“Around back. Lower level. Room 116,” she said in a reluctant voice so low he could barely hear her.
As he drove through the parking lot, he had to physically swallow back the bile rising in his throat as he thought about someone as defenseless as Sarah living in this dangerous environment every single day. On top of that, this fucking dump of a place was an inescapable reminder of all the times his mother had forced him to witness her own disgusting and despicable lifestyle—turning tricks for cash, which she would then turn around and hand over to the closest drug dealer for a fix instead of feeding the hungry five-year-old boy she’d brought with her. He’d be close by while she did revolting things to strangers, and she’d threatened him to be quiet, to never tell his brothers or else he’d be taken away.
Yeah, great fucking memories there.
He made his way around to the back of the dimly lit motel and pulled his vehicle into a parking spot. He cut the engine and turned toward Sarah, grabbing her wrist just as she tried to unbuckle her seat belt. She glanced at him sharply, and there was just enough illumination in the cab for him to see her flushed face and how angry she was . . . on the outside. But beneath that fuming emotion, he saw the real truth in her eyes that reflected shame and humiliation.
He swore beneath his breath. “What the hell, Sarah? Why are you living here?”
“It’s all I can afford,” she said, her chin lifting willfully. “I’m just trying to get through a few more weeks until I have enough money to leave. And it’s better than living on the streets.”
As much as he admired her strength and fortitude, it killed him inside to know this is what she came home to every night. And for some reason, she obviously didn’t have anyone else she could turn to. Certainly no family to speak of. “Let me help you, Sarah. If you need money or—”
“No.” She cut him off and pulled her hand from his grasp. “I don’t need any handouts or you feeling sorry for me. I’ve been in worse situations than this, and I’ve been absolutely fine staying here.”
She unbuckled her seat belt, and short of cuffing her—which he seriously considered—he knew there was no stopping Sarah from getting out of the vehicle. He quickly reached into the glove box and retrieved his service revolver, which he’d placed in there earlier before picking her up at the store. He never went far without his weapon and normally had it holstered at his side beneath his shirt, but he hadn’t wanted to freak her out if she touched it while he was kissing her—because yeah, he’d known that first kiss in his kitchen was going to happen.
Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the gun, and when her gaze lifted to his, he pinned her with a firm look. “Keep your ass right where it is until I come around and get you,” he said, not missing the annoyance that flashed in her eyes.
Satisfied that she wasn’t going to argue or defy him, even if she didn’t care for his order, he got out of his side of the truck, his gaze automatically scanning his surroundings as he tucked his weapon into the back waistband of his jeans. There was no one in this back area at the moment, but the parking lot and around his vehicle was littered with condom wrappers, used syringes, and drug paraphernalia.
Fucking great.
By the time Levi reached the passenger side and helped her out, he was silently seething—again, because of Sarah’s predicament and her stubborn refusal to accept any help. Keeping a hand on the base of her spine and her stiff, tension-filled body tucked close, he let her lead the way to her room. He stood behind her as she retrieved a keycard and swiped it, then opened the door and stepped inside.
Before he had a chance to follow, a soft, horrified cry escaped her, and she suddenly moved in reverse until her backside collided against the front of his body. He caught her by the upper arms to steady her, but he felt her trembling. One glance over her shoulder into the room, which was illuminated by the dim lamp on the nightstand, and he realized why. The place had been completely ransacked—the mattress had been pulled from the box spring, pillows had been ripped open, and the dresser drawers were open haphazardly and had been rifled through.
Reacting quickly and instinctively, Levi pushed Sarah back against the wall by the door and withdrew his gun. The room was small, without many places for a perp to hide, and it took him less than a minute to check the tiny closet, then do a sweep of the compact bathroom. Someone had removed the lid from the toilet, and he noticed that the window had been busted open. The frame was big enough for someone to climb through, and Levi suspected that it had most likely been a random burglary. That someone had known she was out for the evening and broken in with hopes of finding cash or something of value.
But as he walked back into the bedroom, it was clear that Sarah didn’t have much, let alone something of financial worth. She’d told him that things had been rough for a while, but this . . . this was near destitute. There were only a few clothes hanging in the closet, and the drawers contained bare necessities. Even the food tossed onto the floor was basic and cheap—and reminded him of the kind of groceries Clay had bought for him and Mason to fill their hungry bellies: ramen, oatmeal, off-brand granola bars, and peanut butter. Fuck.
He made his way back to Sarah, and since there was no imminent threat, he returned his weapon to the waistband of his jeans. Her face was pale, she was visibly shaking, and she looked at him with legitimate fear in her tear-filled eyes.
“They . . . they took the . . . TV and microwave,” she stuttered out, clearly in shock.
Levi didn’t give a shit about any of that, and tomorrow he’d deal with reporting the break-in and robbery to the manager of the motel. Right now, his only concern was getting Sarah out of this fucking hellhole once and for all.
Chapter Seven
Levi couldn’t sleep. Not a big surprise considering everything that had happened this evening. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the shadows flitting across the ceiling, his mind jam-packed with so many thoughts it was difficult to process them all. But there was at least one thing he didn’t have to worry about any longer, and that was knowing Sarah was safe—in his house and sleeping in one of the spare bedrooms down the hall. Thank God.
He’d been so damned relieved she hadn’t argued with him when he’d ordered her to pack up her belongings, all of them, because she wouldn’t be returning. Then again, she’d been in a traumatized state, moving around the room as if she were operating on autopilot. All of her clothes and personal items had fit into a regular-sized backpack, a thought that pained him. And when she’d gone into the bathroom and seen the lid off the toilet, she’d spiraled into total panic—and he’d had no clue why.
Her breathing had escalated, her body shook, and huge tears welled in her eyes as she murmured, “No, no, no,” over and over again, until he finally grabbed her arms and demanded to know what was wrong.
With a huge, defeated sob, she’d told him she’d had a little over three hundred dollars she’d kept in a Ziploc bag in the tank for safe-keeping. It was all the cash she had to her name, gone now, most likely in the hands of some junkie who was wise to that particular trick. He’d taken her into his arms and promised everything would be okay, and even now, he swore it would be . . . if she’d just let him help her.
But now that the crisis was over, Levi couldn’t help but analyze Sarah’s situation. He tried to take all he knew about her dire circumstances and put them all together like pieces of a puzzle to form a complete story. All those scenarios didn’t make for a pretty picture: the minimal way she’d lived, the job she worked, the type of food she’d bought, her meager belongings, and even how she’d hidden all her cash because she didn’t have a bank account—they were a perfect setup for someone to pick up and disappear at a moment’s notice. If he was a gambling man, he’d bet everything he owned that she was running from someone or something.
He’d considered pressing her for answers once he’d gotten her home, but her anxiety level was so high, her mood so agitated, he’d made her take a warm shower, then drink a glass of wine, before putting her in the guest bed down the hall from his.
And when she’d looked up at him with blue eyes that were so sad and lost and whispered, “I’m so sorry,” for something that wasn’t even her fault, he’d felt his heart twist hard and sharp in his chest. He’d slid into bed beside her, taken her into his arms, and held her tight. Returning to his own room hadn’t been easy.
Now that he was calmer and more rational, he realized that forcing her to explain her situation, all of it, would be the quickest way to push her away. If he’d learned anything about Sarah, it was that she had a lot of pride and didn’t like to rely on anyone for anything. Once she woke up and realized she was at his mercy with nowhere to go, she’d be defensive and wary. He needed to back off, not push harder.
It went against every one of his instincts as both a man and a cop to back down, but that same intuition told him to tread slowly and carefully or she’d run from him, too. The best he could do was to keep her safe and protected, without any demands, and hopefully she’d come around and trust him with the real truth.
The sound of soft footsteps padding down the hall pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced toward his open bedroom door just as Sarah’s slender figure appeared in the frame.