You do not tower over this one.
Not this one.
He was eye-level with her now.
"What's your name, honey?"
"Emma."
"Emma what?"
She shrugged.
It wasn't a sassy shrug.
It was the shrug of a kid who had been asked her last name many times and had never felt like the answer really belonged to her.
"Blake, I think."
"They said Blake on the papers."
"Who said?"
"The lady."
"At the place with the fence?"
"Yes."
Jack turned his head slightly, just enough to catch Preacher's eye.
"She's a ward," he said quietly.
"She's a state ward."
Preacher's mouth became a tight line.
"Yeah. Figured."
"Get Moose over here."
"Get him to call Ramirez."
"Jack, Ramirez retired."
"Then call whoever replaced Ramirez."
"Somebody who'll pick up the damn phone."
Preacher moved away, pulling his phone from his vest pocket.
Jack turned back to the little girl.
She was still standing there.
She hadn't moved an inch.
And Jack realized with a cold twist in his gut that she was standing the way a kid stands when she's been told a lot of times not to move.
"Emma."
"Yeah?"
"Look at me."
She looked at him.
"Have you eaten today?"
"No."
"Yesterday?"
"A little."
"A little how much?"
She held up her thumb and finger about an inch apart.
"A dinner roll maybe?"
"Half a sandwich?"
"Something?"
Jack's jaw tightened.
"Come with me," he said.
"Come inside."
"I'm going to buy you breakfast."
"You like pancakes?"
She didn't answer right away.
She was studying him.
And Jack knew that look.
He had worn it himself a long time ago in a different parking lot with a different man deciding whether to take him home or leave him.
"Are you going to hit me?"
The words hit Jack like a bottle to the side of the head.
"What?"
"Are you going to hit me if I come inside?"
"No."
His voice had gone hoarse.
"No, Emma."
"I am not ever, ever going to hit you."
"Do you understand what I'm saying to you right now?"
"Are you going to touch me?"
Jack closed his eyes for just a second.
Just long enough to feel something hot rise behind them and force it back down.
"No, honey."
"I'm not going to touch you."
"I'm going to sit across the table from you."
"I'm going to buy you pancakes, bacon, and orange juice."
"And I am not going to lay a finger on you."
"Not one finger."
"Okay."
She thought about it for a long time.
Too long for a kid.
Then she nodded.
"Okay."
"But I still need to know."
"Need to know what?"
"If you know anyone who wants a daughter."
"Because if you don't, I got to ask the next man."
Jack stared at her.
And he realized with a feeling he could not name that she was serious.
This wasn't a game.
She had walked 11 hours in the dark through the desert with a piece of cardboard folded under her arm.
She was going to keep asking until somebody said yes.
Or until her feet gave out.
Whichever came first.
"Sweetheart, how many men have you asked today?"
"Three."
"And what did they say?"
"The first one laughed."
"The second one walked away."
"The third one called me a bad word."
"What bad word?"
"I'm not supposed to say bad words."
"You can tell me. I won't tell."
She leaned in, cupped her hand around her mouth, and whispered the word.