Fatal Exposure. Gail BarrettЧитать онлайн книгу.
muffled sound came from a nearby room. Bingo. “I know you’re in there. I want to see your hands. Have them up where I can see them. Now I’m coming in.”
He waited a beat, giving the occupants a chance to get their hands up, then kicked open the door and stepped inside. A young girl huddled on the floor atop a threadbare blanket. Her scrawny arms were scabbed, her legs swollen from shooting heroin through her toes. She appeared to be alone.
To be sure, he scanned the room, taking in the spray-painted walls, the bottles and needles littering the floor—evidence that the action picked up as the sun went down. Smells he didn’t care to identify assaulted his nose. “Is anyone else here?”
She gave him a sullen look. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
Still watching for sudden moves, Parker kicked aside her purse. Her mild-mannered appearance didn’t fool him. He’d seen far meeker junkies than this kid suddenly snap. “Keep your hands in your lap,” he warned.
Brynn pushed past him into the room. Ignoring the potential danger, she went to the girl’s side, clutching a grease-soaked fast-food bag. His nerves still edgy, Parker reluctantly lowered his gun.
But as hesitant as he was to pursue this case, he couldn’t help but admire Brynn. She’d charged down the street, ignoring the thugs hanging out in the shadows as she scoured the boarded-up row houses for the teenage girl. And she had the uncanny ability to blend in. In the newspaper she’d looked like a wealthy shopper strolling through the upscale shops. Now she looked younger, scruffier, almost like a street kid herself in her sneakers and faded jeans.
“Hey, Jamie. Remember me?” Brynn asked.
The teenager blinked at Brynn. “Yeah. You’re that photographer.”
“That’s right.” Brynn handed her the bag of food.
Her eyes bloodshot, the teenager propped herself against the wall. She tore open the bag, then pulled out a fistful of French fries and crammed them into her mouth.
Parker turned his head to hide his distaste. Not that her hunger shocked him. During the months he’d searched for Tommy, he’d spent time questioning the prostitutes who worked the streets. He understood the desperation and addictions that drove them, the terror that chained them to their vicious pimps—even when it cost them their lives.
But that didn’t make their suffering any easier to take, especially in a girl this young.
And he wondered how Brynn could stand it, documenting this horror every day. But that was the point, he realized, his respect for her rising even more. She knew that most people went about their lives ignoring anything that disturbed their peace. They didn’t want to see the misery lurking in the shadows, the ugly reality these runaways faced. But her photos ripped them out of that complacency, refusing to let them turn their backs on these abandoned kids.
“I need to ask you something,” Brynn said to Jamie. “It’s about that necklace you had. The one with the hearts.”
Not bothering to look up, the girl continued to scarf down the fries.
“Do you still have it?” Brynn asked.
Jamie touched her neck, then shrugged. “Nope.” She tore the wrapper from the hamburger and took a bite.
“Do you remember where you got it?”
Her gaze flew to Brynn’s. “I didn’t steal it.”
“I know that,” Brynn said, her tone soothing. “It’s just...I wanted to get one like it, but it looked handmade. I thought maybe you’d remember where you got it.”
The teenager continued eating, but the wariness didn’t leave her eyes. “A friend gave it to me.”
“What friend?”
Jamie took another bite. “A girl I know.”
“Any chance she went to a place called High Rock Camp?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Maybe,” she said around another mouthful of food.
Parker hesitated. He hated giving money to junkies, knowing they’d only spend it on drugs. But he needed to ensure her help. And maybe it would keep her from turning a trick. He pulled a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and held it out. “We’d really like to find out where you got it.”
Jamie shot him a startled glance, as if she’d forgotten he was there. Then she quickly sized him up, her gaze far too worldly for her tender years. Parker curled his lip, revolted at the thought of the depravity this girl endured.
She reached up and snatched the bill. It disappeared into her blouse. “All right.”
“We’ll come back tomorrow afternoon,” Brynn said. “Does that give you enough time to find her and ask?”
Polishing off her burger, Jamie let out a muffled grunt. Then she turned her attention to her milkshake, sucking furiously on the straw.
Catching his eye, Brynn motioned for him to wait. She opened a side pocket on her backpack and pulled out a business card. “Listen, Jamie. A friend of mine runs this shelter for girls in D.C. Always Home. We’d like to take you there.”
“I don’t need help.”
“It’s a safe place. She has beds, food...” When the girl didn’t answer, she sighed. “Keep the card anyway, in case you change your mind. She’ll even send someone to pick you up. And if you don’t need it, you might know someone who does.”
Jamie took the card with a shrug. She slipped it into her pocket, then continued drinking her shake.
Turning, Brynn signaled for them to leave. Realizing the girl would only come back if he tried to evict her, Parker decided to forget it and led the way down the stairs. “Any chance she was telling the truth?” he asked when they’d reached the alley again.
Brynn swung her knapsack onto her shoulder and made a face. “I don’t know. Maybe. You never know with an addict.”
He slanted her a glance as they started walking toward the corner, their feet crunching over broken glass. The sun dipping behind the buildings added shimmers to her fiery hair, enveloping her in a glow. “You seem to know a lot about drug addicts.”
“I wasn’t a user, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve just dealt with them on the streets.”
Which once again brought up the question—why had she fled her home? Before their partnership ended, he was going to learn what made this woman tick.
“Is that how you met my brother?” he asked instead. “On the streets?”
She nodded. “A guy was hassling us. Tommy intervened.”
“Us?”
She squinted into the waning sunshine. A car rumbled past on the nearby street, the deep drum of its subwoofers vibrating his chest.
“Two girls I knew,” she finally said. “We hung out together near the Inner Harbor. Tommy became our protector. He watched out for us when he could.”
“You’re saying he helped you?”
She came to a stop. Tilting back her head, she met his eyes. “Why are you so surprised? He was a good guy, Parker. He had problems, and he made plenty of mistakes, but he was still a good man at heart. You should be proud.”
Proud? Parker shook his head, trying to reconcile this version of his brother with the defiant teenager who’d run away from home. “I don’t know. He’d changed so much toward the end. I hardly knew him anymore.”
“That was the drugs. Addicts become obsessed. If you threaten their addiction, they lash out. But he admired