I wanted to order her to call me Daddy, but smiling despite myself, I said, "Dion. Dion Blackwood."
"Emily Carter. But you already knew that." She tilted her head, studying me. "Did you draw the short straw for the wellness check, Dion?"
"No one sent me." I met her gaze directly. "I came because I wanted to."
Her eyes widened slightly, those big brown orbs searching my face for the truth. Whatever she saw there made her cheeks flush pink.
"Oh," she said softly, then looked down at her mug. "Well, thank you.” We didn’t do wellness checks, but I wasn't admitting that.
“You told the cops you have no idea why you were taken. That you were kidnapped when you went outside to take out the trash.”
A shadow crossed her face, confirming our suspicion that the interview with the cops and her dad’s fancy lawyer had been utter baloney.
She stiffened, her fingers tightening around her mug. "That’s right."
I leaned forward, keeping my voice low. "Emily, we both know that's not true. The cops might have bought it, but we both know human traffickers target people who are marginalized or in difficult circumstances. Usually undocumented. Traffickers don’t kidnap daughters of prominent attorneys.”
Her eyes darted around the coffee shop, checking if anyone was listening, but I’d already made sure. I also had a device in my pocket to prevent any recording, but as the place was mostly empty, I wasn't worried. When she looked back at me, the warmth had vanished from her expression.
"My father's lawyer advised me not to discuss the details with anyone," she said, her voice suddenly formal. "For my own protection."
"Your father's lawyer," I repeated, unable to keep the edge from my tone. "The same father who cut you off when you decided to become a social worker instead of following his plans for you?"
Her mouth fell open slightly. "You... you really did do your homework on me." But then she looked away and I felt like complete shit. My own parents would hardly win any awards.
"And now? Why are you still investigating me?" There was hurt in her voice, and it twisted something in my chest.
"I'm not investigating you," I said, softer now. “But none of this makes sense.”
She pushed her cup away and made to stand. “Thanks for the coffee, but—”
“If they targeted you for a reason, what makes you think they won’t try again?”
Any color fled her face as she sat back heavily in her seat, and I cursed myself again. This time when she picked her nearly empty cup up, her hands trembled. Fuck, I was nothing but a bully.
“Jennifer doesn’t know the extent to which we help people,” I hastened, “but she knows we all have military backgrounds, and she was hoping we might know someone who could help.”
Emily's lower lip trembled slightly before she caught it between her teeth, but then her eyes met mine. “Aren’t you risking a lot by telling me, then?”
I reached across the table, not quite touching her hand but close enough that she could take mine if she wanted to. "Emily, whatever you're afraid of, I can help. My team and I, we specialize in protection, and you might not be safe."
She gave a hollow laugh. "And what exactly do you protect people from, Dion?"
"Bad guys," I said simply. "Sometimes they crawl up from the gutter, and sometimes they wear suits and have fancy lawyers."
I knew I’d finally gone too far when she snatched her hand away as if I might touch it. She met my gaze. “I’m very grateful, you know I am, and of course I won’t repeat anything you tell me, but I think it’s best if we don’t meet again.”
I watched as she walked out of the shop and wondered if I could have possibly messed that up more.
Chapter Two
Emily
I bolted out of the coffee shop, arms wrapped tight around myself as though I could squeeze away the tremors. Who did he think he was—digging into my past, demanding answers I couldn’t—wouldn’t—give? My eyes stung, but I refused to let the tears fall.
The evening air was sharp and cold; I pulled my sweater tighter. The parking lot lay half in shadow, lit by one flickering streetlamp that cast long, skeletal patterns on the asphalt. I fumbled in my purse for my keys, swearing under my breathwhen they snarled around a crumpled tissue and a tube of lip gloss.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered. Meeting a stranger alone had been reckless—Jennifer had vouched for them, but she didn’t know everything. Nobody did.
