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to be okay, Ivy. We’ll figure this out together.”
    Ivy wasn’t holding her breath.
    She slid the security bolt into place as soon as Jocelyn left, then laid down on the king-sized bed and closed her eyes.
    Five minutes to just do nothing.
    Ivy had met Jocelyn over a year ago. Maddie, who’d been fighting her drug addiction for years, had a relapse when one of her clients spiked her drink. Just the little dose had her falling off the wagon, and because her tolerance had dropped, she’d OD’d. Ivy, fearing she’d die, rushed her to the hospital. She hated the paperwork, the nurses, everyone prying into their business, and the expense, but Maddie’s life was at stake.
    *   *   *
    “Remember me?” Jocelyn Taylor sat next to Ivy in the waiting room. Ivy was a mess—her hair and clothes still reeked of Maddie’s vomit even though she’d washed out her shirt in the bathroom sink.
    Ivy didn’t want to deal with the social worker. She’d been too nosy and Ivy didn’t trust her. Her girls couldn’t go back to their homes, and they didn’t want to go to jail. She would find another way to get them off the streets, but the system had failed too many of them for too long. The lost girls. She wouldn’t mind a little pixie dust right now if it would help her disappear into Neverland.
    “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
    “Go away.”
    She’d first met Jocelyn when Ivy was trying to help a runaway. Ivy had been cornered by a pimp with a knife he was willing to use to keep his young girls working for him.
    Jocelyn had been doing her own thing—Ivy knew who she was, a social worker trying to help underage prostitutes—but they’d never spoken. But when Ivy was threatened, Jocelyn came to her aid. She drove her car between Ivy and the pimp and Ivy jumped in, grabbing the girl at the same time.
    They didn’t talk about it afterward, but Ivy kept her eye on the social worker, and sent her a few other troubled girls—the ones with the pimps who Ivy couldn’t afford to anger.
    And then came Amy Carson, a runaway who Ivy had brought into the house on Hawthorne. Amy was angry, bitter, and scared, and when Ivy wasn’t around to remind her where she’d been before Ivy had found her, Amy went back to hanging out with her so-called friends. It was no wonder the tenacious social worker had found her. Amy had given Jocelyn Ivy’s number, and she hadn’t been able to get rid of the woman ever since.
    “I’m not who you think I am,” Jocelyn said.
    “I don’t care who you are.”
    “I don’t work for the government. I don’t work for the county. I work for Missing and At-Risk Children.”
    “I’m not a child.”
    “How’d you get into this, Ivy? A boyfriend? A relative? You’re smart, I can help you get out.”
    She didn’t know how close she was to the truth. But Ivy didn’t want to talk to anyone about how she started selling sex.
    “I have a plan, you’re not part of it. Just go.”
    Jocelyn didn’t say anything for several minutes, but she didn’t leave, either. Her presence was both comforting and annoying. Whenever Ivy pushed her away, she just stayed rooted. She couldn’t make the woman angry, even though she’d tried many times.
    “Amy’s mother wants to talk to her.”
    Of course, there was always an agenda. “What are you going to do if Amy doesn’t want to talk to her mother? Call the cops on me? So much for trust.”
    Ivy didn’t want to be responsible for Amy. Ivy wanted her to go home, but the girl had been living on the streets for six months. When Ivy found her, she looked five years older and had been turning tricks for twenty bucks a pop. She wasn’t a street kid. She’d been lured away by a fast-talking boyfriend during a shitty time in her life, and when he dumped her she had no money and even less self-esteem.
    Ivy didn’t want to go to jail. She tried to forget that Jocelyn had once bailed her out of that bad situation, no questions asked. She didn’t know why