was handling something for her? Like she’d let him in on it, and left me out?

But I had an inkling in that moment that that wasn’t it. Not it at all.

They knew this time of year made her crazy… and they just let her be alone?

“What the fuck are you people thinking?!” I growled, my hands fisted on the laptop.

Know her? They didn’t know herat allif they thought letting her be alone right now washelping?

I shoved to my feet so fast my chair fell over backwards, but the moment I was upright, I froze again.

Where was I going to go? She hadn’t told me where she was. And I couldn’t go after Jeremy or any ofthatteam because they’d make it about the trial.

I started pacing, clawing hands through my hair, swearing,praying.I needed to find her. But how?

I yanked out the burner phone and called her again, leaving another voicemail.

“Babe… I just figured it out… what today is. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never looked it up. You should have—I mean… I want you to tell me. I want you to know you can tell me when this stuff is happening. I won’t freak out. I promise. But… fuck, Bridget, you’ve got me scared shitless. Where are you? Where the fuck are you? Tell me, I’ll come. I promise. I’ll make it work. Just… please… tell me. I love you. Call me—anytime. Day or night. Just call me.”

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