Chapter 22

I drove us back to the house, and let Cecelia carry the girl inside. I locked up the Blazer, thinking that it was a good thing the cops hadn't stopped us – Cecelia had held the girl in her lap the whole way, leaving the seat belt to take care of itself. Normally I wouldn't have allowed such a thing, but we'd needed speed – and that girl had needed Cecelia.

Inside the house, I found Cecelia on the sofa, holding the girl close. I walked behind the sofa and pulled Cecelia's gun off her belt, hearing the sobs of the girl. She didn't see me – her head was burred in Cecelia's chest, with both of Cecelia's arms tightly around her. I went into the bedroom and put both our guns away, in the drawers of the little tables on each side of the bed.

Back in the living room, Cecelia was gently rocking, crooning to the girl. I remembered times when Darlia, as a small child, would be frightened of one of the things that scare little kids, or sometimes of my screams as I dreamed of a drug dealer who'd taken a pot shot at me, and Cecelia had done exactly the same thing. I went into the kitchen and got myself a Coke. There was milk in the refrigerator, and water from the faucet. I decided that the girl probably would prefer milk, and I got out the jug and poured her a glass.

I sat on the coffee table, to Cecelia's right, on the side away from the girl. "I got some milk for her," I said as I held out the glass.

Cecelia bent her head down, whispering to the child. The girl nodded, and slowly, fearfully, uncoiled herself enough to reach for the glass with one hand. I'd made it a small glass, and I was glad I had – her hand was shaking, and she was only 12 years old by the information we had.

She was beautiful. For the first time I was seeing her when she wasn't either terrified or trying to fake for the camera. I don't usually like blue eyes, but hers were a sky blue shade that I couldn't dislike, and the thick curly black hair surrounded her round face and made her look ... not mature, not grownup, but somehow not quite a little girl either. She was thin, but I got the impression from the bones of her face, and perhaps some subtlety of features and build, that she hadn't always been that way. I had the notion that she might have originally been stocky, maybe not with the solid thickness that Darlia has from her exercise, but not skinny either.

The girl finished the glass of milk, and gingerly handed it back. I set it on the marble top of the coffee table and said, "You're safe now. I won't hurt you. I will never hurt you, and I won't let anyone else hurt you. I'm Darvin, and I promise that no one will hurt you. This is Cecelia, and she won't let anyone hurt you either."

The girl looked into Cecelia's face, and spoke the first words I'd heard from her. "She won't let anyone hurt me."

"No, she won't."

Cecelia nodded. "I promise you that I will not allow anyone to do you harm."

"I'm scared," the girl said.

"I know you are," Cecelia said, stroking the girl's cheeks and wiping away tears. "But I will take care of you."

I wanted to take the girl's hand, but I figured that wouldn't help. By now, after having who knew how many men use her, she'd be terrified of any man who did anything that even remotely resembled the acts she'd had to endure. But Cecelia was there, and now the girl's eyes were slipping closed. "I'll sleep out here," I said. "You can sleep with her tonight – maybe in Darlia's room, since that's got the dolls and such."

Cecelia nodded, her eyes on the poor child who was now nearly asleep. "That is a most wise suggestion, beloved husband. But if I sleep in Darlia's room, you will have the use of our bed."

"True, true. I hadn't thought of that. Want a hand up?" I asked because the position Cecelia was in would be mighty awkward for getting up while holding a kid.

"Please." She extended a hand, and I pulled her up while she held the child with her other arm. It was a feat of strength that thoroughly impressed me. She gave me a kiss, and then very, very gently kissed the girl on the forehead. "Good night, Darvin. In the morning we'll ask her name."

Yeah, we'd ask that in the morning. For now I had a call to make, and while Cecelia went down the hall to Darlia's room I picked the phone off the charger. I explained to the 911 operator that if she sent a couple of cars to a certain address, she'd probably find people hurriedly stripping the house of all signs that there had ever been a porn operation there – an operation which had made use of at least one child.

I hung up on her. Either she'd send the cars as I'd suggested, or she wouldn't. My information would have come up on her screen, of course, but I trusted that enough people in APD know me that no one would come beating on the door before morning. If when the cops did show up it turned out that no one had responded to the address, I'd call Rudy and give him what I had.