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An air freshener dangled from the rearview mirror of the cab, the flat yellow lemon swaying as the car turned a corner.
The driver, a man in his sixties with deep-set eye sockets and a nose that hooked down over wiry facial hair, peered at me in the rearview mirror.
He’d taken me home to drop off Riley and grab my sneakers, but when I climbed back into the backseat with a request for him to drive me to Brushwick, he twisted around to face me.
“You sure that is right place?” he asked in a thick Russian accent. “Maybe you have wrong address.”
When I confirmed the street name, he shook his head and pulled away from the curb outside my apartment. He didn’t say anything more about it, but he glanced at me in the rearview mirror every few minutes, as though hoping I might come to my senses.
Maybe this was reckless.
I didn’t have Sam’s badge or Jordan’s formidable presence to discourage threats. All I had was my pepper spray and a box cutter. I extended the stubby blade, not sure it would do much more than tick someone off, and then retracted it, stuffing it into my sweatshirt pouch.
I studied the map I’d printed out before leaving the agency, making note of the businesses in the area. Some of them were open late, which meant they were possible safe spaces if something went wrong.
“Excuse me, um . . .” I searched my memory for the driver’s name, but I wasn’t sure he’d given it to me.
“Andrei,” he supplied.
“Do you know anything about the businesses where we’re going?” I had collected the names and hours of operation, but none of their questionable practices would be listed online. “Are there any I should avoid?”
Brown eyes met mine in the mirror. “You should avoid whole area.” He returned his attention to the traffic, signaling the end of the conversation.
I sighed and refocused on my map. If I needed immediate help, I would have to take a chance on one of the businesses and hope the owners were good people.
The cab turned onto Brushwick and drifted to a stop behind a traffic jam of vehicles idling alongside the sidewalk, red taillights stretching into the distance.
Women, and even a few young men, huddled beneath building awnings and in recessed entryways to avoid the impending rain, flirted with passersby.
Andrei grunted in disgust and gestured to the van in front of us. “Man like this wonders why his family falls to pieces, all the while he is here.”
Plastered across the rear window in front of us were generic family stickers, depicting a husband, wife, and three children. The man could be home reading bedtime stories to his little ones or spending time with his wife.
A catcall cut through the air, and a young man in flashy clothes, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, sidled up to a truck and climbed into the cab.
The hot chocolate in my stomach curdled, and I dragged my eyes from the scene, reaching into my bag for my card. “How much for the fare?”
Andrei twisted in his seat to study me. “I can’t leave you here. You’re scared. I see it.”
I tried to steady my hand as I slid the card into the backseat card reader to pay the total that appeared on the screen. “This is where I need to be right now.”
“You are young, kind girl.” His brows dipped in thought. “I have cousin who owns restaurant. You waitress for him.”
I blinked in confusion, and then understanding dawned. He thought I was here to work as a prostitute. “Oh, I’m not . . . here for the reason you think.”
I couldn’t blame him for coming to the wrong conclusion, considering most of the workers were women and the customers were men. Why else would I be here?
“You don’t like waitress job.” He rubbed at his beard. “I have friend who is delivery driver. He can put in good word. This . . .” He waved a hand at the heartbreaking transactions taking place. “It is no place for you. No place for anyone.”
His passion to save a stranger from a path that held only pain and degradation kindled a spark of hope in this dark place. I hadn’t expected to bump into another compassionate soul tonight.
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m not here to work the street. I’m here to find out what happened to a missing girl who does work this street.”
Doubt crossed his face. “Truly?”
I grabbed one of our business cards from my knapsack and handed it to him. “Truly.”
He read the card and then cast me a doubtful look. “If I leave you here alone, you will end up missing girl.”
That was a terrifying possibility, and it was one of the reasons I had sent Jace a text to let her know where I was going and when I planned to be back. I asked her not to call anyone unless I didn’t make it home by my deadline. If she respected my wishes, I had about ninety minutes. If she checked her phone during the game and panicked, I had about thirty before she called everyone.
“I’ll be fine. Thank you. For the ride and for caring.”
“This is bad idea.”
Great. Even strangers were critiquing my plan-making skills now.
“I can take care of myself.”
Andrei released a phlegmy scoff. “I have nine-year-old grandson bigger than you.”
Of course he did.
“Since your mind will not be changed . . .” He scribbled a number on the bottom of a receipt and passed it to me. “I can come back if you need quick getaway.”
He said getaway like I was about to rob a bank. All things considered, that might actually be safer than what I was about to do. I accepted the slip of paper and stuffed it into my knapsack. “Thank you.”
“Good luck, little investigator.”
I climbed out, readjusted my knapsack over my shoulder, and closed the door.