Save Her Child by CJ Lyons (best historical biographies txt) 📗

Harper knew nothing of her own mother’s circumstances, but after joining the force and seeing the realities and lose-lose choices that women faced, particularly pregnant women, she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother had given her up in the hope of Harper avoiding a similar fate. Harper couldn’t even begin to imagine the strength it took to make that kind of sacrifice, to lose a child forever in the hopes that you were giving them a better life. The thought made her send a quick prayer of thanksgiving for the mother she had never known, as well as the family that had made her one of their own.

She parked the car across the street from where Macy stood. As she crossed the road, she caught Macy’s eye. At first the girl turned away, shoulders hunched as if denying Harper’s existence. But by the time Harper reached the doorway, she’d turned back around and was slumped against the wall in a belligerent posture, her glare containing more attitude than seemed possible for a stick-thin, five-foot tall—without the five-inch heels—teenaged girl.

“Hear about Lily?” Harper started.

Macy’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. We all did.”

“I haven’t seen her around in a while. Know who she’s been hanging with?”

Her shoulders jutted up in a knife-edged shrug. One spaghetti strap of her sequined top slid down, but Macy ignored it. “Thought she got out.”

“When’d you see her last?” Harper assumed a relaxed posture, holding up her own side of the wall.

The August heat was doing little to mask Macy’s body odor. Harper caught a whiff of an acrid garlicky tang—and it had nothing to do with what Macy was eating and everything to do with the meth she’d been smoking. Probably why she was clutching her tiny purse so tightly.

When Macy didn’t answer, Harper aimed a pointed glance at the small, sequined bag. They both knew what would happen if Harper took a look in the bag—an arrest for felony possession was a lot harder to walk away from than an arrest for solicitation. Not to mention that it was Sunday, so she would be guaranteed a one-to-two-night jail stay before she could be arraigned and bail set. Withdrawal from meth? Not something Harper would wish upon her worst enemy.

Another shrug, this one more tentative. Which Harper translated as Macy acknowledging that she had seen Lily recently, but wasn’t going to talk without incentive.

“Want some coffee? A bite to eat?” There was a diner down the block. It wasn’t much to look at, but they served breakfast all day and night. “I’m starved.”

“Should be working.”

“C’mon. My treat.”

Macy wrapped her arms around her chest, edged a glance beyond the doorway.

“Who you working for these days?” Harper asked. Heidi had said Philly, but when Harper had checked with Vice that morning, getting up to speed on current intelligence on local traffickers, she’d seen that he’d been arrested last month for assaulting a customer and was still in jail. Which meant either Macy was trying to go indy—a dangerous choice, being on the street without protection—or someone had taken over Philly’s stable. Harper took a long look up and down the block, making sure no one saw Macy talking to her. If a pimp saw a cop alone with one of his girls, there’d be a price to pay—for the girl.

“No one. Just myself.”

“Is that safe?” Harper was certain that Macy was lying about answering to a man—whether she called him a pimp or not. For some reason, the girls on the street loved to boast about their independence, even while under the thumb of men who laid claim to their time, any money they made, and their bodies. It was as if their feeble protests of freedom blinded them to the fact that they were modern-day slaves: replaceable, forgettable, disposable.

“Gotta know how to take care of yourself is all.” Her words ran together, a bit blurred, making Harper wonder how high she was.

“Who was Lily working for?” Harper asked.

“Lily? No one.”

“Do you know where she was staying?”

Macy blinked slowly and shook her head, wobbling on her heels as they left the doorway and headed toward the diner. Clearly on something more than meth.

Harper steadied her with a hand on her arm, noting the track marks there—old and new. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Macy yanked her arm away from Harper. “Just fine.” Tears seeped from her eyes, smearing her make-up. She stopped, leaned against a shop’s display window. “Lily. Why’d she do it? Why’d she come back?”

Bingo. “When did you see Lily, Macy?”

Macy shook her head, the tears streaming even harder. “She thought—she said—”

A neon orange Mustang slid to the curb, honked once. Macy whirled away for a moment, palms swiping her face, then turned back, a wide smile stretching her features—a smile that didn’t make it anywhere near her eyes. “Gotta go.”

“Macy, wait—”

“It’s not what you think,” Macy said, her tone almost pleading. “He’s my boyfriend, loves me.”

The driver honked again, this time a short, angry burst. Macy rushed over, yanked the door open, and fell into the front seat. Before Harper could do more than take down the plate, the car sped away.

Nothing she could do except run the plate and see if it led to anyone with warrants. That could give her leverage enough to pull Macy’s boyfriend in, allow her a chance to speak with Macy alone, in private.

Frustrated, Harper stalked across the street, back to her car. She plopped her weight down into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. It was as if Lily Nolan was invisible, already vanished from everyone’s memory. And if that was true, how was Harper going to find her killer?

Fifteen

After Luka arrived in the ER, the first thing the doctor did was to send him to X-ray to determine how deep the glass had penetrated. The next thing was to wait while they gave him a dose of antibiotics via an IV and prepared to