The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(91)

A lovely endorsement if ever I heard one.

The girl wasn’t wrong, which meant she, at the very least, had two brain cells to rub together. Hopefully she was bright enough to recognize an opportunity when one knocked on her door.

As if confirming my suspicion, a loud growl came from her pregnant belly. She winced, running a hand over her greasy roots.

“Is that all?” She was about to close the door again.

“Are you hungry?” I dipped my chin down to try and catch her gaze but to no avail. Whoever Frank was, he’d trained her well to keep away from strangers.

She shook her head.

“Because I can take care of that,” I said kindly.

“I don’t need no charity.”

“My girlfriend is pregnant too. She is growing our child inside of her. I would hate to think she goes without food. For me, it’s not charity. It’s a necessity.”

She folded her lips on top of each other. I could tell she was at a breaking point.

She was hungry. So hungry. Her legs were two toothpicks.

The living room behind her looked like it had been trashed by every single squatter on the East Coast in the last decade.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she asked finally.

The fact that she didn’t slam the door in my face was an encouraging sign.

She knew I could give her relief, an immediate remedy for her situation.

I got her attention, and for now, that was enough.

“I’m looking for your boyfriend. I suspect he is planning to do a very bad thing.”

“Got no idea where he is. He’s been gone for a whole week now. Wouldn’t even pick up my calls. That doesn’t surprise me, though.” She snorted.

“Oh?” I elevated an eyebrow. Not passing judgment was rule number one in trying to get information from someone. “Is that a common occurrence with Frank? Him causing trouble?”

“Frank’s yet to meet any type of trouble he doesn’t like. What are you, anyway? You’re too well-dressed to be a cop.”

“I’m a lawyer.” I took a step forward, into the hallway, and could now smell the unmistakable stench of weed, mildew, rotted food, and apathy. “Would you say he is capable of violence?”

“Sure.” She shrugged again, another rumble coming from her belly. “He’s gotten into plenty of fights before.”

“What about murder?”

“Who did you say you were again?” She narrowed her eyes at me, taking a step back.

She wasn’t going to talk unprompted. It was time to cut the bullshit.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

Many people thought lawyers were combative, aggressive people. Some—unprofessional ones—were. But most were even tempered. I killed people with kindness whenever possible. I didn’t have to flaunt my power. I carried it effortlessly.

“I … um …” She looked around her, as if there was something—someone—who could stand in her way of accepting the help I was offering her.

Behind me, chained dogs barked in someone’s back yard, trying to jump the fence. A baby cried in the distance.

“D-donna,” she stuttered. “My name is Donna.”

“Do you have a surname, Donna?” I took out the checkbook and a Montblanc pen from my inner pocket.

“What do you mean?” She swayed from foot to foot, ogling me openly now. Like once she hopped through the mental barrier of looking at me, she couldn’t stop.

“A last name.” I smiled.

“Oh. Yeah. Hammond. Donna Hammond.”

“I’m writing you a check for two thousand dollars, trusting you to buy food with it, Donna.” I scribbled as I spoke, my eyes still holding hers.

She seemed mesmerized, and it depressed me, how different her baby’s life was going to be from ours.

How my baby would never have to think about where the next meal was going to come from, or have to deal with an untreated medical situation because we couldn’t afford the bill that came with it.

I ripped the check and handed it to her. Before she plucked it from between my fingers, I raised my arm in the air, stopping her from taking it.

“There’s a catch.”

“I knew it,” she huffed, baring her teeth. “What is it?”

“I’ll give you this check. No questions asked. But,” I drawled, “I will give you a check for ten thousand dollars and secure you a spot at a women’s shelter if you do two things.”

She looked behind my shoulders frantically, licking her lips. “Okay. But with a condom. I don’t want no diseases.”

Was that what she thought I had in mind? Some of my loafers were older than her, for crying out loud.

“It’s not sex I want from you, Donna. I want you to give me any information about your boyfriend’s whereabouts. Call me as soon as you hear from him.” I produced a business card, handing it to her. “And I want you to promise me that you are packing your bags and leaving this apartment. I’ll send someone over who’ll take you to a women’s shelter.”

“Deal,” she said.

I handed her the check. She took it with trembling fingers, looking up at me again.

“But what if I never hear from him again? He’s not taking my calls. Will you cancel the check?”