glanced down at her cute little toes. The broken and peeled pink polish needed touched up. “I get it. Tomorrow night it is. Shall I meet you somewhere?”
“We have two weeks exactly before the big day.”
“I’m a quick learner. I promise, I won’t let you down.”
The living room was clean when I walked toward the front door. Phoebe seemed to run a tight ship. “I’m not worried about that, Phoebe. Not even a little bit. You’ll probably even walk away with a gold medal,” I teased, winking at the girl I was fighting a growing attraction to.
Once I opened the front door, I casually scanned the parking lot for my Harley friends. The lit parking lot proved they were nowhere to be seen. “I’ll pick you up here.”
When I reached the car, my phone buzzed. I turned the key to kick on the air. Saying the July Texas heat was brutal was an understatement. Between the stifling humidity and temperature, it literally robbed you of breath. Simply from the walk to my car, my damp shirt stuck to my back. Once the air kicked on, I glanced at my phone.
The email from the investigator and a text from Phoebe. I read the text first.
Thank you for the pizza. Thank you for the interviews. The help. All of it. Sometimes, I can’t find the words to tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity. A text seems lame but.
I glanced up at the window and saw her peeking between the curtains. I texted back.
You’re welcome for the pizza. The interviews and the help. Your words were perfect. A text was not lame. Get some sleep.
The curtains closed, and I smiled.
During the forty-minute drive home, I replayed watching her plate pizza for the kids. Each of them stood patiently while she slid a piece on their plate, handed them a napkin and then patted their head. Then the little ones smiled up at her with eyes beaming. There was no doubt Phoebe was their world. She’d become a mother by circumstance. Not one of them her biological child, but siblings she’d taken in like a mother hen. The brief explanation regarding her mother left me with more questions, but we had time to get into that later. Two weeks to be exact. One thing was for sure. Her life may have resembled Fiona Gallagher a little bit, but my Fiona had her shit together way more and had the most beautiful head of red hair.
“Call Tomas,” I instructed Siri, and the phone started ringing as I navigated through traffic.
“Austin. What’s up?”
“Hey, I got your email but I’m driving. Any chance you can give me a rundown as I drive?”
“Of course. Phoebe Miller did have a record.”
“Shit,” I hissed, swiping down my face. “How bad?”
“Depends how you look at it. All juvenile charges but one.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-four. She has three theft charges. All misdemeanors. But get this. The things she stole? Diapers, baby food, formula and one charge she fled after being confronted. Wanna guess for what?”
I huffed out a breath of sarcastic laughter. “Something for her siblings, no doubt.”
“Yep. Liquid Amoxicillin.”
“Jesus. And the state still pressed charges?”
“Diversion, it was an adult case. Three months’ probation on another. A child in need of care petition was filed twice.”
My neck fell slack as my head rested against the headrest. “Christ.”
“Who is she, man?”
“A business associate.” I stretched the truth a wee bit. What was I going to say, a girl I was paying to pretend to date me?
“Well, just so you know, the mother is incarcerated serving two more years of a five-year sentence.”
“Charge?”
“There’s a list. Child endangerment, sexual negligence of a child, negligence enabling sexual assault of a child.”
A hard swallow stuck midway down my esophagus. Phoebe was her child. Had her mother hurt her or allowed others to hurt her? What the hell had I gotten myself into? As I turned into my gated neighborhood, in my Tesla, I parked next to my convertible Porsche and hoped Phoebe never knew where I lived. For whatever reason, I suddenly felt shitty for the life I’d been blessed with.
“Given that this is business, I’ll tell you. The girl and a sister were listed as victims in a case against Bernard Coffman.”
My chin cocked sideways. “Offense?”
“Sexual battery.”
For my entire life, my father had drilled composure into my head. As the butt of my fist collided with the steering wheel, I yelled. “Fuck!”
“Sure you wanna do business with her?”
“Yeah,” I said, disconnecting the phone. “I