Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 350(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Toni throws up her hands. “I said I could take care of myself!”
“Yeah?” I ask her. “Prove it, then.”
She flashes me a curious look. “Prove it?”
“Yes. People who can take care of themselves handle responsibilities. They do their jobs without needing someone to hold their hand or tell them what to do.”
Toni frowns. “Well, I’m only seven.”
“Doesn’t matter. I owned my first business by the age of nine.”
Her eyes widen behind thick-rimmed glasses. “You did?”
“I did. I walked dogs for my neighbors, charged by the hour, and made my first hundred bucks that way.”
She holds my gaze. “So how am I supposed to prove it, then?”
I lean across the table. “You don’t run when people are looking for you. You don’t run off nannies, either.”
She sighs. “Okay.”
Samantha’s spooning up the last of her pasta, scraping the bottom of the bowl and licking her lips.
My phone buzzes. Samantha gives me a wary look. “She can come with me today, only because it’ll behoove us to discuss the details of the case.”
I don’t know if I like her taking on “the case.” I have questions of my own to ask, but I’ll do that later. For now, I have to get to my meeting.
“Thank you.” I glance at the time again. “I’ll be by this evening to pick her up.”
Toni stands and puts her little hand in Samantha’s, and for one brief moment my heart does a little twist in my chest. I hate that this has been forced on me. I want to know why Toni’s mom left her and where my asshole brother is. Parents should take care of their children, and it isn’t right when someone has to do their work for them.
Then my phone rings, I answer the call, and ignore the looks of onlookers as I make my way up to my office. I’ve got work to do, and the girl—the girls—will have to wait.
A little voice in my head reminds me I have an excuse to see Samantha again.
And I have plans.
Chapter 5
Sam
My head’s in the clouds, and my mind is spinning.
What the hell am I doing? I hate that I’ve agreed to take on a case that I may not be able to help with at all.
What if her mother really did leave her? What if she’s… worse than missing? What if she’s gone forever?
A memory of the day I found out my own parents were gone forever surfaces before I can stop it. I still remember staring at my Mary Jane’s, the plain black ones my nana bought me to meet the private school dress code, the hem of the blue and white plaid uniform skirt hitting way below my knees, since it was a borrowed one from the uniform closet three sizes too big.
I remember the way my backpack was still open, random papers peeking out of the edges. How my nana tried to hold my hand, but then gave it up and covered her own face with her hands and wept.
They didn’t tell me how my parents died. Not then. It wasn’t until years later I found out the truth. But I won’t think of that now. I try not to think about it at all. But somehow seeing the little girl with those large eyes magnified behind her glasses, hearing her plaintive plea for help… for one moment, I’m that little girl again.
Ugh, I’m her.
And now I have a chance to make things right, to set the universe back on its axis in some way.
I’ve got a list of notes on my notepad, but my mind’s spinning. Though Toni’s super bright and witty, she’s still only a child, with limited experience and a limited worldview. She can’t give me the information I need.
I’ll have to go digging, but I’ve got a good start.
There’s a line out the door when we get back to Yogasm, so I hop behind the smoothie counter, bag up cookies, and ring customers out. I have Toni greet people at the door where I can see her, while my mind turns over every detail Toni’s given me, which is precious little.
Her mom went off on a Saturday morning to meet a friend—something, she tells me, that was not out of the ordinary—and never came home. Toni tells me how she made herself a sandwich and watched TV, waiting on the couch for her mom, and it wasn’t until the following week her teacher found out her mom was gone.
I hate this for her. I’ll do everything I can to make it better, even if that means going toe-to-toe with Miguel himself. What does he have to do with any of this? I’ve got questions, and something tells me he’s got answers.
I’m next to Madison, pouring smoothies into these adorable pink plastic cups with lids we got a deal on and watching the customers come in one after the other, but my mind’s elsewhere.