At the door to Rose’s room, Kate knocked. When half a minute with no reply passed, she pushed the door open and entered. After she made a visual sweep of the area—noting Rose’s made bed—Kate checked the small bathroom the teen and her roommate shared with the girls next door.
Why would Rose take the van? Has she run away? That doesn’t make sense, not after our heart-to-heart conversation yesterday.
Kate inspected the closet, full of the teenager’s clothes, then pulled open the dresser drawers to see if anything was missing. Everything seemed to be there. Rose wouldn’t leave without taking her possessions. She had so little, but she’d always taken special care of what she had.
So what are you doing, Rose? Going back to your old life?
That just didn’t seem possible. Rose had begun to have dreams of what her future could be. Yesterday she’d talked about what she was going to do after she got her GED.
Maybe Rose was in the infirmary. Hope flared in Kate. She swung around toward the door and left at a quickened pace.
A minute later, she entered the small infirmary. Harriet, one of the school staff, stood talking with the nurse on duty who was wrapping an Ace bandage around the ankle of a student. Beth lay on a bed next to them. There was no one else present.
Visions of what Rose had looked like when she’d first come to the program flashed into Kate’s mind. How the young girl had survived such a beating still amazed her. Fear for her charge clawed at her composure.
If she’s back on the street, what will happen to Rose if her ex-pimp finds her? The question chilled her. She shuddered, hugging her arms to her. I have to find her before it happens.
Kate signaled for Harriet to step into the hallway. “Rose is missing from her room. I’m going to talk with her roommate while you do a thorough search of the building. Get Jillian and some other staffers to help you. Before we do anything else, I need to know that she’s gone for sure.”
“I’ll tell my girls to wait in the rec hall. Her roommate, Cynthia, is part of my group. I’ll send her to your office.”
“Let’s keep this quiet for now, just among the staff.” There were no bars on the windows or locks to keep the teens inside at Beacon of Hope, because she never wanted the girls to feel like criminals. The teens had to agree to come to the voluntary program. They weren’t forced, but that didn’t mean some didn’t feel they had a choice really. She knew she still had to contact the police if someone left on her own. They were still minors, and, legally, they were runaways. But she didn’t have to report the van stolen by Rose. At least not until she had exhausted all possibilities concerning the girl. The teen didn’t need any more problems.
“We’ve done well. Remember the success stories. They outnumber the ones who go back to the streets.”
And Rose was going to be one of those success stories. Why did you leave, Rose? If I knew that, I might know where you went. “You’re right, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that when you lose someone special. Rose has so much promise.”
“Don’t forget there are few places like Beacon of Hope in the United States. The police and courts are beginning to see the need for this type of program. Where are the teens most people have forgotten going to go for help if we aren’t here?”
“I’m afraid back on the streets or in the morgue.” That’s why I’ll do what I need to get results. Someone has to care.
As Kate strode to her office, she passed a group of teenage girls in the large foyer of the building. With only a nod and a general greeting, she didn’t stop to talk as she usually did.
Rose’s dream for her future played in Kate’s mind. I want to help girls like me have a better life. I want to make a difference like you. Tears had shone in Rose’s eyes as she’d confided that to Kate yesterday. For the first time Rose had hugged Kate and cried as though she were reliving every horrible act done to her.
But the teen still hadn’t told her who her pimp had been. Every time she had tried to get Rose to talk about him and discover something to help the police find him, Rose would clam up, say she couldn’t remember anything before she woke up in the hospital. The fear in the child’s eyes tore at Kate’s heart. Rose knew more than she was saying.
In her office, which overlooked the street that ran in front of Beacon of Hope, she surveyed the room, wondering if anything else was missing. She often met with the staff or some of the teens around an oak table set in the corner with its four comfortable beige padded chairs. She tried to keep meetings as informal as possible. The chocolate-brown leather couch on the opposite wall became her place to crash after a long day. The rest of the area was completed with two wooden file cabinets, a desk, and a set of bookcases between two windows that lit the area with streams of sunlight. Bright posters of locations around the world adorned the mint green walls. This was her home more than her small apartment on the third floor of the shelter. Nothing was out of place or missing.
Her gaze fell upon the books that lined her shelves. What about the hidden cash she kept for emergencies? She crossed the room and retrieved a thick volume. Inside, concealed among the pages were four twenties and two tens. Nothing missing. Her hand shook as she slipped the psychology book back in place.
She had a bachelor’s degree in social work with a master’s in counseling, but nothing she’d studied at the University of Texas had really prepared her for what she’d faced each day with the teenage girls here, all former prostitutes, some as young as thirteen. She’d remembered when she was eight, her parents gave her an expensive, antique porcelain doll. Her dog had knocked it off the table, and it had smashed when it fell on the marble floor in the large foyer of her childhood home. She’d spent days trying to glue all the pieces together. Her result had gaps in the porcelain face, pieces too shattered to be glued back in place—same as the girls she worked with, some of whose hopes were so shattered she hadn’t been able to fix them. Remembering this incident only renewed her determination to do more in the future to help put them back together.
The door flew open. Harriet and a petite brunette hurried into the office. Cynthia kept her head down, her shoulders slumped, until Harriet left them alone.
“Have a seat please.” Kate waved the fourteen-year-old to the chair in front of her desk. She took the other one beside it and turned it so she faced the young girl. “Do you know where Rose is?”
No answer. Cynthia hunched her back even more as though drawing in on herself. The child had been at Beacon of Hope for three months because her parents had given up on their daughter, and the only person she’d warmed up to had been Rose.
“Cynthia,” Kate waited until the girl peered up. “I think Rose is in trouble, and I want to help her. Is there anything you can tell me about where Rose might be?”
She shrugged, averting her gaze. “She got a call right before she left last night. She never came back to the room.”
“Do you know who she was talking to?”
“Not sure but it sounded like the person was in trouble.” Tears crowded the teen’s eyes. “I know I shouldn’t have eavesdropped on Rose, but I don’t want anything to happen to her.”
“Neither do I.”
One tear slipped down Cynthia’s cheek. She scrubbed it away, dropped her head, and stared at her lap. “She was nice to me.” She peered at Kate. “When she didn’t come back—she’s in trouble, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know.” Kate pushed to her feet, not sure what to do next. Leaning back against the front of her desk, she clutched its edge.
Unless Rose turned up soon, as much as she wished she didn’t have to, her next step would be to go to the police and file a missing person report. No good would come of it. The teen would be considered a runaway, especially because of her background. In her gut, Kate was sure Rose hadn’t returned because something bad had happened to her—not because she chose to run away or go back on the street.
If she could just get some kind of lead, maybe she could find Rose. “Cynthia, did she ever t
ell you anything about her old life? Who her pimp was?”
Shaking her head, the fourteen-year-old twisted her hands together in her lap and kept her gaze down. “She said she didn’t remember.”
“I think she was remembering. If you recall anything about where Rose might be or who her pimp was, please let me know right away. If Rose is in trouble, I need all the information I can get to find her. Anything, no matter how insignificant, might help me.”
“You’re gonna look for her?”
“Yes, if I have something to go on. Think back to any talks you two might have had. It could be something casual Rose said.”
“I’ll try.” The teenage girl yanked on the long sleeves of her shirt—over and over.
Was she cutting herself again? Kate approached her, all her actions in slow motion. That didn’t stop Cynthia from flinching away, her eyes wide. She pressed her arms to her chest.
“Let me see your arm. Please.” Kate forced calmness into her voice while the injustice of what these children had gone through raged inside her. From the beginning, Cynthia had been one she was afraid she would lose. Until she had paired the girl with Rose. She had made a difference in Cynthia.
Rose’s roommate stared through her, as though she were somewhere else.
“Please.”
The teenager uncurled one arm and presented it to Kate. Slowly she pushed her white cotton shirt up to her elbow. Angry red slashes, many old wounds but a couple of fresh ones, marked Cynthia’s skin. Kate unrolled the sleeve and covered the cuts.
“Why don’t I walk you to the infirmary to have the nurse look at your arm? I don’t want you to get an infection.”
“I’m all right.” The girl hung her head, her words mumbled so low it was hard for Kate to hear her.
“Humor me.”
“I guess so.” Cynthia shoved to her feet.
Kate moved toward the door and opened it. “You know you can talk to me any time, 24/7.” Since she lived at Beacon of Hope, she was available even in the middle of the night for any crisis that arose. She wished that Rose had come to see her last night. Then maybe she wouldn’t be missing, possibly in peril.
“Yes, Ms. Winslow.”
“Remember it’s Kate. I’m here to help you.”
Cynthia shuffled past her into the corridor and followed Kate in silence toward the infirmary. She wanted to put her arm around Cynthia and tell her she wasn’t alone anymore. She had someone to turn to now, even if Rose never came back. She’d been surprised the child had let her see her cuts. Maybe one day she’d get through to her. Every failure to reach a girl left a mark on her that she couldn’t erase.
Lord, one crisis at a time. I know I want to solve all the problems at once, but Rose is my immediate concern. Help me find her before something bad happens to her.
The screen door banged closed behind Wyatt Sheridan as he came out onto his porch and strode to the wooden railing. Setting his mug on it, he surveyed the ranch that had been in his family for over a hundred years. When he had the time, he loved riding his horse over his land. He dreamed of raising quarter horses when he retired from the Texas Rangers.
Rows of black fences and green pastures with a few animals grazing in them stretched out from the left and right of his house. A gravel road led to the highway three hundred yards away. His Lone Star Ranch was his refuge in a world gone crazy. Not far from Bluebonnet Creek, a small town twenty miles northeast of Dallas, he stayed connected to the world out there, but when it got to be too much, he always returned here and rode over his property until he could put to rest the demons that hounded him.
Taking a swig of his black coffee, he hoped it did the trick after being up most of the previous night in a stakeout that led nowhere. He winced at the bitter taste as it slid down his throat. His mother had made the coffee, trying her hand at being domestic, again. It was never gonna happen.
He took another sip and finally pitched the mug’s contents over the porch rail. A butterfly fluttered around a bush his mother had planted to attract them. That had been when she was in her gardening phase, which had lasted all of two weeks last year. Much like that butterfly, his mom flitted from one project to the next, never staying long with any of them.
The sound of the screen door squeaking open, then closed, drew him around. “You’re up early.” He glanced at his watch. “You don’t get up before seven even when school is in session.”
“It’s too hot to ride later.” His fourteen-year-old daughter set her tan cowboy hat on her head. “It’s in the high nineties before noon.”
“That’s August in Texas. Who are you going to ride with?”
“Kelly. I’m meeting her in the south pasture. Are ya gonna make the rodeo this evening?”
“Sure, I have to see my gal compete. How about your grandma? Is she coming?”
Maddie shrugged. “I never know what Nana is gonna do next.”
“I suspect she doesn’t either. Have you seen her this morning?”
His daughter descended the steps. “She told me last night she’d be gone by five-thirty. I think her latest hobby is bird watching.”
He chuckled. “Who’s into bird watching?”
“Chuck.”
“Ah. That explains her interest.”
Maddie crossed the front yard and headed for the nearby barn. One of his current assignments with the Child Rescue Task Force, dealing with child prostitution, made him thankful every time he was with his daughter that she was sensible, normal, caring. When Maddie disappeared from view, he made his way inside to make real coffee, not this tasteless tar his mom thought was drinkable.
After brewing some and filling his mug, he started toward his bedroom. His daughter had reminded him he had some chores to do around the ranch before his meeting with the Dallas police. He stopped in mid-stride halfway across the large kitchen. His mother stood in the entrance, her face twisted into a frown.
“I thought you were bird watching. Not many out at seven?” Wyatt blew on his coffee then took a sip. It was perfect.
“Chuck and I had a difference of opinion this morning.”
He gritted his teeth then asked, “What about?”
“My talking. I don’t understand why I can’t talk while bird watching. I can’t just sit there and wait. My arms were getting tired holding the binoculars up.”
With his mother dressed in a bright orange shirt, tan shorts, and orange sandals with heels, he couldn’t imagine her blending in with any type of terrain. “You weren’t gone but an hour. How long were you sitting and waiting?”
“Five minutes.”
“A record.” He pressed his lips together to keep the rest of his comment to himself.
“What’s wrong with talking?”
“Nothing, Mom.”
“My name is Carrie. I’ve been telling you and Maddie to call me that. Mom and Nana make me sound old. I’m only fifty-five. I was so young when I had you, practically a child myself.”
He fortified himself with a gulp of caffeine-laden drink. “Your name is Caroline. Where is Carrie coming from?”
“Carrie and Caroline are close. I like Carrie better. Makes me sound young. Like that country-western singer that won American Idol.”
“I have to check a fence before I leave. I’ll talk to you later.” He passed her in the doorway.
“That’s the trouble with being out here in the boonies. No one to talk with.”
“Why don’t you join another ladies’ club or something?” He hurried his step, realizing when she started on that tirade he’d never get anything done.
“Why don’t you move into town? Bluebonnet Creek is small, but it has some people. Better yet, Dallas. Don’t the Texas Rangers have people in Dallas? We certainly know it has its share of crime. If not, I would settle for Garland, where Company B’s headquarters are.”
He paused, came back to his mother, and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise we’ll talk tonight. You can have my undivided attention then.”
“Where’s Maddie?”
“She’s riding Star Champion. Meeting Kelly in the south pasture.”
She swung around. “Then I’ll go and talk to her.”
“But, Mo—Carrie . . .” It was useless. His mother crossed the dining room and was in the hallway. It wouldn’t make any difference what he said. She would do what she wanted, even joining her granddaughter and her friend on a ride.
His cell rang. He unclipped it from his belt. “Sheridan here.”
“I’m heading to a crime scene. A rancher found a white van abandoned on his property,” The familiar voice was Daniel James, his FBI counterpart on the Child Rescue Task Force.
“Since when do you investigate abandoned cars?” Wyatt strode toward his bedroom, hearing his mother singing a song by the country-western singer she’d named herself after. Singing it off-key.
“Since there’s a young girl found near it. The sheriff sent me a picture of the victim. She was reported missing last year in Oklahoma.”
He pushed the sound of his mom’s fading voice from his mind. “Where?”
“Not too far from you off Highway 78.” Daniel gave him the directions.
“Be there in half an hour.” Wyatt stuffed his cell back into its belt case and grabbed his gun, wallet, and car keys.
In the kitchen, he jotted a note on the dry-erase board by the wall phone, letting his daughter and mother know where he’d be. For a few seconds, Maddie’s smiling face as she started for the barn popped into his thoughts. Another parent would be notified a daughter wasn’t ever coming home. He’d wanted to make a difference in children’s lives and had asked to be assigned to the Child Rescue Task Force, but sometimes he questioned his sanity when he’d approached his captain about it. His daughter was his life. How would he be able to deal with it if something happened to her?
Saving Hope: Men of the Texas Rangers Book 1 Page 2