Page 127 of Lone Star

“What?”

A rap sounded at the door, and both of them called “come in” together.

The door opened, and booted footfalls moved forward. Axelle said, “Oh, wow, you’ve got a whole apartment back here, kitchen and everything.”

Michelle scooted closer to Jenny on the sofa and patted the spot she’d vacated. Axelle sat down a moment later.

“You heard?”

“Albie had a text. That’s the house?” She nodded toward the TV.

“Yeah, the media are all over it,” Michelle said. “Eden said they found millions worth of cocaine in the garage.”

“Shit,” Axelle swore.

“But no girls.”

“Yeah, what girls?” Jenny asked, for the second time.

“Eden said Fox checked the whole upstairs. They found Dr. Gilliard tied to a chair, sitting in his own warm piss, but, unless the feds found them in one of the outbuildings and no one knows it yet, there weren’t any girls being trafficked through that house, and we know they’re trafficking girls, so there’s another location.”

“Gwen said they were doing it,” Axelle said, nodding. “But she could have been lying.”

“People like this, doing what they’ve done, whywouldn’tthey be trafficking girls?” When Michelle glanced over, Axelle tipped her head in concession – and Michelle took her first good look at the other woman.

Her hair, scraped into a loose ponytail, was still damp, her face freshly-scrubbed and pink, without makeup. She’d clearly just had a shower, and still smelled faintly of coconut shampoo. She wore her own clothes, broke-down jeans and a fitted Ramones t-shirt under a flannel. An old pair of Nikes with pink soles that clearly didn’t belong to Michelle’s uncle. But the way her gaze shifted over, and her cheeks got pinker, she might as well have been wearing nothing but Albie’s shirt and a few hickeys.

“What?” She looked like she tried not to squirm.

Michelle grinned.

“What?” Jenny asked, too, and shifted forward to peer around Michelle’s shoulder. Then she chuckled. “Ah.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Axelle griped, blushing furiously. “You don’t know anything.”

Michelle chuckled into her coffee. “Don’t we?”

“No.”

“That’s a yes,” Jenny said, laughing.

Axelle grumbled something unintelligible and looked pointedly at the TV. She wasn’t frowning, though.

The door opened and closed again, and a moment later Eden strode around the couch so she was facing them. She propped a hand on her hip, and though her gaze was direct – a quick glance at the screen and then toward them – Michelle could see that she was running on pure adrenaline. There’d be a crash, eventually, but that was what caffeine was for.

“There’s coffee,” Michelle offered, by way of greeting, motioning toward the counter where the Keurig sat.

“Yeah, thanks.” She turned to sort through the array of pods.

“And your fly’s unzipped, by the way.”

Jenny and Axelle both stifled sudden snorts in their hands.

Eden went very still, hand poised with a K-cup in it. Then, slowly, she set it down, and zipped her jeans with a quick movement. Cleared her throat, and loaded the machine. “Right, so.” Mug under the spout, press of the button, and she turned to face them, arms folded. Her fly was zipped, and her expression gave nothing away, but a telltale pink flush darkened her cheekbones. “The girls.”

“That’s what I was just saying,” Michelle said.

“If y’all are gonna play Sherlock Holmes,” Jenny said, “like you’re so much smarter than us, it’s gonna get real old, real fast.”

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