Gina Brayden’s face came to mind. She hated these cases even as she was drawn to them with the need to help. “Runaway? Boyfriend? Drugs?”
Vince parked the cruiser in the driveway. “Her parents say none of the above, that she’s a good girl.”
They always were, thought Jordan. Even the ones that were thrown away. She got out of the car, hitched her belt, and looked at a pleasant split-level house. Flowers bloomed along the tidy walkway. The manicured lawn and clean front porch told visitors it was a welcoming house and well cared for. But Jordan knew how deceiving outside appearances could be. Sometimes the best houses held the dirtiest secrets. She’d seen it before. She motioned for Vince to take the lead when the worried mother with red and swollen eyes appeared in the doorway.
She didn’t feel good about this, not one little bit. Jordan steeled herself for the interview with the missing girl’s tearful parents.
As she drove by the 7-Eleven on her way home, Jordan searched the faces in the shadows instinctually for the missing girl, even though she knew deep down this particular girl wasn’t a runaway. There would be no easy resolution to this case. She had a hunch that this one was going to end badly.
She tried not to attach stories to the kids she did see, the ones hanging out on the street at a time normal parents would want them tucked safely in bed. To get personally involved only caused pain, and usually a great deal of it. Jordan lost more runaways than she saved. How many times had she pulled kids off the street and returned them to their parents, only to see them back on the streets two days later? For some of these teens, the streets were safer than their homes. It certainly had been for Jordan when she was growing up.
Gina hadn’t been the first missing person she’d been assigned to, but Jordan had gotten so emotionally involved with the runaway that when she appeared to have dropped from the face of the earth, Jordan felt something inside her break and shatter. A piece of her soul was gone, missing the same way the child herself was.
Jordan entered the hall and heard voices in the stairwell. It was after eleven, and most people were usually in bed at that time. She recognized Steve’s voice first, then Agnes’s, but wasn’t close enough yet to make out the third or what they were saying. She rounded the landing and resigned herself to making small talk.
Steve’s door shut, and Jordan was relieved to see no one between herself and her apartment. She was tired and hungry, and wanted nothing more than to eat her takeout teriyaki and kick her feet up in private.
The laundry basket with her neatly folded clothes sat in front of her door, reminding her of what happened earlier in the basement. She juggled her food with her keys and kicked the basket into the apartment. She took a quick shower before heating her dinner in the microwave and settling on the couch. She had just flipped the television on and had the first bite to her mouth when she heard the knock on her door.
“Are you flipping kidding me?” Jordan stalked to the door and swung it open. “Seriously? Do you know what time it is?” The words were barely out of her mouth before she was stunned by the sight of Sunny standing in front of her, holding on to the door frame, her eyes glassy. A microsecond later, her eyes rolled back and she swooned. Jordan barely managed to grab her arm before she fell to her knees. Steve rushed out of his apartment.
“What is it with you, Jordan?” Steve asked before sweeping Sunny up in his arms and pushing past her into the living room. “Do you kiss them and make them cry too?”
“He’s right, dear.” Agnes entered and patted her arm. “You made me faint as well.”
Jordan followed, then stood next to the couch. Once again, she felt like she’d been dropped into the middle of a play already in progress and she had no idea what her lines were.
“Here she comes. Where’s your
Vince parked the cruiser in the driveway. “Her parents say none of the above, that she’s a good girl.”
They always were, thought Jordan. Even the ones that were thrown away. She got out of the car, hitched her belt, and looked at a pleasant split-level house. Flowers bloomed along the tidy walkway. The manicured lawn and clean front porch told visitors it was a welcoming house and well cared for. But Jordan knew how deceiving outside appearances could be. Sometimes the best houses held the dirtiest secrets. She’d seen it before. She motioned for Vince to take the lead when the worried mother with red and swollen eyes appeared in the doorway.
She didn’t feel good about this, not one little bit. Jordan steeled herself for the interview with the missing girl’s tearful parents.
As she drove by the 7-Eleven on her way home, Jordan searched the faces in the shadows instinctually for the missing girl, even though she knew deep down this particular girl wasn’t a runaway. There would be no easy resolution to this case. She had a hunch that this one was going to end badly.
She tried not to attach stories to the kids she did see, the ones hanging out on the street at a time normal parents would want them tucked safely in bed. To get personally involved only caused pain, and usually a great deal of it. Jordan lost more runaways than she saved. How many times had she pulled kids off the street and returned them to their parents, only to see them back on the streets two days later? For some of these teens, the streets were safer than their homes. It certainly had been for Jordan when she was growing up.
Gina hadn’t been the first missing person she’d been assigned to, but Jordan had gotten so emotionally involved with the runaway that when she appeared to have dropped from the face of the earth, Jordan felt something inside her break and shatter. A piece of her soul was gone, missing the same way the child herself was.
Jordan entered the hall and heard voices in the stairwell. It was after eleven, and most people were usually in bed at that time. She recognized Steve’s voice first, then Agnes’s, but wasn’t close enough yet to make out the third or what they were saying. She rounded the landing and resigned herself to making small talk.
Steve’s door shut, and Jordan was relieved to see no one between herself and her apartment. She was tired and hungry, and wanted nothing more than to eat her takeout teriyaki and kick her feet up in private.
The laundry basket with her neatly folded clothes sat in front of her door, reminding her of what happened earlier in the basement. She juggled her food with her keys and kicked the basket into the apartment. She took a quick shower before heating her dinner in the microwave and settling on the couch. She had just flipped the television on and had the first bite to her mouth when she heard the knock on her door.
“Are you flipping kidding me?” Jordan stalked to the door and swung it open. “Seriously? Do you know what time it is?” The words were barely out of her mouth before she was stunned by the sight of Sunny standing in front of her, holding on to the door frame, her eyes glassy. A microsecond later, her eyes rolled back and she swooned. Jordan barely managed to grab her arm before she fell to her knees. Steve rushed out of his apartment.
“What is it with you, Jordan?” Steve asked before sweeping Sunny up in his arms and pushing past her into the living room. “Do you kiss them and make them cry too?”
“He’s right, dear.” Agnes entered and patted her arm. “You made me faint as well.”
Jordan followed, then stood next to the couch. Once again, she felt like she’d been dropped into the middle of a play already in progress and she had no idea what her lines were.
“Here she comes. Where’s your
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