fingers wrap around me.
“God, yes,” I groan as I throw my head back onto the cushions.
* * *
We still haven’t heard anything official about Tyler’s job. He’s expecting a letter any day. The whole thing infuriates me because Tyler saved my sister’s life—not just Layla’s but the lives of eleven other girls. He should get a freaking medal for that. But no, they’re going to fire him. It’s so unfair.
I know Tyler has to be heartbroken about losing his job. His career means everything to him. He was put in a difficult position, forced to choose between his job and my sister. “It’s so unfair.”
Tyler steps up behind me and lays his hands on my hips. “What’s unfair?”
“You losing your job.” My eyes sting, and I blink away tears. “What are you going to do next?”
“I’ve been giving it some thought. Finding Layla and those other girls made me realize how much I like helping people who are at risk. If we hadn’t found those girls when we did, they would have been moved out of the city, and who knows if we would have found them. I think of those girls and their families… we impacted a lot of people’s lives, Ian. We made a real difference, and not everyone can say that. I’d like to continue making a difference.”
“How?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about becoming a private investigator. For years now, I’ve been a homicide detective, investigating murders. What if I got involved earlier in the process? If I took on missing persons cases, I’d at least have a chance of finding them alive, before they become another murder statistic.”
I pivot to face him. “You’d make a wonderful private eye, and I could help you. I could be your assistant—you know, like Robin to your Batman.”
Tyler smiles. “Slow down, baby. I didn’t say anything about you doing investigative work. It could get dangerous. You’re not trained for that.”
“But I could be. I loved helping you find Layla. I think I’d be pretty good at it—certainly I’d make a good assistant.” I grab his hand and squeeze. “We could work together, Tyler. Just think about it.”
He brushes my hair off my forehead. “I’ll think about it.”
Just the thought of us working on cases together is exhilarating. “This is something I really want to do. And you can teach me what you know. You could even teach me how to handle a gun.”
“I would love for us to work together,” he says. “I’m sure there are things you could do behind the scenes—research, for example. PI work requires a ton of research.”
“You’d be my boss,” I say, grinning. “You could tell me what to do. You know we both like that.”
Laughing, Tyler pulls me into his arms. “All right, we’ll figure something out.”
* * *
That evening, Tyler and I go to my parents’ house to see Layla, who was released from the hospital earlier in the day. When we arrive, we find my mom and dad in the living room, deep in conversation.
“Where’s Layla?” I ask.
My mom points at the ceiling. “In her room.”
I frown. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s very withdrawn,” Mom says. “She’s trying to pretend nothing happened. That can’t be good for her.”
“I’ll try talking to her.” I look to Tyler. “Do you want to come up with me?”
“I think you should talk to her alone,” he says. “She’d probably feel more comfortable if it was just you. I’ll wait here with your parents.”
I head upstairs and find Jason seated in an armchair outside my sister’s room, reading on a tablet.
“Is she still refusing to talk to you?” I ask him.
Jason nods. “Honestly, I don’t blame her. I’m just hanging around hoping she’ll change her mind.”
I knock on her door. “Layla? It’s me.”
“Come in,” she says.
I step inside her bedroom and close the door behind me. Layla’s sitting on her bed, leaning against a stack of pillows propped against the headboard. She’s clutching a pillow, her chin resting on her arms, and her earbuds are in.
I take a seat on the bed. “Hey. How’re you doing?”
She lifts her eyes to me, dark eyes that are filled with shadows. “Not so good.” She takes out one earbud.
There are a multitude of bruises on her face. I try not to think about how those bruises got there. Or what those cretins might have done to her when she was drugged.
“How are the voices?” I ask.
“Bad. They’ve been bad since I woke up in the hospital. They say it’s all my fault, that