Page 1 of Special Agent Isabella

Prologue

She couldn’t breathe.

Every second he ground his body into hers, his savageness destroyed her faith in mankind. Rank breath, scratching beard, and the disgusting panting increased the crushing revulsion and fear she couldn’t get past. Shock began to overwhelm her. His hurting hands ripped at her clothes, and the inevitable moment came closer.

Then she saw the whites of his eyes. Delight at the violence of his actions widening them in the darkness. Her brain charged… a memory or a voice, or maybe just the fighting spirit she’d been born with kicked in. Acting in pure desperation and without thinking, she screamed in fury, worked her hand free and struck… gouging claws ripping at his eyes.

When the creep lunged off her to grab at his face, she shoved him aside, shot to her feet and ran for freedom.

So close. So… so close.

As she ran, lungs bursting for air, snot mixed with tears pouring down her thirteen-year-old face, she made a promise to herself. One day she would do something about other girls forced to suffer this kind of treatment.

For those who endured becausetheycouldn’t get away.

ChapterOne

Isabella Mendez had put in a full day’s work as an FBI agent, working out of the field office and hating every minute. Hunger and weariness joined forces, tempting her to drive straight to her apartment complex and call it a day.

Opening her hidden stash, she slid her hand into to the bag she kept on the floor in the back seat that contained her goodies. Being a car slob, she had empty cans, chocolate bar wrappers, and crumpled candy packages everywhere. Since she seldom drove her own vehicle to work, she kept her secret stash well hidden from everyone. Not that she gave a damn if her bad habit became known… okay, maybe she did. But not enough to clean up the mess. Considering everything else in her life had to be immaculate, she decided early on, she was allowed one shameful trait.

Rubbing her forehead, she imagined releasing her hair from the roll she pinned it in every morning so the escalating headache would release its grip.

Then she’d take a swim in the pool in her building, go upstairs to shower, and catch up on the latest series she’d been binging on for the past week. Anything to keep her mind from revisiting her suddenly boring days.

But… she didn’t drive in that direction. Instead, she headed to Fulton House to help Demi with the bunch of teens staying there tonight. The call she’d gotten an hour ago had determined this choice. Demi had been offhanded, not like herself at all. She’d enquired as to whether Bella would be coming later. Again… not like herself.

Isabella never met anyone more independent. Private about all things, Demi asking for help happened so seldom. And yet, her foster sister had called. So, now, Isabella would try to find out exactly why.

As she drove to the building that housed the homeless youths, ones that only had the streets to live on, but who came to Fulton to be safe, she wondered about the call and what it meant.

Demi had given her a few details about a hopped-up dopie called Hewie who’d arrived at the door the night before, stumbling, cussing, screaming insults, and demanding entrance.

Unable to talk him down, Demi had stood up to the kid, going into details about what she’d said. “I told him, don’t come here stoned out of your mind or falling-down drunk. Being rude and aggressive and expecting to be welcomed isn’t going to happen. If you can’t be respectful to everyone, and that includes the staff, then don’t come back till you can be.”

Normally, Bella knew no one was turned away if they truly had a need. But there had to be some limitations. Like carrying a weapon. The law in Arizona had a restriction on anyone under the age of 18 possessing or owning a firearm. Therefore, it was also the firm rule in this downtown Phoenix Fulton House.

Not that there should be a problem at this address because the Fulton House residency at this location only served those under eighteen. Other places were available for the older ages – sixteen to twenty-four. But rules make no difference when a messed-up youth is involved, as Bella knew from experience. Mostly, they dance to their own sick music. Especially those like the described Hewie, whose pickled mind cared only about the crap it craved.

Demi did say she’d gotten away from the creep, thanks to the other teens kicking in and getting the lawbreaker to leave. Otherwise, who knew what might have happened? Isabella felt her nerves tighten. She knew from experience, kids like the described Hewie were lightning rods, and could lash out with no restraints. Demi had been lucky. She might have been killed.

Waiting at the door to be let in, Isabella witnessed the cracked window and her leashed anxiety stirred. For months now, she’d been after Demi to get a security guard for the night hours, but she’d refused. Said it would scare off the kids if they saw anything like that.

In minutes, Demi unlocked the door, her expression agitated. As she stood aside, she kept her face turned away. But Bella saw the bruises on her cheek where her eye had been blackened and rage ignited. This young woman’s civic conscious knew no bounds when it came to helping kids and the thought of her being injured while trying to do that work seemed unconscionable.

“Hey, Bella. I’m glad you came.”

“Sure, no problem. You call. I come. As simple as that.”

Demi’s smile blossomed, not something seen very often and Bella’s urge to hug her foster sister had to be restrained. She knew how it would be received. Demi would stand like a stick and basically bear having someone touching her. Not wanting to stress her sister out any more than necessary, Bella just held out a hand that Demi gratefully took to lead her inside her small cubby-hole office.

“So, what’s happening?” Bella pointed significantly at Demi’s face.

“Bossy-boots.” Demi chuckled. “Always the cop. Can’t you give me time to offer you a coffee or even a sandwich?”

Bella laughed at herself and added sheepishly, “Sorry. It’s just that you seldom call me to come in if we had no arrangements for the night. And when you do, I know it’s because something happened outside your expertise. Usually something to do with a lawbreaker. I can see my hunch was right.”

“Stop looking at my face like your examining a victim. It’s fine. Like I told you on the phone, one of the kids came to the door in a mess and wouldn’t behave. He got a bit physical.”

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