Last Breath (The Good Daughter 0.5)(27)

She pushed open the door, ready to confront him, but Dexter kept walking toward the side of the restaurant.

Lest Charlie should think he hadn’t noticed her, he gave her a sly wink.

“What the—” Charlie felt her brow wrinkle. She looked at her car, then she looked back at Dexter, then she looked at the plumber’s van in the parking lot, then she turned back around and looked at the empty diner.



The plumber with the butt crack was gone from the stool, so why was the van still there? And why were all the van windows tinted black? And why was there a giant CB antenna coming off the back bumper?

“Shit,” she mumbled. Maude said that Oliver already had a record. There were very few illegal things that nineteen-year-olds got caught up in that did not involve drugs. Flora’s boyfriend was probably the idiot Dexter was hoping to trade for his freedom. Charlie had crafted such a perfect, happy plan and now it was going sideways because of her most annoying client. All Flora needed was to get caught up in the little jerk’s bullshit.

Charlie turned back around. She walked briskly across the restaurant, mindful that the cops were probably watching her, too.

“Ma’am?” Nancy was sitting on a stool behind the cash register.

“Can you call for Flora?”

“She ain’t got a phone.”

“No, go down the hallway and call for her out the back door. But don’t go outside.”

“Why can’t I go outside?”

“Because you don’t need to put yourself into the middle of what’s going on out there.”

“Is Oliver being a jerk?”

“Jesus.” Charlie was wasting her time. She walked down the hallway. The door was still propped open. She could hear the distant mumble of voices, likely a transaction going down between Dexter Black and Oliver the skeevy boyfriend.

Flora would be caught right in the middle.

Instead of going outside, Charlie pushed open the bathroom door in an attempt at plausible deniability. She was an officer of the court. She couldn’t interfere with a police operation. She could, however, stand in the hallway and try to keep the girl out of trouble.

She called toward the open back door, “Flora?”



Charlie waited, her heart pounding loud enough to hurt. How many girls were in prison because their stupid boyfriends told them to hold onto the drugs because the courts would go lighter on them? How many times had Charlie heard the same damn story from a woman facing the next decade of her life behind bars?

“Flora?” She tried a third time, “Flora? Can you come here for a minute? I need your help.”

Charlie waited again. And waited.

She took a step down the hall. Another step.

She heard car tires screeching.

A girl screamed.

Cops yelled, “Get on the ground! Get on the ground!”

Charlie jogged down the hallway, her heart in her throat. She skidded to a stop outside the back door. Cops swarmed like hornets, rifles pointing red lasers, their black SWAT uniforms and Kevlar vests making them look like they were hunting Osama bin Laden.

More screaming. More yelling. More tires screeching.

Dexter Black was slammed over the hood of the police car. Oliver Patterson was thrown against the wall. Yet another person was already pinned to the ground, spread-eagled, legs and arms restrained by four different cops.

One of the cops leaned back on his heels. Charlie saw a flash of Girl Scout green as he clicked the mic on his shoulder, telling his bosses, “We’ve got the suspect in custody.”

“Suspect?” Charlie whispered.

That was no suspect.

That was Flora.





6

Charlie paced the interview room as she waited for Flora to be processed through booking. Back at the diner, as the girl was being manhandled into a squad car, Charlie had screamed at the top of her lungs for Flora to keep her mouth shut, but she was terrified her instruction had fallen on deaf ears. Flora was smart, but she was fifteen, and way too helpful for her own good. She likely would not understand that the nice policeman was trying to trick her into prison time.

The only saving grace was that Charlie had witnessed the SWAT team turning out the girl’s pockets. They had found a folded stack of ones from Flora’s tips, a pack of gum and her learner’s permit. When someone had suggested they search the diner for her purse, Charlie had suggested they get a search warrant. And then she had pretended not to notice the look exchanged between Flora and Nancy when one of the cops had said they would have the warrant before sundown. Charlie was a lawyer. She could not allow herself to be party to the concealment or destruction of evidence.

Not to mention she might be looking at a murder rap if she got hold of Dexter Black. He had called her twice today, once without a police monitor. He could’ve mentioned that he was going to squeal on some teenagers.



Not teenagers.

One teenager.

Flora.

Oliver Patterson had been released without charge. Dexter was free to do as he pleased until the next time his ass landed in jail. Nancy was never formally questioned. The entire sting had been about capturing Flora Faulkner. Why they launched a SWAT team to handcuff a fifteen-year-old girl was beyond Charlie. She was surprised they hadn’t brought the decommissioned bulletproof Humvee the police force had been given last year.