“Wow, Izzy, you’ve taken on a lot with this.”
“Thanks to you, everything’s ruined,” she said with hatred in her eyes.
Cassidy tried to step back from the angry reaction building in her chest. “Maybe you should get some rest,” she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. “We can talk more in the morning.”
Almost as if Cassidy had cast a spell, Izzy lay down on the bed. Standing, Cassidy looked down on the young woman. Her hair had since dried but faint smudges of mascara still marked her cheeks. Her blue eyes stared blankly at the wall, her body looking too small for the bed.
“Goodnight,” Cassidy said from the doorway. Izzy did not reply.
Back in the living room, she found that Quinn had left her blankets and a pillow. Light shone from under his door, so she knocked.
“Yeah,” he called softly.
Cassidy drifted into his room to find him unpacking, his hair still wet from a shower. He was dressed in plaid pajama pants and a gray t-shirt.
“Is she okay?” Quinn asked, tossing his dirty laundry into the basket.
“No,” Cassidy said, sitting sidesaddle on the edge of his bed.
“You want to tell me what exactly is going on?” he asked, his quick eyes catching her gaze.
“I need to call her father,” Cassidy replied.
“You also stink,” Quinn said. “Where do they get the water for those pipes, anyways? The lagoon?”
“Probably,” Cassidy replied, feeling so tired she wasn’t sure she could even stand, let alone take a shower. “I think Izzy got recruited to work for Saxon. Some guys were paying to . . . do things to her.” Cassidy shared the brief version of tracking Izzy’s movements and how she came to find her in the warehouse.
“Wow,” Quinn said, sitting down next to Cassidy, his shoulders slumping. “Are you okay?” He gave her a long look.
“I won’t be running for a while,” she said, taking a peek at the sole of each battered foot, noticing a dark red gouge in her right heel. She thought back to her flashback and the battle she’d fought with her emotions every step of the journey. Though freeing Izzy from that warehouse made it all feel worthwhile, Cassidy felt drained and hollow, and the feeling that she would never be right again lingered.
A chill tingled her spine when she remembered Saxon’s words: This isn’t over. But had they been directed at her or Izzy? He knew her profession, probably where she worked. It would be easy to fill in the rest. Like where I live.
“Why didn’t you just call the police?” Quinn asked. “Izzy could have told them about Saxon.”
Cassidy rubbed her dirty hands on her thighs. “I wasn’t sure they’d come.” She caught a whiff of her hair as she tossed it back—it did stink. “And remember Bruce, the FBI agent?”
Quinn nodded, looking confused.
“Well, he sort of helped me find Izzy. But when Saxon’s name popped up, he told me to back off. Apparently, they have an agent undercover trying to bring down some illegal activity, and me stirring things up could jeopardize the case.” Cassidy took a breath. “So I told myself that if I rescued Izzy without involving the police or compromising his mission, that was a fair deal.” She thought again of the media hounding her about Costa Rica. “Plus, after my recent bout with fame, I wanted to protect Izzy from having to be in the spotlight, especially about something so damaging.”
“Her father will certainly appreciate that,” Quinn said gravely.
Cassidy inhaled a long breath. “I suppose. Though I did it for Izzy. She’s a smart kid with her whole future ahead of her. I didn’t want it derailed by something like this.” She lay back on the bed. “She’s not seeing it that way right now though.”
“Think she’s confused?” Quinn said, brushing back his wet bangs.
“Definitely. She’s angry that I stopped her from earning a bunch of money tonight. She’s convinced she’s the only one who can help her mom, who’s sick.”
“That’s a really fucked up way to raise funds. Heck, I could have put her to work at Drift. A good waitress can easily pull in a thousand bucks a weekend in tips,” Quinn said.
Cassidy sighed.
Quinn checked his watch. “Are you going to call her dad? It’s almost two a.m.”
“Yeah,” Cassidy sighed, and rolled off Quinn’s bed.
She shuffled to the balcony, grabbing one of the extra blankets on her way, and draped it over her shoulders as she stepped outside. The air tasted of the ocean she couldn’t see but knew churned only a few blocks away. In the distance she could see the lights from passing ships.
Preston Ford answered on the second ring.
“I’ve located Izzy,” she said.
“Thank heavens,” he replied, his voice boomed. “Where is she?”
Cassidy gave him Quinn’s address. “It’s been a really long day. But if you could be here in the morning, I think that would be helpful.”
“Of course.”
“Mr. Ford?” Cassidy asked. “Are you in touch with Izzy’s mother?”
“No, why?’
Cassidy sighed. “Well, Izzy put herself in a lot of danger tonight to help her.”
Mr. Ford groaned. “Not this,” he said.
A horn blared from the street below, its sound drawn out like a siren as it passed. Cassidy was pulled back to the fire engines arriving at the warehouse. Cassidy had counted two at the back entrance, plus the police car. The front entrance was out of sight, but she could hear the sirens and the yelling from the crews racing to assemble to fight what they must have believed was a massive fire. A part of her felt incredibly guilty for summoning them. The other half was overcome with gratitude—their arrival had saved Izzy. But what about the other girls in that warehouse? Had Saxon and his men taken them away in time? Where were they now?
Cassidy gripped her phone. “I think Izzy is going to need some help,” she said. “And not just to recover from this. I think it . . . goes deeper than that.”
“Thank you for your
