country sees more assholes each week than me.
In general, I mean, because every now and then you strike gold. You get a real client with real problems and you get a shining opportunity to feel good about your job.
My passion is helping victimized kids.
I can relate to them.
I understand them.
They trust me.
Don’t get me wrong: I don’t sit around hoping kids will be victimized just to keep me from getting bored. But when bad things do happen, I want to be the one who gets the case. I’ll work night and day for them, put everything else on the back burner. I…
I look up at the young lady who just walked into my office.
A teenager.
“Ms. Ripper?” she says.
“Yes?”
“I’m Riley Freeman. Umm…” She looks around a minute. I notice her fingers fussing with the hem of her pleated skirt. She’s nervous. Confused about something. This could be it. The case I’ve been hoping for.
I stand.
“Hi, Riley.”
I come around my desk, shake her hand.
“I don’t have much money,” she says.
“Who does?” I say. “Please. Have a seat.”
She looks around, uneasy.
I motion to one of the chairs in front of my desk. “Please,” I say.
She takes one, I take the other.
“How can I help you?”
“I only need a minute,” she says.
But the way she says it tells me this is going to be huge.
“I think something might have happened at the party.”
“What party?”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a party,” Riley says. “Not at first. It started out as a sleepover.”
I study my potential client. She’s cute, in a blonde, surfer, little sister sort of way. Her hair’s parted in the middle, and falls over narrow shoulders. She’s thin, willowy, with smallish breasts, perfect teeth, and wide-set amber eyes.
I love amber eyes. Did you know they’re the fourth rarest of all colors in human eyes? I know weird things like that. I also know amber eyes are the most common color among wolves’ eyes.
I remove a pen and legal pad from my desk drawer and say, “When was the sleepover?”
“Last Saturday night.”
“Who’s house?”
“Kelli Underhill.”
“Were her parents there?”
“Her mom.”
“Who was invited?”
“Four girls were invited. Me, Jennie Cox, Cammi Churra, and Parker Page. Parker’s my best friend. She left at midnight.”
“Any boys?”
She bites the corner of her lip. Then says, “Some boys came by later.”
“How old were they?”
“High school juniors and seniors.”
“Seventeen?”
She nods.
“Were any of them eighteen?”
“I don’t think so.”
“And you’re what, seventeen?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you know these boys?”
“They go to my school. Carson Collegiate.”
“You said something might have happened at the sleepover Saturday night.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me.”
“We were playing Truth or Dare,” Riley says.
“…And one of the dares was to steal a fifth of vodka from the liquor cabinet.”
“And you did?”
“Cammi got the dare.”
“All the girls drank?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did Kelli’s mom know about the drinking?”
“No. She wouldn’t have allowed that.”
“Can I assume you drank too much?”
She nods.
“When did the boys show up?”
“Just before I passed out.”
“Tell me about that.”
She sets her jaw bravely, and says, “I felt sick to my stomach, so I went upstairs to Kelli’s bedroom. She’s got her own bathroom. I was dizzy, and thought I might need to throw up. When I came out of the bathroom, I sat on Kelli’s bed, then passed out.”
“Was the bedroom light on or off?”
“On.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. I turned it on when I went in the room.”
“Did you close the door behind you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like I said, I thought I was going to be sick. I was embarrassed. I didn’t want anyone to hear me throw up.”
“How long were you in the bathroom?”
“I don’t remember. A few minutes, I