he dialed first one and then another of the girls Tatum hung out with.
Only to find that she hadn’t been hanging out with them.
Not since Harcourt. The girls didn’t sound any happier about the asshole’s advent into his sister’s life than he was.
Taking deep steady breaths, Tanner walked, very deliberately, out to the far barn—the one that they never used because half of it was missing. In the standing half was a small tack room—the only room inside, enclosed with drywall, as though someone had once used the place as a getaway. A hideout. Maybe yesterday’s version of a man cave.
An old round wooden table, with one rotted leg, stood in the middle of the room. On the walls hung several framed photos—or a rendition thereof. The frames were falling apart at the seams. The glass was broken.
And there was one unframed poster hanging there. A newer poster. One he’d hung as a reminder of why he worked and sacrificed every day. The anti-drug poster depicted a meth addict. A woman with stringy, dirt-blond hair and black gaps where her teeth should be. There were sores all over her face, so much so that you couldn’t tell if the woman had ever been beautiful, or just plain. Her eyes held no light, but he still saw something there. He didn’t know the woman, but every time he looked at that poster, he felt as if he did. He saw a woman he knew.
A woman his siblings knew, as well. She’d given birth to them.
Anytime he was feeling overwhelmed all it took was a look at that poster, a reminder of what they’d escaped, and he found the strength to climb one more mountain.
Every problem had a solution. He just had to find it.
Tanner took a step back, feeling calmer.
Until he thought of finding Tatum with that big-spending rich daddy’s boy...
Very carefully, he removed the top two tacks holding the poster in place, exposing a piece of drywall with a couple of fist-size holes in it.
With one powerful thrust he added a third. Pinned the poster back in place. And, ignoring his red, throbbing knuckles, went out to his truck, started the ignition and tore out the circular drive, his tires spitting rocks and dust behind him.
He wasn’t going to touch Del Harcourt, but he was going to bring his little sister home.
Period.
* * *
“WE’VE GOT A bed for you for tonight, Talia.” Lila McDaniels’s steady presence seemed to calm the girl as they sat on a leather sofa in her office Tuesday just before dinner. Sedona, sitting on the other side of the girl, took note. With her gray hair and no-nonsense slacks and blouse, Lila didn’t draw attention to herself. But while some people might overlook her, think they could ignore her, they’d soon find that she was always there. Always everywhere.
“Thank you.” Talia’s tremulous smile was clearly genuine.
“I’ll take you to dinner in a few minutes,” Lila continued. “You’ll be staying in Maddie Estes’s bungalow tonight. She has an extra room.”
Sedona knew a female Lemonade Stand staff member would also be in the bungalow alongside Maddie and Talia, just as she was every night in case Maddie, who had special needs, woke up and was frightened or confused. Talia wouldn’t be unsupervised for a moment.
“Maddie’s going to be getting married soon,” Lila said. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it.”
Talia’s glance showed interest. “You help people get married here? Like they can stay until they get married and move in with their husbands?”
“Some women leave here to marry, but not many,” Lila explained. “The Lemonade Stand is a place where women come to heal when they’ve been mistreated. It’s a place where, hopefully, they can live with respect while being exposed to healthy relationships and learning how to love well. It’s also a safe house. Those who don’t treat our residents well are kept away from them.”
When Talia’s shoulders visibly relaxed, Sedona exchanged a glance with Lila. The older woman nodded.
“Tell us what happened to you, Talia.”
The girl looked from one to the other of them. Her lips were trembling.
“You told Ms. Campbell that you were hit.”
Talia nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.
“More than once?” Lila conducted the interview like the professional she was, and once again Sedona was filled with admiration for this woman who’d given up any chance of a life of her own, a family of her own, to run this wonderful, beach-front shelter and to give abused women a chance to know how it felt to be treated well. To give hundreds of women and children the chance to have happy families of their own.
“Maybe I was hit a couple of times.”
“Maybe?”
Talia stared downward. “Okay, a couple of times.”
“Recently?”
The girl shook her head. Shrugged. And then nodded.
“We need to know who you are, Talia.”
“I’m Talia Malone.”
“The ID you showed me bearing the name Talia Malone said that you live in an apartment in Los Angeles.”
“That’s right.” Talia picked at the side of her finger with a perfectly manicured purple nail.
“That apartment complex was torn down a couple of years ago. After a fire. The address is an empty lot.”
The slender shoulders between the two women shrugged again. “I moved.”
“The ID also says you’re nineteen, but you told Ms. Campbell you’re only fifteen.”
With her head bowed, the girl looked right, then left, and didn’t look up at either of them.
Sedona ached to help her.
Did the girl have family who would report her missing? Anyone who would care about her absence that night?
The same person who’d hurt her?
Right now, Sedona’s only concern was the girl.
“Talia?”
Those gray-blue eyes trained on her, and the wealth of hurt—and confusion—pooling in their depths grabbed at Sedona.
“You said I could have until tomorrow morning.”
“You can. We won’t call anyone until then. But at least tell us your name.”
The girl shook her head. “I told you, I’m Talia Malone.”
“Tell us who hurt you. Who are you afraid of? Who are you running from?”
Talia picked at her nails some more, around the edge of the nails,
