Page 70 of Concealed

Commercial sexual exploitation has atrocious prosecution rates, but we need to change those numbers with every case. And blowing it with my temper is not going to help. Tonight, I need to play by the rules.

“Slow and steady,” I repeat, but my head is in a tunnel.

Every sound that I should be hearing except for Grant, Dean, and Maybe-Wang-Yong’s voices is gone. I’m in a laser-focused vacuum, and I already want to kill the son of a bitch.

With my bare hands.

“I’ll be right here,” Grant assures me.

“People think it could never happen to their kids, or that it isn’t their husbands paying to have sex with other people’s kids,” I sputter. “But a lot of times, the clients are forty-year-old suburban men on so-called business trips. They could be doctors, lawyers, or your local refrigerator repair man.”

“That’s right,” Grant agrees.

“These girls are raped by hundreds of men,” I continue. “Sometimes, even thirty men a night. The perps make money repeatedly on the same product – human beings. And no one really gives a shit.”

“I know,” Grant says quietly. “Keep your head, Harrison. You can’t help anyone if you lose your job and get arrested yourself.”

One big breath in.

One big breath out.

I’m not letting anyone down tonight.

“I’ve got this,” I promise.

“I know you do, or you wouldn’t be beside me.”

And a burst of pride pops through my mental tunnel vision, making me want to do even better now. Grant doesn’t have me with him just to watch me because he doesn’t trust me. He wanted me as his partner tonight because he knows I’m a good cop.

And that means something.

I’m not fucking this up.

We’re driving out of Sunnyville now and heading towards LA, my familiar stomping ground.

“I’ll take care of you,” Maybe-Wang-Yong is saying to Dean. “You don’t need your mom. She’s always out turning tricks anyway. You could have an awesome life just hanging out with me. You’d never be alone again. We could travel and buy everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Dean asks.

“I just want you to be my girlfriend,” Maybe-Wang-Yong says. “And girlfriends do nice, helpful things for their boyfriends, right? Just small, little favors. And then I’ll buy you whatever you want, and we can go do anything you want.”

Asshole.

He’s glorifying pimping to make it sound perfect to a neglected kid who has nothing to lose.

He tells her stories about jewelry, designer clothes, global travel, and so much money that she’ll never have to go to school again. He promises to give her everything and do everything for her, unlike all the adults in her life who have let her down.

He’s different.

And he already knows she’s special.

A desperate, vulnerable young girl would believe every lie spewing out of his mouth.

We’ve arrived in Skid Row, a neighborhood from my old world that I know very well. The driver pulls the car into a garage, and as the door closes, my heart stops.

It’s really happening.

We’re going to have to smash the front door down to get Dean back. The timing is delicate, though, because her companion needs to verbally bury himself first, or else all of this effort was for nothing.

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