I Blackmailed Her Brother

by Jessica Frances

  “The emergency passport only allows them entry back into the US. So, unless they came home, then they must still be in France,” Zander says.

  “Okay, the translation is coming through,” Jerry states, a new image popping up on the screen. With zero warning, it’s enough to make me swallow back bile.

  It’s a photo of two dead bodies, both with extensive wounds to their heads. They are unidentifiable in their current state, but their builds easily match Nathan and Isla Booth.

  “Shit,” I gasp.

  A script is underneath, medical findings that shift from what I assume is French as it is translated to English.

  Preliminary notes made by Medical Examiner Alexandre Gaspard. Full autopsy has been ordered and will follow. Both victims were discovered in Marx Dormoy subway station. Time of death, as stated by onsite medical examiner, is approximately midnight on the night of November twenty-fourth.

  “That fits their timeline. They went missing earlier that afternoon, after they checked out,” I croak, my heart racing at the ramifications.

  Scarlett is going to be devastated. She tried to keep her parents safe by getting them away, and if this proves to be them, then she is going to blame herself. Especially since, as far as we can tell, there has been no credible threat to her or her parents made here in the States.

  Both male and female victims appear to be between the ages of fifty and sixty-five.

  That fits Scarlett’s parents, too.

  I glance closer at the photo that has been minimalized in the corner of the screen as the report continues to be translated. I only met them a dozen or so times, but the photos give me no indication that it isn’t them.

  A search of the bodies has uncovered no I.D.s or identifying marks. Identification will rely on DNA testing and dental records.

  Shit, it could take a long time to get confirmation.

  Victims were found holding hands, wedding rings on both left hands indicate there is a good possibility the two were married.

  How am I supposed to tell Scarlett if these victims are her parents?

  Given the position they were found in, it is my theory that both victims were made to kneel, and either they were shot simultaneously or their bodies were moved after the fact, their hands linking together close to death before rigor mortis could set in.

  This is unbearable to read, realizing these two people had such violent ends, regardless of whether they are Scarlett’s parents or not.

  “This report is giving us no solid leads. Have they submitted DNA testing yet?” Zander grumbles.

  “Two hours ago, the M.E requested the test. Given the high crime spree that has fallen over France, with the riots especially, they’re looking at weeks before they get anything back,” Jerry informs us.

  “Weeks? We will have to wait that long to know?” I whine, my mind already racing with what that might mean for Scarlett, and even for our investigation.

  “No, I was able to hack into their system, and I placed it at the top of the queue,” Jerry tells us cockily.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “So, how long will it take now?”

  “I don’t know. They’re seven hours ahead of us, so I know nothing is getting done right now. The best we can hope is getting results in the next couple of days.”

  “Shit,” I murmur, knowing I will need to inform Scarlett of this. I was already toeing the line by not telling her how serious it was that her parents weren’t answering her phone calls. This is confirmation that things could have taken a violent turn.

  The rest of the afternoon is spent going over what little evidence Jerry is able to find, as well as deciphering the rough translation. At this point, I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to just find someone who speaks French.

  Jerry has often stated he doesn’t believe Google to be a reliable source, and in matters like this, translating an official document is too much of a risk.

  I’m not sure how much I believe this, but since Jerry hasn’t let me down once, or lied to me as far as I’m aware, I tend to leave any Google searches to ones that can’t land me in trouble with the law.

  Hours after I left her, Harvey sends me a text to let me know he dropped Scarlett off at my place, so I drag my feet as I make my way home.

  Even though I try not to wear my day and fears on my face, I don’t succeed. Scarlett knows me well enough to immediately pick up that something is wrong.

  She listens to me explain her parents’ situation, not interrupting even to ask a single question. I see behind her stricken expression just how devastated she is. Her skin turns sickly pale, her eyes glass over, and her lips tremble.

  I try to comfort her, assuring her we won’t give up, that we will have answers soon; however, I seriously wish I had something more concrete to give her than a promise I’m not sure I will be able to keep, no matter how much I want to.

  “Scarlett, I promise we’re going to figure this out. We’re going to—”

  “I made you keep this to yourself!” she cries, fisting her hands at her sides while tears splash down her face and onto her T-shirt. “I sent them away! I made things worse.”

  “Lettie, you did nothing wrong. Right now, we don’t know for sure what is going on.”

  “They’re missing!” she yells, stepping back when I try to get closer to her.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat, hating how useless I feel right now. “Yes, they are. But we don’t know the circumstances. They could be off on their own adventure, exploring Paris in backpacking style. They could have found the world’s best French restaurant and can’t bear to leave it because it tastes so freaking good. And next time you see them, they’ll be twenty pounds heavier.” I begin to fizzle out, my ideas becoming more outlandish until I blurt out the worst of the lot. “They could have made friends with another couple, and right this very moment, they are doing the swingers thing.” My eyes widen, and I wonder what kind of weird word vomit has gotten into me?

  I’m ready to apologize, until I see Scarlett shift from looking devastated to disgusted.

  “Ew, why would you say that?”

  “It’s a possibility,” I point out, watching her reactions carefully.

  “No, it isn’t. I mean …” She scrunches up her face, looking adorable, even though I know she doesn’t mean to, before her face morphs into a permanent cringe. “They did say they were going to treat this vacation like a second honeymoon.”

  “There you go. Then my suggestion could very well be a possibility.”

  She shakes her head, her body still slightly trembling, yet there is a little more fire behind her eyes. “If I find out my parents have been ignoring my calls so they can do the dirty with random strangers, I am going to kill them myself.”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that confession if it comes down to it,” I joke, glad the grief-filled tension has dissipated a little.

  “Why would you even suggest that? Gross! You know I don’t believe my parents have ever had sex before. Me and Wally were delivered by a stalk.”

  I chuckle, having heard this before. Once, when we went to her parents’ house for dinner, we arrived early. Scarlett let herself in with her key, and we heard the obvious bumps and groans.

  Scarlett declared they were spring cleaning and definitely nothing else. Then she closed a few doors loudly and started making as much noise as possible with pots and pans in the kitchen.

  Suffice it to say, her parents emerged from their “spring cleaning,” looking embarrassed and giving us almost zero eye contact throughout dinner.

  For someone so open about sex, and especially her own sexuality, Scarlett is an absolute prude when it comes to her parents.

  I’m aware my parents have sex, and I won’t deny it. They just clearly stopped as soon as they had me. End of story.

  “I just wanted to get your mind off the track it was heading,” I say, stepping toward her again. This time, she doesn’t move away.

  “I’m not sure this leads anywhere much be
tter.”

  “It must have, because you’re letting me do this,” I say just as I caress her face, resting a hand on either side.

  I find myself only a breath from her, our body heat radiating between us, a beacon begging me to close the distance.

  A few tears fall down her cheeks, and I swipe them away with my thumbs. The devastation from before isn’t there; the despair no longer seeming to crush her.

  “If you think we’re having sex after you put in the image of my parents swinging with strangers, then you must have hit your head sometime today,” she mutters lightly, her voice quiet as the earlier fears begin to weigh down on her again.

  “Not sex, but I want you to know I am here for you. Anything you need, I’m your woman.”

  She smiles then, her pink lips enticing me to lean closer. Instead, I do what Scarlett needs—I envelope her in a hug. I start out holding her tightly, but it’s nothing compared to the strength of her grip when she returns the gesture.

  Her silent tears soak my shirt, but I don’t leave our embrace. I murmur how much I care for her, how things will be okay, and that I will find her parents. They aren’t all promises I’m sure I can deliver, but if she allows me to care for her, I know I can help her through whatever happens next.

  Tonight, I do something I never got to do when we were dating. I take care of her, holding her when she needs to be held, encouraging her to eat when she can’t find the motivation, and talking about shit when she needs her mind taken off her darkening thoughts.

  Something shifts in the air, in our interactions, in my heart.

  I have always known I am in love with Scarlett—no amount of time or distance dimmed that—but now I know I am deeply in love with her.

  There are different kinds of love and different levels of love. You can love a friend in a different way than you love a lover. And you can love an ex-partner in a different way than you love a current one.

  I knew the moment I lost Scarlett that I was in love with her, but I never got to explore it. But with her in my arms now, with her relying on me and needing me, I feel my love for her more deeply than I have ever felt any emotion in my entire life.

  She is it for me. Now I just need to earn back her trust and forgiveness and make sure I never mess this up again.

  Just as importantly, she needs to be kept safe.

  If someone did take her parents, then they are likely gunning for Scarlett, too.

  There is no way I am giving her up.

  If they want her, they will have to come through me.

  Chapter 9

  I glance down at the text message from Gemma that says zilch has changed with Scarlett as I push through the doors of J.P.I., the loud construction noises following me in before the door seals the racket outside.

  “Hey, girl! How is everything? How is Scarlett?” Sasha rushes out as she makes her way around her desk and wraps me up in a hug I didn’t even know I needed.

  I have been trying so hard to keep a brave face on for Scarlett, being her rock and taking on all her tears that I haven’t been able to show the emotional strain this has put on me. Trust Sasha to know this immediately.

  “She’s still upset, but until we get confirmation, we’re all sort of stuck.”

  Jerry is still searching, hoping to pull a miracle loose and find Isla and Nathan safe and unharmed.

  After everything went fine with Wally testifying, we were told that it’s expected for the jurors to begin deliberating by the end of the week. That can obviously take any number of days or even weeks before a final decision is reached. I hope it will be an open and shut case, and that we can put this behind us soon.

  “What about you? Are you doing okay?” she asks, leaning back, still encircling me in her arms as she glances into my eyes. She’s ready to find any hidden truths and call me out on them.

  “Before, your breasts used to come between us. Now it’s your stomach,” I tell her, hoping to change the subject. I glance down at her pronounced belly and smile when she moves an arm away from me to gently rub it.

  “He or she tends to get in the middle of everything. Last night, I was just about to orgasm, and then Declan suddenly became worried he might be hurting the baby, and he pulled out. I mean, what the hell!” she overshares, her annoyance clear.

  I wince, flushing when I see Declan ducking out of his office and giving me a quick wave from over his shoulder. I might have wanted a new subject, but I definitely didn’t expect that.

  “Well, that sucks …” I commiserate, not sure what the correct sentiment is in this situation.

  “Cynthia!” Zander calls, saving me as he rushes down the hall toward me. Once he is standing in front of me, he gently pulls Sasha away and squares my shoulders. I’m not sure if this is a good thing or not. Is he preparing me for bad news?

  “Jerry got the DNA results on the couple. They don’t match Scarlett’s parents. They’ve been matched to a couple who live in France.”

  Relief hits me hard enough that I almost collapse.

  We finally have some good news!

  “So, if they aren’t Scarlett’s parents, then where the hell are they?” Sasha asks, shifting to the side to face Zander.

  And straight away, my relief shifts back to concern.

  It has been a week since anyone heard from Isla or Nathan. That is not a good sign, no matter how you think on it.

  “We’ll keep searching,” Zander promises, resting his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it lightly before his phone rings from his back pocket and he shifts away to answer.

  “Still good news, though, right?” Sasha murmurs, resting her arm by my side before she gives my now clammy hand a squeeze.

  “It’s not the worst news, but it still doesn’t explain where they are. If someone has them, then why? Wally testified. What does hurting them do now?” I ask, aware I’m not going to get an answer by standing in the lobby.

  “Maybe they’re having some sort of epic lovefest all over France?”

  “Scarlett will kill you if you suggest that to her.”

  Sasha shrugs, shifting so suddenly to stare at me that I get to see firsthand the grin spreading over her face, an idea clearly blooming behind her eyes.

  This won’t be good.

  “I have an idea!”

  “No,” I automatically tell her.

  “Yes. Tonight, you and Scarlett are coming over to my house.”

  “Why?” I ask hesitantly.

  “What do you mean why? Do I need a reason to have my best friend and her girlfriend over?”

  I flush, wishing it could be that simple. “Scarlett and I aren’t—”

  She waves me off. “Semantics. You will be.” Her words sound more like a promise than a statement.

  Oh shit, what is she truly thinking? I have known Sasha long enough to know when she is scheming.

  “Is this a dinner?”

  “Sure, I’ll order pizza.” She is still grinning at me, and I can’t help feeling like I might be getting played somehow.

  “I’ll have to check with Scarlett. If she isn’t up for it, then we won’t come. Since she found out her parents are missing, she hasn’t been her usual bubbly self.”

  “Check with her and let me know. I need to make some calls.”

  “Calls?” I ask, but she isn’t paying attention, already shifting over to her desk and pulling out her cell before she starts tapping away on it.

  “Cynthia, Jerry might have found something,” Zander calls out from his office.

  I race over, making a quick mental note to call Scarlett afterward, not only to ask her about tonight but give her the update that the two bodies are not her parents.

  “What is it?” I ask as I round his desk, not even bothering with the formality of sitting in the designated seats. I think this case gives me the right to be a little more nosy and pushy.

  “Security footage outside a nightclub.”

  “A nightclub?” I confirm, not sure how that would connect to Scarlett’s
parents who are both in their sixties.

  “It’s during the day,” Zander states, bringing up the video.

  It isn’t the best quality, and they are passing by, so there are only a few seconds when they are in view, but it definitely looks like them.

  The man has his arm wrapped around the woman, snuggled together. They don’t appear to be in a rush or in trouble.

  “When was this?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “I don’t get it,” I murmur, leaning over him to rewind the video and play it frame by frame. I even watch a few minutes after they disappear from view to see if they are being followed.

  “It might not be them. The quality means we can’t be completely sure, but if it is, then maybe they aren’t in trouble at all.”

  “Jerry?” I question, not sure if Zander is speaking to him right now or not.

  “Yeah?” his voice crackles through the line.

  “Are there any hotels or even hostels in the area?”

  “A few.”

  “Think you could check them out to see if a couple fitting the Booths’ descriptions has checked in recently?”

  “You get that I don’t speak French, right?” he grumbles back.

  “Right …” I consider my options, not sure I really have any. “Can you send me a list of phone numbers then?”

  “Sure.”

  “What are you going to do?” Zander asks, not that it isn’t damn obvious.

  “I’m going to ring every place in the area and see if I can find them. If they’re not on the run or being held hostage somewhere, which looks like a strong possibility given this footage, then maybe they are just camped up at a hotel somewhere.”

  Suddenly, a sexcapade doesn’t seem so farfetched. Scarlett will be thrilled … ish.

  “I didn’t know you speak French,” Zander comments as he does his own scanning of the grainy video.

  “I don’t, but how hard could it be to learn a few phrases?”

  The following silence doesn’t bode well for me.

  The few phrases I learn off Google may help with asking questions, but understanding the responses is something else entirely. I was lucky when a small handful were able to accommodate me and speak English, but none of those calls ended up being fruitful when it came to gaining information on Isla and Nathan Booth.