Winter Circuit (The Show Circuit -- Book 2) (25 page)

“She’s thirteen. You know that, right? Where does he live?”

“I think somewhere over in Greenview Shores but I’ve never been to his house.”

“Well, who has?”

McNair shrugged.

“You’re despicable,” I said, turning toward the exit.

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? I didn’t take her home, after all. She wanted me to, by the way.”

I didn’t answer. I strode out of the bar, only to come out into the parking lot and remember I no longer had a car. Greenview Shores wasn’t that far away but what was I going to do, jog there, and jog around the complex, screaming Dakota’s name? I scanned the parking lot, not sure what I was looking for. My eyes fell on a white Land Rover with a Vineyard Vines sticker on the back. But I hadn’t seen Zoe in Players. If she wasn’t in the bar, where was she?

I walked toward the Land Rover and saw a figure in the driver’s seat. She was in there. Doing what—I had no idea. What choice did I have? I needed help.

I approached the car, wondering what kind of shape she was in. Maybe she was passed out. Nope, her eyes were open and she saw me and startled. I motioned to her to roll down her window.

Her hair hung into her face and she made no effort to pull it back. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What are you doing just sitting in your car?”

Her voice was hoarse, like she’d been yelling. “What does it matter to you?”

“I need your help. Dakota went home with a polo player and all I know is he lives in Greenview Shores.”

“So what?”

“She’s thirteen.” In case that wasn’t enough for her, I added, “I’m in charge of her and she lied to me. She said she was going over to Taylor’s house to sleep over and if something happens to her, it’ll be on me. My tire blew out. I left my car on South Shore.”

Zoe laughed. “Pretty funny, you needing me.”

“Well, are you going to help me?”

Zoe blew out a breath that moved her hair a little. “I guess.”

“Should I drive?” I said. “I mean, are you drunk or high?”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“Come on, get out,” I ordered.

Zoe opened the door and nearly fell out of the car. I wondered if I would need to help her around to the passenger side but somehow she made it. I jumped in and put on my seatbelt. In the light that the car door opening triggered, I saw her face: her left eye was swollen half-shut.

“What the hell?” I said. I hadn’t wanted to believe HorseShowDrama but now here was the proof right in front of me.

“This is the least of my problems,” Zoe said.

I swung out of the parking lot and over to Greenview Shores the whole time thinking how everything had changed so quickly for Zoe. This past summer she had been one of the country’s most promising riders. Back then her personal life was a little troubled and she drank too much but as far as I had known she wasn’t doing drugs or getting beat up by a man twice her age. Yet, now she claimed being beaten was the least of her problems. I wasn’t sure how that was possible.

We pulled into Greenview Shores. “How the hell are we going to find this guy?” I said.

“Polo guy. He’s clearly not a ten-goal player or he’d live in Palm Beach Polo but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to act like one. Look for the totally sparkling clean, beautiful BMW or Mercedes sedan.”

“Really?” I eased by two driveways with dually trucks in them.

She said deadpan, like it should be obvious. “Polo players drive super fancy cars that go really fast. Not like horse show people. Also, look for Florida plates.”

The dually trucks had Kentucky and Virginia plates, respectively. Next was an SUV with Connecticut plates. I began to think Zoe might know what she was talking about. We kept passing the same kind of cars.

“What if it’s in a garage, not in the driveway?”

“No one parks in the garage here. They store their shit in it and they don’t want to smash into the side of it when they come home drunk in the middle of the night.”

I braked hard. There it was. The kind of car Zoe had described perfectly. A metallic gray sick-looking BMW with Florida plates. Ryan would know what kind of BMW it was immediately but to me it just looked like the kind of car a showy asshole would drive. “What do you think?”

“Pretty good bet.”

I released my seat belt but Zoe hadn’t moved. “Aren’t you going to come?”

“Not so good on the walking, remember?”

I nodded. “Right.” So this was on me.

I got out of the car and strode up to the door. I knocked lightly at first. What if this was the wrong house? Well, then I just woke someone up and it would be a big misunderstanding. I knocked harder. When I got no response, I knocked really loud.

Finally, the door opened on a guy with his shirt half unbuttoned. Yup, this sure seemed like polo player territory.

“Is Dakota Pearce in there?”

“Who are you?”

“Who the fuck are you?” I said. “Do you know she’s thirteen? Thirteen!” This had become my refrain for the night.

His face turned white. Maybe he didn’t know she was thirteen. She’d probably lied about her age. But still, he must have known she wasn’t over eighteen. He hesitated a moment, like he was trying to figure out whether to come clean or try to lie too.

“Dakota?” I called. “You are so in trouble right now.”

There was no answer, which seemed strange. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

He took a step back. “She wasn’t feeling well. She’s lying down.”

I barged past him, into his house of dark colored walls and solid, masculine furniture. Dakota was splayed out on the prominent leather sofa. She looked asleep, or worse, unconscious. Her skirt was hiked up on one side.

My heart was going in my ears. Was she going to be okay? Did she have alcohol poisoning? Had she taken drugs?

I kneeled down by her side and shook her. “Dakota, Dakota!”

She moaned and rolled to one side. That seemed like a good sign. But still, she was nearly comatose. I wished I knew what do to, like take her pulse, check her temperature, or listen to her gut sounds like I would have if she had been a horse. I knew more about taking care of a horse than a girl.

“Like I said, she was fine and then she said she didn’t feel well.”

My mind raced with what I should do. Should I call an ambulance? Oh my God, it would be all over Wellington. HorseShowDrama would have a field day and so would the
Palm Beach Post
. Dakota’s parents would fire me instantaneously. But I wasn’t going to risk her life.

“You roofied her?”

It was Zoe’s voice. Apparently the guy had left the front door open or Zoe had just let herself in. She looked like hell. Skinny, slightly wobbly, the swollen eye. But I was so glad to have her there.

“Roofie? Like date-rape drug?” I looked horrified at the guy.

“I didn’t touch her. I didn’t rape her.”

I glanced at Dakota. Her skirt was up but her underwear seemed intact. Maybe we’d gotten there just in time.

“
Yet
,” Zoe said. “You didn’t touch her
yet
, perve.”

“What do we do?” I asked Zoe. “Do we have to take her to the hospital? Should we file a police report?”

The guy’s eyes bulged from his head. Before he could try to regain his speech and dissuade me, Zoe said, “No. Let’s get her home. She just needs to sleep it off.” Zoe turned to the guy. “What did you give her? Nothing crazy, right?”

He hesitated like he wasn’t sure he wanted to incriminate himself.

“Come on, you shit-bag,” Zoe said. “We’re not going to the cops. We just want to know if she’s in trouble.”

“It was a tiny amount. I guess it just effected her really strongly. She was nearly out before I got her here.”

“It effected her strongly because she’s thirteen!” I said, going back one more time to my motto.

“You wanted her compliant, not totally lifeless?” Zoe said. “Guess that didn’t really work out for you.”

He held up his hands. “I was going to let her sleep it off, I swear.”

“Well, now you can help us get her to the car,” I said. I couldn’t believe I would be taking help from this asshole but there was no way I could get her to the car by myself and Zoe still couldn’t walk straight herself. He took her under the armpits and I took her feet in one of her many pairs of expensive designer shoes. For a skinny girl, she was heavy. We weaved and staggered out the door, with Dakota occasionally wriggling and mumbling as if she were having a bad dream.

The guy helped me lay her in the back seat. He tried to thank us before we drove away and Zoe growled at him, “Don’t even.”

I was so grateful for her. I’m not sure what I would have done without her. I probably wouldn’t have even found Dakota in the first place. I’d still be walking around Greenview Shores and he might have raped her by then—I wasn’t sure whether I believed him that he wasn’t going to. I mean what kind of guy gave someone a date-rape drug but got all ethical and drew the line on how out of it the person had to be when you took advantage of them?

“Thank you,” I told Zoe.

“At least I could help someone else since I can’t fucking help myself.”

My head hurt and I couldn’t really deal with delving into all Zoe’s messed up shit right now. In the backseat, Dakota moaned, as if seconding the thought.

“Is she really going to be okay? We don’t need to take her to the hospital?”

“No, sadly I’ve been to this movie before.”

“
You’ve
been roofied?”

I must have said it like I was in total disbelief because Zoe said, “You know, despite what everyone says about me, I don’t fuck anything and everything. There are guys I’ve said no to, and some guys who haven’t been so happy about that and haven’t wanted to take no for an answer.”

“So a guy roofied you?”

“Yup.”

“That’s awful,” I said genuinely.

“Well, he got what he wanted. He got to say he wasn’t the only one I wouldn’t screw.”

Automatically, I had driven to the Pearces’ house. When I got there, I realized I was still in Zoe’s car and had left mine on the side of the road. I’d deal with it tomorrow. I certainly wasn’t going to let Zoe drive home in her condition. She seemed to have come down slightly from whatever high she was on, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I also didn’t really want to be alone with Dakota tonight. Zoe seemed to know what she was doing.

I pulled right up to the house and somehow this time Zoe was able to help me get Dakota inside. Dakota was coming to a little bit and we each positioned ourselves under a shoulder. She was still completely disoriented but she could stagger along and it was less like carrying a dead body. At one point she said, “What the?” but then she shook her head like she didn’t even care.

I shushed her and told her everything was fine. She was home and I would take care of her. I took off her shoes and tucked her into her queen-sized bed.

“I’m not leaving her for a second,” I told Zoe. “And I’m not letting you drive home so I guess you’re sleeping here unless you have someone who can come pick you up.”

“No, there’s no-one,” Zoe said pathetically, and she looked the most distraught she’d looked all night, even when she was talking about some of the awful things that had happened to her.

“I’m sleeping in here with her,” I said. “Can you stay and watch her while I go put on some sweatpants?”

“Sure,” Zoe said.

I changed and came back in with a set of extra clothes for Zoe to sleep in. When I entered the room, Zoe was sitting on the side of the bed close to Dakota, observantly watching her sleep it off. In the light from the hall, I could see tears glistening on Zoe’s face. She wasn’t making any noise as she cried. They were silent tears.

Chapter 28

Zoe and I were having coffee, like it was a usual thing we did together.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Zoe said brightly.

“What the hell happened last night?” Dakota asked, taking in Zoe’s black eye.

Zoe put down her mug. “Well, let’s recap. Do you remember being at Players?”

Dakota nodded. I noticed she was having a hard time looking me in the eye.

“That polo guy you were flirting shamelessly with roofied you and when you were starting to get woozy, he piled you into his car and took you home to his place.”

Dakota put a hand on the counter like she needed to hold on to hear the rest. “Did I…?”

“No, and you can thank Hannah for that. She tracked you down from Jojo’s to Players, then found the polo guy’s place and got there just in time.”

Dakota finally looked at me. I’d never seen her look so apologetic or humble before. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“Lesson learned,” Zoe continued. “Never drink anything unless you see the bartender pour it and watch it delivered to your hand. Did you see him pour the drink?”

She shook her head.

I spoke up. “I think the lesson learned here is not to go out to bars when you’re underage and not to flirt with older men.”

“That too,” Zoe said. “But I’m just trying to be practical here. This girl needs to learn a thing or two.”

Zoe didn’t seem to think it was a little preposterous that the girl with the black eye was handing out advice.

“And your eye?” Dakota said. “That wasn’t because of me?”

“No, sweetie,” Zoe said. “That has nothing to do with you.”

Dakota didn’t ask more. She’d probably read all about Donnie beating Zoe on HorseShowDrama.

Zoe went on to instruct Dakota in post-Roofie recovery, which involved drinking as much water as possible to flush your system. After Dakota had slowly sipped—no gulping—twelve ounces of room-temperature filtered water, Zoe said she should go shower.

We resumed our coffee. Zoe’s hand was jittery as she brought the mug to her lips. I couldn’t help but stare at the concavity near her collarbone, visible under the T-shirt I’d leant her. Her skin looked like it was actually sinking in on her bones.

Then there was her face. In the morning light, pre-make-up, no sunglasses, her eye looked awful. I’d never seen a black eye in real life before, only in the movies, and it was actually black.