Page 33 of Cross the Line
"You're fifteen. It's not your job to protect your mother from an abuser."
"Then whose job is it?" His gaze challenged me. Desperate.
"Ours. Mine." I shifted closer. Careful not to crowd him. "And right now, the best way you can help your mom is by coming with me, so she knows you're safe."
His shoulders slumped. Not surrender, not exactly, but maybe the first step toward it.
My radio crackled to life with Hawley's transmission. "Carlson. Status?"
I unclipped it from my belt. "I've got him. We're talking."
"Copy that." A pause. "Is he injured?"
A glance toward the boy, who shook his head slightly.
"He's okay. Give us a few minutes."
"Understood. Backup is two minutes out. I'll intercept and update them."
I returned the radio to my belt. Studied him as he processed everything. He'd been weighing his options since I first appeared. Now I watched him come to a decision, like watching a house of cards fold in on itself.
"That other detective, the one down there. Is he... is he like you?" The question came quietly.
"Like me?"
"Will he believe me? About my stepdad?"
The question held so much. His fear. His tentative trust. The weight of not being believed before.
"He will." Complete certainty filled my voice. "Hawley sees everything, notices everything. And he follows the evidence, no matter who it implicates."
He stared at me for a long moment. Still weighing. The utility room had become a strange confessional booth. Just the two of us, the rain, and a lifetime of decisions neither of us could take back.
"Okay." Barely a whisper above the drumming water. "I'll go with you."
Relief washed through me. "Good choice." The smile I offered him hopefully looked more confident than I felt. "We'll figure this out together, alright? First step is getting you somewhere warm and dry."
He pulled his pack straps over his shoulders. Rose. Movement careful and precise. Someone much older. Someone who'd learned early that one wrong step could have consequences.
"We need to get you down from here." I eyed the darkening sky. "Your mother needs to know you're safe. Come on. I'll help you."
He followed me to the edge of the roof. Found where the ladder descended into the laneway below. Through the sheets of rain, Hawley's figure stood exactly where I'd left him. He hadn't budged an inch, despite being soaked to the bone.
The boy approached the ladder with surprising confidence. Hands finding the familiar rungs.
"I'll go first." I swung my legs over the edge. "You follow when I'm halfway. Just take it slow, one rung at a time."
The metal was even slicker now. Cold against my palms as I started down. My shoes kept sliding on the narrow rungs. Forced me to grip tighter. To move with deliberate care.
Halfway down, the sound of climbing started above me. A glance upward showed his thin frame silhouetted against the gray sky. Moving with the practiced ease of someone who'd made this climb multiple times before.
Below, Hawley had positioned himself directly beneath the structure. Tracking our every movement. His posture had changed. The casual stillness replaced by alert readiness. Like a coiled spring.
I kept moving downward. Focus on each rung, on the placement of hands and feet. The wind had picked up. Gusting through the narrow laneway. Making the structure sway slightly.
A sudden, startled cry from above made me freeze. The boy's foot slipped on a rain-slick rung. His body lurched sideways over empty space. Fingers scrambling for purchase.
Instinct took over. One arm hooked around the metal for stability while the other shot upward. Closed around his wrist just as he lost his grip entirely. The sudden weight nearly pulled me from my perch. Sent a bolt of agony through my shoulder socket.
