Forgive Me(74)

“There’s help out there,” Bryce said. “The government might seem big and bloated, but undocumented juveniles and adults have access to pretty good resources from the Department of Health and Human Services. The Office of Refugee Resettlement, I’ve heard, has an outstanding program and is pretty well funded through Catholic Charities. They won’t be abandoned.”

“So no jail?”

“No jail.”

“And Tasha? She was Nadine’s lifeline in there.”

“I’m guessing they’re all going to apply for T Visas. It’s for trafficking victims and it allows them to stay. ORR helps with that, as well.”

Angie frowned. “You and I both know a lot of those girls are going to end up working in strip clubs.”

Bryce shrugged. “Not saying you’re wrong. We found a lot of narcotics in the apartments. I wouldn’t be surprised if Nadine’s hooked on something. I also wouldn’t be surprised if some of the girls want a good payday to fuel their habit.”

Angie was disgusted by it all. The adage “sex sells” was meaningless to most people, a slogan and nothing more. But it was real for her. It was the face of many of the kids she tracked down.

“How’d you get into this business, anyway?” Bryce asked.

Angie took a sip of her tea. Her throat was unusually dry and she wasn’t sure it was from the stale hospital air. “You want the whole story or the Cliff notes?”

The twinkle in Bryce’s eyes flared. “The crew at McSorley’s isn’t missing me.”

Angie told Bryce about Sarah Winter and her friend Madeline Hartsock. She described how she’d become a PI, and Madeline a prosecutor, because Sarah’s disappearance inspired them to make a difference. Angie felt comfortable opening up to Bryce. She told him about her mother’s death, and her father’s health problems. She shared more with him in a few minutes than she’d done with men she’d dated for months.

“What about you?” Angie asked. “Former military?”

“Why do you ask?” Bryce said. “It’s my bad-assery, isn’t it? I’ve been told I radiate it.”

Angie laughed. “No, it’s just that a lot of marshals come from the military. My dad’s best friend was in the service.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name? Maybe I know him.”

“Walter Odette.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Bryce, but Walter was long retired.

“I’m not military,” Bryce said. “I’m not really your typical U.S. marshal, either.”

“Oh? What are you?”

“English major,” Bryce said. “Poetry, in fact.”

Angie could barely contain her surprise. “You’re a poet?”

“No,” Bryce said, holding up a finger, a gesture intended to correct her mistake. “I’m a former student of poetry. I’m actually a terrible poet. As in roses are red, violets are blue, terrible. But I can appreciate good work. Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, Wordsworth, Whitman.”

“I’m not too familiar with poetry. If I were to pick a poet to read, where would I start?”

“Starter poetry? I’d go with Judith Viorst.”

“Ok. Which book should I buy?”

“Try Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.”

Angie squinted. “Wasn’t that a movie with Steve Carell?”

“Blasphemy,” Bryce said. “It was a children’s book first and foremost. But I did see the movie with a nephew, and it was pretty good fun.”

“No kids?” Angie flushed with embarrassment. Oh God, Angie, you really had to go there? She wanted to slap her forehead as her face turned hot and probably red.

Bryce just smiled. “No. No Mrs. Bryce, either, in case you were wondering. I’ve had my opportunities, but I let them pass me by. And before you think it, I’m not afraid of commitment.”

Angie gave him a crooked smile. “Well, what is it with you, then?” She’d already dipped her toe in the water. Why not dive in?

Bryce’s gaze revealed nothing. “You’ll have to read my poetry to find out.”

“You said it was terrible.”

“And that right there could explain why a handsome devil like me is still single at thirty-three.” He winked.

Angie returned a laugh.

“No, the truth is I haven’t met the right person. Nothing more exciting than that. There’s no great drama to my joining the Marshals Service either. I grew up in Bethesda. Green yard, loving parents, an annoying sister who is now my best friend in the world. I went to college, studied poetry, and one day realized I didn’t know a bit about this world. The grit. The grime. The underbelly. I knew quads and ultimate Frisbee and beer and bands like Nirvana, so after college I applied for the Marshals. Seemed like a good way to get that kind of experience. Okay, I watched The Fugitive, and then I applied.”

Angie laughed again. If he was trying to worm his way into her good graces, he was doing a good job. “At least you admit it,” she said.

“Anyway, I’ve been with the Marshals ever since. Worked in a lot of different cities—cue another reason I’m single—and somehow I ended up here in lovely Baltimore.”