Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(52)

Isabella steadied her hands over Angel’s shoulders, but just barely. “Easy, Angel. Mr. DuPree won’t be mad. You don’t have to worry, okay?”

Taking a deep breath, she sent one last look around the space in search of a more private place to talk without being eavesdropped on or easily seen, but damn it, between the chance they’d be caught not screwing on video or overheard by one of DuPree’s lurking goons, talking here was too risky.

Isabella was going to have to talk to Angel outside of this penthouse if she wanted to get enough of a statement to go after DuPree. Plus, the longer she and Kellan stood here, the greater the chances someone would notice they were both still dressed and sober.

She closed the softly lit distance between her and Angel, putting her mouth close to the woman’s ear but stopping well shy of contact. “I don’t want to get you in trouble, but I do want to talk. If you’re not here because you want to be, I can help you.”

Angel stiffened, her chin turning in surprise. “How?” she asked, the flash of vulnerable hope in her eyes negating the toughness she’d tried to stick to the word. “You some kind of fairy godmother or something?”

“Or something.”

The girl’s dark eyes grew round. “You’re a—”

Isabella squeezed Angel’s shoulder, not hard, but enough to cut her words to the quick. “Friend, Angel. I’m just a friend.”

“I don’t have friends. Not anymore.” She looked across the room at the spot by the piano, where Scarface leered openly at the blond, who seemed far less sure of her balance and her surroundings than she had five minutes ago. “Rampage and Franco and Mr. DuPree made sure of that. Me and the others, we’re not even allowed to talk to each other most of the time.”

Isabella’s heart slapped at her sternum, but God, she had to stay steady. “Well, you can talk to me.”

“Yeah, right,” Angel said. “Like I got time for conversation. If I don’t start blowing your boyfriend in about fifteen seconds, Franco’s gonna come over here and backhand me into next week.”

“No one’s going to lay a finger on you,” Walker interjected, the vow quiet but fierce enough to make the back of Isabella’s neck prickle.

“We can’t talk now, you’re right. But you can come talk to me away from here. Would you like that?”

“Mr. DuPree will kill me,” Angel whispered, the look on her face backing up the fear.

But Isabella had had enough. “No, he won’t. Look at me, Angel.” The girl hesitated before lifting her gaze to Isabella’s, and holy hell, no one’s eyes should look so haunted. “If you come talk to me, I’ll keep you safe. We can get you clean, and you won’t ever have to go to a party like this again. I swear it.”

A minute ticked by, then another before she finally gave up a broken nod that sent relief careening through Isabella’s veins. “Rampage and Franco keep us locked up most of the time when we’re not here for parties, but they don’t watch us as close as they do the girls they’re still breaking in. My room has a window. It’s not too big, but I think I can get out.” She paused, her voice growing small. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I want to get out.”

Something twisted, hard and deep in Isabella’s chest, but she buckled down over the sensation. “Good. This is really good,” she said, although it was the world’s most gigantic understatement.

She’d just smashed this case wide open. She was going to help these girls and make it so no one could ever hurt them again. Ever.

Isabella lowered her hands from Angel’s shoulders but kept the connection of their eyes firmly in place. “I want you to meet me at the diner across from the Thirty-Third precinct, tomorrow morning at nine. Can you do that?”

Angel fiddled with the silver chain at her throat. “So soon?”

God, as far as Isabella was concerned, right now wasn’t even soon enough. But giving Angel time to get scared or reconsider wasn’t on her agenda. “This will be your last party, Angel. I promise.”

“I’d…really like that,” she whispered. “Okay. Tomorrow morning.”

Not wanting to leave anything up to chance or circumstance, Isabella said, “In a few seconds, I’m going to go into the bathroom down that hallway.” She paused for a brief second to flick a glance at the just-visible doorway off the living room where they stood. “I’ll leave my card hidden behind the toilet tank for you. If you run into problems—anything at all—I want you to call me, day or night. Okay?”

Angel’s nod was answer enough, and they were running out of time. Turning toward the hallway, Isabella took a forward step so she could get into that bathroom then get the hell out of Dodge, when Kellan’s hand slid around her body to pull her in close.

“Keep walking,” he said in a quiet demand, and really? He’d trusted her this whole time, for God’s sake, even though he’d surprised the hell out of her while he was at it. Was he really going to get bossy about chaperoning her now?

“You can’t go to the bathroom with me,” Isabella argued under her breath, but his proprietary grip around her shoulders grew even tighter as he dipped his mouth to her ear.

“Yeah, well, the blond guy in the million dollar suit who’s been watching us talk to Angel for the last couple minutes is moving in on our six, so I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going into the bathroom without me.”