Prologue
Lila shivered in the damp, dark alley. Drawing her legs up against her chest, she clasped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth, trying to find some warmth. Unfortunately the rags she wore did little to protect her from the biting wind and wet ground.
But she couldn’t go back. Not yet. Momma had a man in her room. Lila didn’t like him so she’d raced out of their apartment before he got there. She only wished it wasn’t so dark and cold. She tried desperately to ignore her damp clothes, her wet hair, and the way the cold bit into her, making her tremble. Her teeth chattered so hard that pain pounded her jaw, making her face ache.
A flash of lightning lit the black sky, followed by angry, rolling thunder, making her whimper. She hunkered down, placing her arms over her head as she buried her face against her raised knees. The skies opened and rained down on her, sharp and heavy.
“Get to cover boys, it’s really coming down,” a deep voice echoed across the alley. “Quick, under here.”
Lila stiffened in shock at the deep voice. He had a strange accent, not unpleasant, his words coming out in a long, thick drawl.
“Heck, where did that come from?” a younger voice asked. “I thought we’d have enough time to make it back to the hotel.”
What are they doing in my alley? Lila wondered as she peered around the large garbage bin beside her to get a look at them. All she could see were three people crowded under a large windowsill, just like her. And they looked large. Lila shrunk back against the cold brick behind her.
“Bet Gavin is laughing his head off in the hotel room,” one of them grumbled.
“Still got a couple of blocks to go as well,” the man with the strange accent replied. “And we’ll be lucky to grab a cab in this weather.”
Lila shivered, wishing they’d just go.
Lightning lit up the sky once more and she couldn’t hold back her whimper. Fear flooded her, making her feel sick. She hated storms.
“What was that?”
Oh no, they heard her.
“Sounded like a dog or something,” another one said.
Keep your eyes closed, she told herself. Don’t look up and they won’t see you.
“Jesus Christ, it’s a little kid.”
Clay Richards looked down at the scruffy child huddled on the dirty, damp ground and wanted to curse. He held his tongue, knowing he’d frighten the poor thing. Who the hell would let their child hang out in an alley during a storm?
“A kid?” Colin asked, trying to look around him. “Well, shit, what’s she doing out here? Here, I’ll get us a bit of light.” Colin grabbed out his cell phone, turning on the flashlight function.
The child held her legs tight against her chest with thin, bare arms. She whimpered again, obviously completely terrified. And who could blame her, with the three of them looming over her. Short, dark hair lay plastered against her head. She looked so fragile huddled there. Immediately, Clay felt the urge to pick her up, take her home and feed her up.
“Stand back a bit, boys,” Clay ordered quietly. His two foster sons immediately moved away. They’d lived with him for two years now. At thirteen and fifteen they were typical teenage boys; they grunted instead of using words, stayed up late and slept most of the days, and they left dirty dishes under their beds until science experiments started to form. But he wouldn’t be without them.
Clay crouched down in front of the child, careful to move slowly.
“Hey there, little fella. What you doing out here?” he asked gently.
Thunder rumbled and the child jumped with a squeal. Large, hazel-colored eyes looked up at him in fright.
“Don’t be scared. It’s only a bit of thunder,” he told the child. How old was she? Hard to tell, but she looked pretty tiny; her face was too pale and thin, her body inadequately covered by her threadbare clothing. Where the hell was her family?
“Yeah,” Colin said. “It’s just God farting.”
Trace groaned and Clay shook his head. That was Colin, always with a joke—usually a pretty bad one.
The kid just stared at the three of them with wide eyes. Luckily, the rain was lessening, although they were all now completely soaked.
“Where are your parents, little one?” Clay asked.
The child just stared up at him silently.
“I’m Clay and these are my sons, Trace and Colin. I know we all look big and scary, but we’re not going to hurt you. Will you tell me your name?”
She ran her eyes over him, settling on his hat. He followed her gaze upward and smiled. “You like it?” he asked. Reaching up, Clay brought his hat off his head. “Helps keep the sun off in Texas. Of course here in Chicago it’s more useful for keeping the rain off.” He placed the hat on the kid’s head. “How about you keep it safe for me?”
The hat was too large for her small head, of course, but the kid tipped it back, still looking up at him. “Now, how about we get out of this alley and take you home?”
“I can’t,” she said. “Not until the man’s finished.”
“What man?” Clay asked, trying not to frown and frighten her more.
“The man with Momma, when he’s gone she’ll turn the light off, then on, and I can come home.” The kid glanced up at a window down the alley. Jesus, what kind of life did she live?
“He’s been in there a long time,” the kid said, sounding worried. She nibbled on her bottom lip.
“Yeah?” Clay asked, trying to keep the fury he felt out of his voice. What kind of mother sent her tiny child to sit in a dark, damp alley while she entertained a boyfriend? I mean, how old could the kid be? She looked tiny, maybe five or six. “How about we go see your Momma?”
The kid shook her head. “Can’t. Got to wait.”
“I’m sure she won’t mind, honey,” Clay said soothingly.
“But the man will.” The kid’s terror kicked Clay in the stomach. “He’s scary. He has mean eyes and he likes to hug me. I-I don’t like the way he stares at me.”
Dear God. The bafflement in that little voice betrayed her innocence. What kind of fucker was the kid’s mother hanging around with?
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I won’t let him touch you.” It was a vow. And he meant it.
The child glanced up, her too-old gaze taking Clay in before she looked over at Colin and Trace. He and the boys had been here a week now, visiting an old friend of Clay’s. They were due to fly out tomorrow. As much as he’d enjoyed seeing Ian, Chicago was a long way from Texas, and Clay was eager to go home.
The city wasn’t for him. He preferred the wide, open spaces of his ranch.
“You’re big.” The quiet whisper hit his ears.