“You tried,” X said, guessing at my thoughts. “Gave it your best shot.”
“It wasn’t enough. She was too afraid to come with me.”
“Was she?”
I frowned. “Of course she was. She seemed really agitated. Told me I was in danger just talking to her.”
X’s blue eyes lasered into me. “She told Milo we were there, Gabby. That’s why his guys came after us. She could’ve given us time to get away, but she didn’t.”
I swallowed that information. Of course, it made sense. Milo’s goons had appeared within seconds of Bree going back to the table. Still. “She must’ve been too afraid to keep it from him. If Milo found out that we were trying to get her to come with us, he could’ve taken it out on her.”
X’s grip tightened around his coffee cup. “We don’t know if that’s why she did it.”
I remembered what Matador had said about Milo’s girls worshipping him. “I guess she could be under his spell. She said she didn’t need to be rescued. And she definitely seemed . . . different. Not herself.”
“Exactly.”
I narrowed my eyes. What was he getting at? “At least she knows there’s help out there. She can let that sink in. Next time I see her, she might be ready to break away.”
X held my gaze. “There isn’t going to be a next time. You have to let this go, Gabby.”
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t want to believe what he was saying. “You’re giving up on her?”
“My guys are still going after Milo. We’re gonna do everything we can to bust up his operation. But I want you to let go of this fantasy that Bree wants to get away from him.”
“Fantasy? You think she’s happy with what’s happened to her?”
“Look. We don’t know how Bree got herself into this situation, but—”
“Got herself? Manny said that pimps are masters of manipulation. I thought we agreed she was the victim here.”
“Maybe she’s a victim. Maybe not. She ratted us out last night.” I could feel the anger rising in his voice, like water starting to simmer. “That’s all we know for sure. If one of his guys had been carrying a gun, we could all be dead right now. Pimps will do anything to hang on to their property. Murder’s nothing for them. Do you understand that?”
If he’d wanted to shake me up, he’d succeeded.
“You saw Bree’s Instagram page, Gabby. Chances are she’s head over heels for Milo. It could take months or even years for her to see him for the scumbag he really is. That’s when she’ll be ready to get out.”
My stomach sank. “So you’re going to let Milo use her, then spit her out.”
“I don’t know when you appointed yourself her savior, but it’s got to stop. Some girls are desperate to get out of the sex trade. Some girls would do anything for someone to reach out and help them. Those are the girls the Destinos need to focus on.”
My mind was in overdrive. Give up on Bree? Focus on other girls? I couldn’t accept that. “If she were your friend, you wouldn’t give up on her.”
His lips tightened, and I knew I’d hit a nerve. “I’d do anything for my friends. Including you. That’s why I’m telling you to back off.”
“I’m a little sick of you telling me what to do,” I snapped.
“And I’m sick of you thinking you know what the hell you’re talking about. I’m not gonna jeopardize my guys for you.” X wrenched out of his chair and kicked it aside.
I froze, startled by his anger.
“I spotted Bree out on the street last week, Gabby. You wanna hear what she was doing?” He leaned in closer. “She was trying to recruit a sixteen-year-old runaway. She told her to come hang at her boyfriend’s place. Luckily the kid was smart enough to say no, or else I would’ve had to step in.”
“The Bree I know would never . . .” My voice broke. No matter how much I wanted to believe in Bree, I couldn’t find an explanation for that. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“A lot of girls recruit for their pimps. It means they’re totally under their control. But when I saw her last night, I thought it was still worth a shot. I figured that if you spoke to her, you might be able to convince her to go with you. You can be persuasive when you want to be.” His hands balled into fists. “It was a bad call. I put you at risk. I should’ve known better.”
He wasn’t just angry at me, I realized. He was angry at himself.
I got up and took his hand. Whether he knew it or not, we were both upset, and we should be dealing with it together. But he slipped his hand out of my grip, turning away from me.
“Go home, Gabby. Your people are probably missing you by now.”
My people. There it was again. I guess he wasn’t one of them.
So I did. I left.
I took a bus back to the car only to find it was gone.
Shit.
In my hurry to get to Bree, I’d parked in front of a fire hydrant. And with the drama that had ensued, I’d forgotten all about it.
How was I going to explain this to my parents?
I got on another bus toward home, gazing out the dirt-streaked window. I was exhausted. Arguing with X this morning had zapped whatever energy I had left.
He thought I was stupid to hold out hope for Bree. And maybe he was right. But I hadn’t been ready to hear it. Hadn’t been ready to agree to give up the hope that we could bring her home.
Tears came to my eyes. I dabbed them away with a ratty tissue from my pocket. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep the day away.
I realized I should apologize to my friends for running out on them last night. So I turned on my phone, which I’d put off when X had fallen asleep.
There were twenty messages waiting for me, mainly from my mom.
Holy shit.
I held my breath and listened to the first one. It had come at 8:09 this morning, about four hours ago. “Gabby, what’s going on? We got a call saying our car’s been impounded. Call me right away.”
Ten minutes later. “Gabby, where the hell are you? Your friend Adriana says you never slept there last night.”
And later. “Gabby, call me right away or we’re calling the police!”
I closed my eyes. As if today could get any worse.
The next stop was mine. I called my mom as I walked up the street toward my house. She answered immediately. “Gabby?”
“Sorry for the confusion, Mom. I met up with a friend and—”
“Gabby, thank God!” Mom cried. “Where are you?”
“Down the block. I’m sorry to scare you. I had my phone off.”
I had to yank my ear away from the phone as Mom shouted, “It’s Gabby! She’s okay!”
I could see them on the front lawn. Mom, Dad, and Sarita. And someone else, a female police officer. The squad car sat in the driveway.
Uh-oh. Mom hadn’t been kidding when she’d threatened to call the police. They must’ve been worried sick. If only I hadn’t parked illegally, they’d still think I was at Adriana’s. But I’d been in such a rush, I hadn’t had any choice.
I jogged the last couple of houses, and got caught in their hugs. It struck me that I couldn’t remember the last time my parents had hugged me. The thought choked me up.
The cop turned to me. “So you’re all right then, miss?”
I nodded. “It was just a misunderstanding.”
“Where were you?” Mom demanded, her eyes red from crying. “Why would you do this?”
“I’m so sorry, Mom. I met up with a friend after ZombieMall and decided to crash at their place. I know I’d planned to spend the night at Adriana’s. I should’ve told you about the change of plan.”
Whatever relief my family was feeling turned to anger.
“You can’t imagine how worried we were!” Mom shouted. For once, she seemed to have no concept of the fact that we were on the front lawn, and neighbors were watching. “Your friends had no idea where you went last night! Where did you go?”
“I told you, I was with a
friend.”
“What friend?” Mom challenged me. “The undercover cop?”
I turned to Sarita, who didn’t look a bit apologetic. “Of course I had to tell them, Gabby. Nobody knew where you were.”
This was so much more than I could handle right now. “He’s not an undercover cop. I thought he was . . . I mean, he never actually said he was. I just sort of assumed it.” I was rambling, and they were staring at me like I was high.
“We were going out of our minds, Gabby,” Dad said quietly. “How could you pull a stunt like this, especially with what happened to Bree?”
“Bree. Yeah. About that.” I took a deep breath. This was it—a perfect opportunity to say what I knew. Now that I’d confirmed with my own eyes that she was alive, it was time to talk, especially since the Destinos had taken themselves off the case. “I saw her last night at the Phoenix.”
The cop, who’d been checking her phone, lifted her head. “You saw Brianna O’Connor? That’s a very serious statement you’re making.”
“It’s true. I spoke to her.”
Dad paled. “Gabriella, if you think inventing some story about seeing Bree is going to deflect the conversation from your behavior, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not lying.” I turned to the cop. “You can interview the staff at the Phoenix if you want. I tried to convince Bree to leave the club with me, and the guy she was with . . . he sicced his goons on us. There was a big fight.”
“Who’s the guy she was with?” the cop asked. “Do you know his name?”
“His name is Milo.” I paused, bracing for their reaction. “He’s a pimp.”
I didn’t stop to wonder if I was doing the right thing by telling the cops. I went with my gut, and my gut said talk.
The bright side was, instead of getting lectured by my parents at home, I got a field trip to the police station. They put me and Mom in a cold, bare interview room and left us there. After we’d waited for an hour, I got the hint that the cops weren’t in a rush to hear what I had to say.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said to my mom. “I can call you to pick me up later.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I want to hear everything.”
“Fine. Up to you. Got any food?”
She dug into her large black purse, which must weigh twenty pounds. You could fit an entire bowling ball in there. There had to be something edible. She came up with a granola bar. I inhaled it.
Just as I was sweeping the crumbs off the table, a detective with a dated mustache and an iPad tucked under his arm came in. I assumed he was a detective—he didn’t bother to introduce himself. And he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a rumpled shirt, cheesy tie, and cords.
The detective opened the iPad, then asked my name, my mother’s name, my date of birth, my address, and my social security number. I might as well be at the DMV for all the paperwork he was doing. Then, finally, he asked for my statement about Bree, typing certain things into the iPad.
His half-closed eyes told me one thing: he considered this interview a waste of time. He might as well have called the file: Troubled teen tells a tale to avoid the wrath of her parents.
Screw that. When he’d finished asking questions and got up to leave, I said, “You don’t believe me, do you?”
He turned around, like I’d startled him awake.
Mom put a hand on my arm. “Gabby.”
“Sorry, Mom, but I want to be taken seriously.” I stood up, because I didn’t like the feeling of him looking down on me. “I know you’ve probably had a bunch of people calling in bullshit tips. But I promise you, Bree was at the Phoenix last night. Why don’t you call the club owner to confirm that the fight happened? Maybe they even have security cameras outside that spotted her.”
The detective’s eyes narrowed, but I had a feeling I’d gotten through. He walked out. To my surprise, Mom patted my arm as if to say, good job. It was a relief that she believed me. She might have had doubts about some of my choices, but she knew I wouldn’t make up a lie and take it this far. I wished I’d never complained to X about my parents. When it counted, they backed me up.
Fifteen minutes later, the detective returned. “Sergeant Monchetta will see you in her office.”
Sergeant? I really must’ve gotten through. Mom and I looked at each other, and we followed him down a maze of cubicles.
The sergeant was fiftyish with short, ink-black hair and plenty of makeup. Diplomas and medals were displayed behind her. The far wall had a huge map of Miami, color-coded by neighborhood.
I was hesitant to walk in. It felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office, except this principal probably had a gun in her desk.
“Hello,” she said. “Come in and sit down.” She smiled at us, revealing perfect white teeth, and I realized she was a dead ringer for Kim Kardashian’s mom, Kris Jenner. “I’m Sergeant Monchetta.” She sat down behind her desk. I noticed the detective’s iPad was in front of her. “Detective Clarke has relayed your story to me.”
Story made it sound like I was making it up. Too bad—I’d thought we were making progress.
“How did you know Bree was going to be at the club last night?” Monchetta asked me.
“My friend spotted her and called me to come talk to her.”
Her perfectly tweezed brows fused together. “Why didn’t you call the police?”
The Destinos don’t trust the police. “We thought they’d run off before the cops got near them. No offense, but when the cops enter a place, it’s not subtle.”
“So you spoke to her and she refused your help.”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what you know about the pimp, Milo.”
“Not a lot. He’s got a bunch of girls working for him. Apparently they all adore him.”
“And you said in your statement that someone named X was helping you. What’s this person’s real name?”
The question caught me by surprise. Did she really care who X was? “I don’t know his real name, and it doesn’t matter. X was just trying to help find Bree.”
A knowing smile. “I’m aware of what X does, Gabby. We’ve known about him and his group for quite a while now.”
I bit my lip. So she knew about the Destinos, and had tried to trick me into spilling X’s name. I guess that was the benefit of X never having opened up to me—I couldn’t accidentally give him away.
“I worked in sex crimes for a decade,” she went on, “and I’m fully aware of his group’s mandate. If you’re still in contact with him, do me a favor. Tell him I’d like to talk sometime, off the record. I believe that cooperation would be best for all of us.”
That was interesting. I’d have to pass along the message.
The sergeant continued to ask questions, most of which I’d already been asked. Eventually I needed a bathroom break. Mom came with me, maybe because she didn’t want to let me out of her sight. She waited by the sink while I peed. I figured it was my best chance to text X.
On the toilet, I looked at my phone and saw a bunch of texts from the zombie club and even Maria, whom Mom had called in a panic this morning. Those would have to wait.
I told the cops I saw Bree. Her parents need to know she’s alive. Maybe the cops can bring her home. P.S. Sergeant Monchetta knows about you guys and thinks you should chat sometime, off the record.
I knew what he must be thinking. I was some sheltered kid who couldn’t have it her way, and ran off to tell the cops. But he’d be wrong. If the Destinos couldn’t help Bree, the cops had to. Someone had to.
I left the stall and washed my hands. Mom gave me a random hug, I guess out of relief that I was okay.
Back in her office, Sergeant Monchetta had a few more questions, then turned to my mom. “Can I speak to Gabby alone?”
“Of course. I’ll be outside.” She picked up her purse and left the room. Sergeant Monchetta got up and closed the door behind her.
“We’ve gotten hundreds of tips about Brianna O’Connor,” she said, c
ircling her desk and sitting back down. “Some of those sightings have been here in Miami, some as far as Texas.” She steepled her fingers, leaning closer. “But since you knew her personally, your encounter with her is the most credible.”
Monchetta looked over at her phone. “I’m going to call her parents and tell them what you told me. Right now, they don’t know if she’s alive or dead. But this news will change everything.”
I knew what she was getting at. This was my last chance to recant before involving Bree’s parents.
“If your account isn’t accurate, please tell me, Gabby. I won’t say a word to your parents. I know that you got in trouble for being out all night, and I can see why you might want to stretch the truth. Maybe you went out looking for Bree, but didn’t actually see her?”
“I spoke to her last night, Detective. That’s a fact.”
“So you want me to tell her parents. You’re sure about that.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “All right. Thank you, Gabby.”
Mom drove me home.
When we pulled into the driveway, the impounded Honda was sitting there. Dad must’ve gone to get it while we were at the station. I vaguely wondered if the fact that I’d been trying to help Bree would get me out of footing the bill.
The smell of spaghetti greeted us when we walked in, Dad’s go-to dinner when Mom wasn’t around. Although I’d barely eaten, I didn’t think I could stomach the heavy meal. I downed a cup of yogurt, then went upstairs to my room.
Sitting on my bed, I wrote a quick text to Adriana, knowing she’d pass the word on to the others. I’m fine, huge misunderstanding, sorry for running off like that, will explain tomorrow. xox I also texted Maria to say that everything was fine and I’d be in touch soon.
Then I saw a new text from X. I braced myself.
You made a good choice. For the record, I’m sorry things turned out this way.
Sadness came over me. I figured he was talking about Bree. But some part of me wondered if he was talking about us.
I remembered being glued to his chest last night, being in a place of bliss with my head against his heart. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to last.
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