Look For Me (Detective D.D. Warren #9)(19)

“She was standing outside the studio. Where I’d started kickboxing, as you’d suggested.”

I nodded. “What did you notice? What about her caught your attention? Had you seen her before?”

Sarah frowned. She stopped pacing long enough to pop the donut bite in her mouth. Another one of the homework assignments I’d given her: Observe. Work on the transition from hypervigilance to due diligence.

“I don’t think I’d seen her before. But she was . . . nervous. Skittish. Like she was worried about someone seeing her.”

I studied Sarah over the battered table.

“She reminded you of you,” I said.

“Yeah. She looked . . . She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. And she was staring through the glass, at the kickboxers, like she wished she could be as tough as that.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I asked her if she wanted to come in. She backed away immediately. Seemed spooked that I’d noticed her. She started to walk away and I . . .” Sarah looked at me. “You said I should trust my instincts. You said instincts are there for our own protection.”

I nodded.

“She needed help. That was my first instinct.”

I didn’t say anything.

“So, uh, I said I was just leaving. Heading to the corner for a cup of coffee. Maybe she’d like to join me.” Sarah shrugged. “I didn’t think she’d go for it at first. She had on this ratty blue backpack, was clutching the shoulder straps as if her life depended on it. Then all of a sudden, she relaxed, said okay. We walked together to the coffee shop.”

“Where she told you about her friend.”

“Yes. She had a friend. She was worried about her. Wondered if kickboxing might help make her feel stronger.” Sarah shrugged a bony shoulder. “I did what you suggested: I didn’t try to tell her what she should do, I just talked about me. I told her I’d survived something awful once. So bad, I didn’t think I’d ever feel safe again. But now I did things like kickboxing and it made me feel good. Stronger. And once you feel stronger, act stronger—a lot of your problems go away. Bad people don’t want to deal with the powerful. They prey on the weak.”

“What did she say?”

“Mostly, she stared at the table. We hadn’t gotten around to ordering the coffee yet, and she kept the backpack on. I figured she’d bolt at any moment. I asked her if she was sleeping at night. She shook her head. I asked her if someone was hurting her now. I mean, a teenage girl . . .” Sarah shrugged. “You have to wonder.”

I nodded.

“She got nervous. Accused me of being a cop. I assured her I wasn’t. Just someone who’s been there. But I had to back off—she was so skittish. I told her she should come back to the studio. The following week there was a beginner’s class. Maybe she could check it out.”

“And you told her about our group.” I didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but maybe I did.

“I didn’t think she’d go to the class. I figured she’d walk out of the coffee shop and that would be that. And I . . .” Sarah floundered, waved her hands. “Look, I’m new to this. But you said trust your instincts. And this girl . . . I felt for her. She seemed terrified. She looked . . . She looked like I did, not that long ago.”

I nodded. I wasn’t really mad at Sarah. And not just because I was the one who had told her to trust her instincts, but because I was also new to this survivor-mentoring gig. I just put on a better front.

“She logged on to the group forum that night,” I filled in the rest. Newbies could only access the boards using an established member’s password. At which point Roxanna Baez had requested permission to join herself—meaning basically I followed back up with the sponsoring member, Sarah, who’d personally vouched for her. The system was hardly rigorous or foolproof. I’d debated it several times—increasing the demands for basic info in the interest of better security versus the risk of scaring off people who were just figuring out how to speak up. In the end, I’d kept it simple, meaning Roxy Baez had joined our group based strictly on Sarah’s say-so.

“I pulled the transcripts from the past few weeks,” I continued now. Before I deleted the entire forum went without saying. “She didn’t post much. Just lurked.”

Which also isn’t uncommon. Most survivors are naturally distrustful. They have to get the lay of the land before they proceed. I learned early on that there are a lot of survivors out there. But only some of us will or can connect. Just the way it is in real life, I guess. Not everyone is meant to understand you. And not just anyone can help you.

I glanced at the sheaf of papers. “She doesn’t talk about her home life. Certainly no mention of a mom, stepdad, two younger siblings, or dogs. She just mentions this friend. She needs help for a friend.”

“There was no way I could’ve seen this coming,” Sarah said.

“No one’s blaming you. Especially not me.”

For the first time, Sarah’s shoulders came down.

“What do we do? I’ve been listening to the Amber Alerts all morning. There’s still no sign of her. Do you think someone took her, that’s what this is all about? Maybe this person who’s hurting her friend caught wind that Roxy was trying to help out and decided to take action?”