Page 30 of Huck Frasier

I called Frasier.

He answered on the first ring.

“Marley?”

“I found them,” I whispered. “They’re moving kids out of Tucson. I have proof.”

A pause. Then—“Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Marley.”

“…Cracked ribs. Maybe worse. But I’m okay.”

“Where are you?”

I dropped a pin to my directions and whispered, “Please don’t yell at me.”

“I’m not gonna yell,” he said, his voice tight with something that wasn’t anger.

“What then?”

“I’m gonna tear the sky open until I find you.”

21

Frasier

Tucson – Near the Junkyard

Isaw her before she saw me.

Slumped against a rusted truck. Face scraped. Her shirt bloody at the side.

And still holding her damn phone like it was a weapon.

I stopped the truck so hard the tires kicked up dust clouds. Threw it in park. Didn’t even shut the door.

“Marley!” I shouted.

Her head jerked up. Pain flickered across her face, but she smiled.

“Hey, soldier,” she rasped.

I reached her in seconds. Dropped to my knees and scanned every inch of her, hands hovering over her body, too scared to touch.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking,” she gritted, “that kids are being trafficked and someone needed to do something.”

“You almost got yourself killed!”

“And you think that scares me more than losing them?”

I stared at her—bleeding, bruised, fierce—and my anger cracked.

She was right.