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An ambulance whooped and passed us as we idled at a traffic light, reminding me of Luke’s advice this morning.
“Do you think we should call the local hospitals to see if anyone matching Cami’s description has been brought in?”
“I do. I already compiled a list of hospitals and clinics to call this afternoon. I’d like to be sure the girl we’re trying to find hasn’t already been found,” Jordan said.
If she was badly injured, unconscious, or scared, she could be lying in a hospital bed, unidentified.
I rested my head against the seat. “When we were in her apartment, I noticed the collage on her wall. It looked like a collection of dreams, places she wants to go, love stories she might wish were hers, things she wants to try.”
“I saw that.”
I angled toward him in my seat. “What are your dreams?”
He paused for so long that he was either trying to come up with dreams, or he was debating which ones to share with me. “Number one came true when I found my missing best friend. Number two I can’t tell you.”
“What? Why not?”
“For the moment, it’s something I’m not ready to share. Maybe someday, when the time is right.”
I couldn’t read his expression, but there was something in his tone that made my nose tingle with curiosity. It was hard not to pry, but everyone was entitled to private dreams.
“Is there a number three?”
“I want my business to succeed, and number four, if you can keep a secret, I wanna beat Sam at arm wrestling.”
“Mmm, I don’t think that last one’s gonna come true.”
Sam was obscenely strong. He was the person I would call if I needed help moving my refrigerator or lifting a car off a trapped kitten.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I can lie if it’ll make you feel better.”
“We both know you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life.” He threw a grin my way. “I can take Sam in almost every sparring match, but when it comes to brute strength, he’s got me beat.” Sam had everyone beat in that department. “Your turn.”
“I’d like to beat Sam at arm wrestling too.”
He snorted a laugh. “Sounds reasonable. What else?”
I had my private dreams, like falling in love and having children, but I wasn’t comfortable sharing those. “I wanna get my license and my GED, and . . . I wanna go to a prom.”
Jordan glanced at me, sadness creeping into his voice. “Those are all things you missed out on because you had to run, aren’t they?”
I shrugged, my mind traveling back to the day I came home from school and found Collin sitting in the living room with my foster mother. There had been rumors of a winter formal at school that day, and I had even flirted with the idea of going.
“I do have another dream,” I said, forcing my thoughts away from the difficult memories. “I wanna invent marshmallow ice cream.”
“I’m not sure if this’ll come across as good news or bad news, but marshmallow ice cream already exists.”
I gasped. “It does?”
“It does. I came across it at one of those chain ice cream places during college. I can’t remember the name of it.”
“I need to try it and test their flavor accuracy.”
“We’ll go marshmallow ice cream hunting on one of those ice cream trips I owe you for the rest of my life.”
We turned into the agency parking lot, and I dropped my feet to the floorboard, wiggling my sneakers on without bothering to untie and retie the laces.
Hope sat on the sidewalk in front of the door, my shoes resting beside her. She was no smaller than I was, but at the moment, she looked tiny and defeated.
The makeup around her eyes was smudged into dark shadows, and her hair poked out in every direction like hedgehog spikes, a sign that she’d been running her fingers through it and tugging at the strands.
She lifted her head and squinted at the car as a beam of sunlight glinted off the windshield. Pushing to her feet, she tried to smooth her hair against her scalp, but it was untamable.
Jordan assessed her with a quick once-over as he shifted the car into park. “Anything I should know?”
“She’s not like me.”
He smiled. “Nobody’s like you.”
My cheeks warmed. “I mean, she’s used to men interacting with her in a certain way, and she’s learned to use it to her benefit. Flirting and touching are second nature to her.” And they were far from second nature to me.
“Don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of her.”
“I’m not worried about you taking advantage of her,” I said, thinking about the payment arrangement she’d alluded to last night. I flung off my seat belt and climbed out of the car.
“I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back to your office,” Hope said, relief softening her shoulders. “I thought I should bring your shoes back now that I got some from my place.”
I took the offered shoes. “How are you?”
“Wiped. Rough night and morning, you know?” She started to drag her hand through her hair again but stopped herself, curling her fingers into her palm. “I heard you came around asking about Cami, but you came by yourself.”
There was an unspoken concern in her comment—she doubted I was capable of finding her friend on my own.
“Yeah, um, Jordan was busy, and I thought it was too important to wait. But he’s on board now.”
When Jordan’s car door slammed, I caught the subtle slackening of Hope’s jaw. “You get to work with that guy every day? Man, I’d pretend to be lost just so he could find me.”
I bit back a smile. Jordan was handsome, especially when he wore a shirt that accentuated the blue of his eyes—like today—but I wasn’t going to tell him that and make things awkward between us.
He joined us on the sidewalk. “You must be Hope.”
The flirty curve to her lips flattened when he said her name. My instinct was right; her name was something she guarded closely, a part of herself she didn’t share with everyone. “Yeah, that’s me. I guess I shoulda known you’d figure that out.”
Jordan unlocked and opened the door. “Ladies.”
Hope strode into the office, narrow hips swinging like a pendulum, and I blew out a flustered breath before following. This was going to be an interesting meeting.
Jordan ignored her sensual strut as he flipped on the lights and excused himself to make coffee.
Hope planted her hands on her hips, lips puckered to one side as though his behavior perplexed her. Spinning toward me, she whispered, “Are you two an item?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows pinched. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing.”
“So there’s something wrong with you?”
“No.”
“Is he gay?”
That question threw me, and I blinked a few times before responding. “No, definitely not.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
I folded my arms, frustrated with her questions. There were a lot of problems standing between me and Jordan becoming anything more than friends, and none of them were easy to fix. Besides, he deserved a woman without so many . . . issues. I couldn’t even sleep without a knife in my nightstand and a night-light attached to the wall.
Hope’s gaze dipped from my face to the locket resting against my chest. “I had something like this when I was a kid.” She reached out and touched it, sliding her fingers over the smooth metal and charms. “Mind?”
“Go ahead.”
She popped it open to see the picture inside. “This your family?”
“Yeah.”
“You got a twin, huh?” She squinted. “Which one of you is the one who looks like she licks all the cookies and puts ’em back in the jar?”
I grinned. “That would be me.”
“I figured you for the one in the cutesy dress and ribbons. Seems to match your personality.”
Boy, wouldn’t she be surprised when she got to know me. Gin had always been the sweet one. I, on the other hand, had been a cookie-thieving, rough-and-tumble mischief monster. Despite our matching features, no one in town ever confused us.
“My locket wasn’t super nice like this one, but it had a picture of me and my best friend. Livy and me were like sisters,” Hope said. “You and your sister still close?”
My heart cracked at the question. “No, she, um . . . she died a long time ago.”
“Tough break.” She clicked my locket shut and released it.
“What happened to your locket?”
“Mom stole it while I was swimming at the lake and hocked it so she could buy her sleazy boyfriend beer and cigarettes.”
“That’s awful.”
“I suppose it’s my own fault for not expecting it.” Hope wandered away to study the photos on the wall. Jordan had several of my photographs enlarged and framed, using them to decorate every wall of the lobby, even his office.
“What happened with your friend?” I asked, joining Hope as she studied the close-up of a bird launching from a branch and sending fall leaves showering down.
“All good things come to an end, right?” She twitched a shoulder to convey her indifference, but her tone betrayed the pain she still felt. “I don’t got the best of luck with friends. First Livy, and now Cami.”
“We’ll do everything we can to find Cami,” Jordan said, returning with two mugs of coffee. He offered one to Hope.
Her flirtatious attitude returned with his arrival, and she winked as she took the offering. “Thanks, handsome.”
“There’s cream and sugar on the counter if you want some. Help yourself.”
She nodded but made no move toward the counter. “I wanted to say thanks for taking the case and all. I’m sure Holly told you, I don’t got a lotta money to pay you, but . . . there are other ways.”
She laid a suggestive hand on Jordan’s arm. I tensed, wanting to rescue him from her unwanted advances. If they were unwanted. Hope was beautiful, even with her wild hair and smudged makeup.
Instead of pushing her hand away, Jordan stepped back beyond her reach, letting her arm drop back to her side. “Sorry, but no. I don’t consider that a form of payment.”
“Why not?” She sidled closer. “Holly said you two aren’t together, so she won’t mind, and I promise I know how to—”
He caught her wrist when she reached for him again, and I could see his struggle as a beautiful woman’s temptation collided with his morals. “Don’t take this as a slight, because it’s not personal, but I’m not interested, and that needs to be the last time you offer.”
Hope pulled her wrist free and stepped away, confusion and hurt in her voice. “What, I ain’t good enough for you? You think I’m trash or something?”
Her response had the ring of old wounds, insults that had been flung at her so hard they left scars.
I touched her shoulder. “Hope—”
She wrenched away from me, coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. “Don’t touch me. I wouldn’t want you to get your hands dirty handling the trash.”
The tears in her eyes squeezed my heart. “I don’t know who told you you’re trash, but they lied. And you don’t have to do that here.”
“Do what?” she snapped.
“Use your body like it’s something to be sold and traded. You’re not a method of payment or a piece of merchandise. You’re a human being.”
She huffed. “Yeah, tell that to every other guy I’ve met.”
“Point them out, and I will.”
She stared at me. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not bluffing?”
“She’s not,” Jordan confirmed, a twinkle of admiration in his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee.
Hope regarded me with wary curiosity. “I don’t understand you. You’re too nice to be a real person. What are you hiding? What’s the angle?”
“No angle.” I tucked my fingers into the back pockets of my jeans. “You don’t have to be Pixie here. You can just be Hope.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t exactly know who that is anymore.” She sank into one of the lobby chairs left over from the former doctor’s office, and I caught a glimpse of the vulnerable child she must’ve been before this life began eating away at her innocence.
Her brown eyes held a world of uncertainty, curiosity, and even a speck of hope that people might not be as cruel and heartless as she believed five minutes ago.
Jordan, seeming to sense that his presence would be more of a hindrance than a help, said, “I’m gonna make you some chocolate milk with marshmallows.” He walked to the counter by the mini fridge, giving us space.
I took the chair beside Hope, waiting to see if the silence would coax her into opening up. Finding Cami might be our goal, but helping this lost and broken girl was no less important to me.
“I was pregnant when I got caught up in all this,” she finally said, tracing the rim of her mug with the pads of her thumbs. “No money, nowhere to go, and this guy caught me trying to pick his pocket. He told me I was gonna work for him. Next thing I know, I’m three months pregnant and turnin’ tricks.”
“What happened?”
“Had my baby, took a couple of weeks off to, you know, recover, and then got back to work. Little man’s five now.” Love softened her face. “I know I don’t deserve him, but he’s the best thing in my life. Before him, I was a nobody with nuttin’ who lived in a trailer.”
“There’s nothing wrong with living in a trailer.”
“There was a whole lot wrong with living in that sardine can,” she said, and pain flitted through her eyes.
A nauseating possibility struck me as I realized how young she must’ve been when she got pregnant. What had she called her mom’s boyfriend? Sleazy?
I swallowed the question on my tongue and chose a different one. “What’s your son’s name?”
“Tyler. Kid loves dinosaurs. He goes straight for the dinosaur books at the library so he can look at the pictures. He’s real smart, gonna be real successful one day. He’s gonna meet a nice girl his age and have a good family and a good home life.”
Silence stretched before I asked, “What more can you tell me about Cami’s home life? We know she ran away two years ago when she was fourteen, but we don’t know why.”
Hope took a sip of her coffee. “Her mom got remarried to some religious nut. He called Cami a filthy sinner every time she wore or did something he didn’t like, and he used to lock her in a closet until she repented. Can you even imagine?”
Unfortunately, being locked in a small space was something I was intimately familiar with, and my stomach churned at the thought of little Cami trapped in a closet, sobbing and pounding on the door.
“Her mom was so in love that she didn’t believe Cami when she told her what her stepdad was doing. That’s why she ran away.”
“Is it possible her mom or stepdad realized she was here and came to take her home?” I asked.
“I was thinking about that all last night. Cami hasn’t talked to her mom in years. She felt real betrayed. But if that psycho figured out what she’s been doing the past two years and came here to get her . . .” She pinched her lips. “I know she wouldn’t go with him willingly, and she definitely wouldn’t not text me back.”
She retrieved a crumpled slip of paper from her skirt pocket and passed it to me.
“This is her mom’s number. Cami gave it to me in case anything ever happened to her, but I can’t talk to those people. Maybe you could call, and if you find out she’s there, you could send a rescue party or something.”
Jordan returned with my cup of chocolate milk and marshmallows and handed it to me. “Did I get the marshmallow to milk ratio right?”
I peered into the thick layer of bobbing marshmallows. “I mean it could use one m . . .” He plopped another marshmallow into it, and I laughed. “How did you know I was gonna say that?”
“Because I know you.”
Hope peered into my cup. “That’s nasty.”
“No, that’s nasty.” I pointed to her coffee before taking a sip of my drink and chewing on a marshmallow. Who cared if no one else understood this combination of sweet perfection?
Jordan dragged another chair over and sat across from us, seriousness chasing away the lighthearted moment as he said, “We spoke with Dorina this morning, and she said a man came around asking for Cami.”
Hope tensed. “Her stepdad?”
“This guy was in his twenties, comes from money, well educated.” He repeated the physical description Dorina had given. “Does he sound at all familiar?”
She shrugged. “You got any idea how many guys come through there every night?”
“This guy was in a car with a group of friends last night, when they tried to pick up Holly. Dorina thinks they may have been driving the same car Cami climbed into Thursday night.”
Hope turned to me. “Who are they?”
“We don’t know yet,” I said. “That’s what we need to figure out. Dorina thinks these men could’ve approached other young women on the street. Have any groups of guys tried to pick you up?”
“You’re kidding, right? College boys, sometimes high school boys, bachelor parties. I don’t do groups, but they ask.”
Jordan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Have you noticed anyone suspicious hanging around?”
“There’s always creeps hanging around. Sometimes they get out and make trouble, and sometimes they sit in their cars and get their fix by staring at us like we’re zoo animals.”
“Did Dorina tell you what happened to her last night?” I asked.
Hope’s gaze bounced between us. “What are you talking about? I saw Dorina this morning, and she was fine.”
“A man grabbed her and tried to shove her into a van around two a.m.,” I explained.
Hope’s eyes widened. “She didn’t say nuttin’ about that earlier.”
“We’re not sure there’s a connection with what happened to Cami, but the timing and . . .”—Jordan hesitated—“the profession of both women makes it hard to dismiss.”
“Hang on.” Hope set her coffee mug on the side table. “Don’t get me wrong. I really like Dorina. I might even consider her a friend, but she’s like fifty. Whoever tried to take her is not the same person who took a sixteen-year-old girl. You need to forget Dorina and focus on finding Cami.”
“We have to consider every angle, Hope,” I said, drawing on a phrase Marx had used on me when I questioned the direction of his investigation.
“That’s not an angle. That’s the wrong direction. This guy . . . either Cami’s stepdad sent him ’cause there was no way she would get in the car with him, or he’s a random psycho, and he did something to her. Or maybe he left her somewhere and somebody else did something to her. She could be locked up in some crazy guy’s basement, and you have to find her.”
“We’re trying,” I said.
“Well, try harder.” Hope leaned forward and stared at the floor, taking a moment to calm her temper. She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. “I was supposed to look after her. From the moment TJ brought that fourteen-year-old girl over to my spot on Brush and told me to show her the ropes, I’ve been watching her back.”
“This isn’t your fault. Sometimes bad things just happen.”
“Yeah, they sure do.” She straightened and blew out a breath. “I wanna help however I can, but right now I gotta go home. I’m dead on my feet, and I only got a few hours to get some sleep before I pick up my son from day care.” She stood. “I don’t suppose either of you might wanna give a girl a ride home.”
Jordan rose and set his mug on the reception counter. “Sure.” He glanced at me. “You coming?”
“I can’t. I have another appointment.”
I couldn’t tell him that my appointment was the food pantry, because it would add to the weight on his shoulders, and it would lead to another round of bickering about my paycheck.
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Jordan held open the door to the parking lot.
Hope grabbed a pen and one of the business cards from the reception counter, scribbling down her number before passing it to me. “In case you learn something about Cami.”
She walked past Jordan with barely a fraction of the hip action she’d displayed while entering, and it gave me hope that she might tamp down her flirtations while he drove her home.
As they turned out of the lot onto the street, I flipped open my phone and dialed the number on the slip of paper Hope had given me. The phone rang and then rolled over to a generic voice mail.
Telling the woman over voice mail that her daughter had possibly been kidnapped seemed inappropriate, so I left a vague message. Hopefully she would be the one to return my call and not her husband.
I wasn’t telling that man anything.
Grabbing my knapsack, I shut off the lobby lights and locked up before walking to the bus stop to catch a ride to the food pantry.