by M. S. Parker
My eyes burned. “I know.”
He stood up and came around the table. As he knelt next to me, he took my hands in his. “You don’t owe this man anything. Don’t let what you felt for the man from your childhood make you feel like you need to love the man in prison.”
The truth of what he said took a weight off of me that I hadn’t realized I was carrying. I needed to look at the man who’d killed my mother, killed those other people, tried to kill me, as someone completely separate from my father. I needed to allow myself to be free to feel the same thing for present-day Willis Jacobe that I would have felt if he had been a neighbor, an acquaintance, a complete stranger.
It’d take some time, but at least I had a goal now.
“Thank you,” I said. I put my hands on his cheeks and leaned forward, pressing my lips against his. “I needed that.”
He smiled at me, those gorgeous eyes of his glowing. “Anytime.” He stood and held out a hand. “What do you say we go find a movie to watch and leave the clean-up until tomorrow?”
I took his hand and let him help me to my feet. I wasn’t about to go telling everyone about my past, but I had to admit that it was nice being able to talk to someone who knew it all.
And he didn’t look bad when he was listening either.
Hell, he didn’t look bad when he was doing anything, really.
We settled on the couch, and I leaned against him, content to let him decide what to watch. I wasn’t really in the mood to concentrate on anything, but I knew Jalen wouldn’t be offended if I dozed or simply let my mind drift.
I’d done a little of both for at least an hour when I found something else to focus on. Namely, the way Jalen’s thumb had been moving back and forth across my upper arm for the past quarter hour. Warmth spread across my skin, pooled low in my belly.
I’d been resting with my head on his chest, and now I slid my hand across his stomach. As I moved under his shirt, palm skimming over hard muscles, his thumb stopped moving.
“Babe?”
I pushed up his shirt and pressed my lips against his bare skin. He shifted, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me up so that we were face-to-face. He cupped my chin, and while his grip was a little too tight to be comfortable, but the moment I saw how his eyes were blazing, I didn’t care.
“If I kiss you now, will I be taking advantage of you?”
Fuck, I hoped so.
I leaned forward, but he held me in place.
“You and I are going to have a serious discussion about you thinking you’re in control here.” His voice was low, sensual. “Because we both know who’s in charge.”
“Yes, Sir.” I grabbed the front of his shirt. “Now, tell me what to do.”
He pulled me onto his lap, his mouth claiming mine even as his hands settled on my hips. I’d worn pants this evening, but I was starting to regret that particular wardrobe choice. The jeans were comfortable, but as I straddled Jalen’s lap, they put too many layers between us. I kept telling myself that we needed to work on building something between us that wasn’t sex, but my libido hadn’t gotten the message yet.
His hands slid up my sides and under my shirt. I squirmed as his palms skimmed my ribcage, and he chuckled. One hand moved to my back, holding me in place as he pulled my bottom lip into his mouth, teeth worrying at it even as I ground down on his lap, wanting to feel as much of him as I could.
I pushed my hands under his shirt again, his skin hot under my palms. Would I ever get tired of the way he felt? The way he looked? I didn’t think so. His touch made me weak in the knees, and whenever I was with him, I wanted to touch him.
It would’ve been embarrassing if I hadn’t seen other people look at him the same way I did. He was the sort of man who could take a person’s breath away, but he wasn’t only an Adonis. He had an intelligence that made him one of the top minds in the country, if not the world, and a depth that few would’ve credited him with.
But other people didn’t get to touch him. I did.
He palmed the back of my head as he broke the kiss, his fingers rubbing against my scalp as if he felt the same need I did, to get closer, to imprint the feel of my body on his fingertips. His forehead came to rest on mine, his breathing as ragged as mine.
“Fuck, Rona, what do you do to me?” His voice was a low rumble through me. “I can’t get you out of my head. When I’m not with you, I’m thinking about you. Thinking about touching you, about what it’s like to be inside you.”
I made a soft sound, flexing my fingers against his stomach until my nails bit into his skin, and he growled. “I’m always thinking about you too,” I confessed. “It’s never…I’ve never…”
I didn’t know the words to explain what I was feeling because I’d never felt anything like it before. Not with anyone, not even Clay. It should have terrified me, and it probably would when I thought about it later, but right now, I had this nearly overwhelming need for him to know that whatever this was between us was different.
A door slammed, jerking us both out of the intimate bubble we’d had around us.
“Jalen!”
I started to move off his lap, my gut telling me that I didn’t want whoever that was to find the two of us like this. Jalen wrapped his arm around my waist, holding me on his lap. His expression was blank, almost relaxed. If I hadn’t felt the tension radiating off him, I wouldn’t have suspected anything was wrong.
“Jalen!”
She stepped into the living room a split second before I realized her identity.
A couple inches shorter than my own five feet, ten inches, Elise Marx was on the shorter end for a model, but that hadn’t kept her from having a great career for the last ten years. I didn’t have anything against models. Most of them were as responsible for their thin bodies and fine features as I was for my own athletic build. Still, there was something about the way she carried herself that just rubbed me the wrong way.
“Who the fuck are you?” She glared down at me. Her dark eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. I’ve seen you before. You said you were here to talk to him about some other bitch he was fucking.”
I was aware that my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn’t seem to do anything to stop it. This woman was caustic.
“Elise, you’re not supposed to be here.” His hand tightened on my hip. “This isn’t your home anymore.”
“Of course not,” she said, stalking over to us. “How can it be my home if you’ve already replaced me with this slut?”
He had me off his lap and onto the couch before I’d even realized he was moving me. He stood, towering over her even as he stepped between the two of us. “That’s enough, Elise.”
“I haven’t said nearly enough.” She put her hands on her hips and glowered up at him. “I put up with you wanting to live here when it hurt my career. I held my tongue when you wanted a separation, and again when you filed for divorce. But this, this is too far. I won’t be made a fool of.”
She made as if to move around him, but he sidestepped, getting between us again. Her expression twisted into something ugly, and one hand flashed out. Before it could land on his cheek, he caught her around the wrist. Nothing about his appearance changed, but I could feel a shift in the air.
“I think you should go.” Jalen didn’t raise his voice, but then again, he rarely needed to.
I couldn’t stop a smug smile. Maybe it was rude of me, but I was beginning to think she was one of those people who didn’t respond to subtlety.
She began, “Jalen–”
“Rona, you should go.”
Time froze for a moment as a rush of humiliation washed over me. He wanted me to go. She showed up uninvited, interrupting a date, and he wanted me to go.
I didn’t look at Elise as I got up, but I could feel her watching me. I didn’t look at Jalen either, but a part of me didn’t truly believe that he was going to let me walk out without a word until I was actually standing next to my car.
As I drove home, I kept telling
myself that neither Jalen nor I had talked about whether or not we were exclusive. I had no right to be upset. We hadn’t established what we were to each other. Neither of us had any claim on the other.
The problem was, it didn’t do anything to make me hurt less.
Eight
I was grateful for the work Jenna had given me. Without it, I would’ve gone crazy.
I spent Sunday putting together all the information I’d gathered when looking for Meka, including my less-than-orthodox ‘interview’ with Meka’s ex-boyfriend Shawn. I doubted I had much of anything that the FBI didn’t already have, but I figured if I gave it to Jenna, she could determine whether or not to pass the information along.
It might also give her somewhere to look that she hadn’t thought of yet. With Shawn’s age, I had no doubt his social media accounts would provide a plethora of information. Whether or not any of it would be useful was anybody’s guess.
I’d taken her the information first thing this morning, then headed up to Cheyenne. The US Marshals hadn’t been too keen on talking to me over the phone, but that didn’t mean an in-person visit would yield the same results. During the hour drive, I called Clay – hands-free of course – to ask for a name. That name was the reason I’d been sitting outside an apartment building since noon.
Clay hadn’t been able to tell me much, and I hadn’t pressed him to give me anything but the name and where I could find him. I didn’t want to risk my friend’s career, but part of being in any sort of investigative field often meant calling in favors. Considering the help I’d be giving Jenna – and through her, Clay and his partner – I didn’t feel overly guilty for the request.
I’d done a little general internet searching while I waited, which had given me a wedding announcement from twenty-seven years ago and not much else. The fact that it was a Monday and I was sitting in front of an apartment instead of going into the local law enforcement office made me think that maybe Harry Franklin had retired.
Clay had sent over a picture, so when the silver-haired man in a cheap suit came out of the building, I recognized him. He looked a few years older than the picture, but still in his mid to late fifties, which meant it hadn’t been too long since he’d been with the Marshal service.
I hurried after him, careful to keep back a few feet until he ducked into a diner. I didn’t want a big public confrontation, but I didn’t want to corner him somewhere we’d be completely alone either. I doubted Clay would give me the name of someone who’d be a danger to me, but people did strange things when they felt threatened, and I had no way of knowing if asking about Jenna’s mother would come across as a threat.
He settled into a booth at the back of the diner and ordered some coffee. I waited until the waitress left before I slid into the empty space across from him.
“Mr. Franklin?”
The look he gave me was shrewd, careful. He knew I wasn’t here to sell him life insurance or whatever sort of things salespeople sold face-to-face. Straightforward would be the best approach, I decided on the spot. I just hoped my gut was right about that.
“My name’s Rona Quick, and I’m a private investigator.”
He stiffened but didn’t leave or tell me to get lost. Instead, he sipped his coffee and waited.
“I was hired to look into a woman who went by the name Helen Kingston, though you’d know her as Anna Newbury or Marcy Wakefield.”
His lips pressed together in a thin line, all pretense of casual vanishing. “Miss Quick, I’m going to advise you to walk out of here and forget those names. You tell whoever hired you that looking for that woman is pointless.”
I folded my hands in front of me, giving him my best polite smile. I paused to let the returning waitress take our orders and then vanish into the kitchen. “Here’s the thing, Mr. Franklin. I know that Marcy was the alias Anna was given when she entered WITSEC thirteen years ago. Before that, she’d used the names Helen Kingston and Helena King. When she was arrested years ago on multiple charges of child pornography – among other things – she gave up names in order to stay out of prison.”
“You shouldn’t know any of that,” he said.
I shrugged. “Probably not, but it became pretty common knowledge down in Fort Collins when Marcy came after one of her many children. Specifically, the daughter who was responsible for her first arrest. After that, she didn’t get any plea deals. She’s in prison for a long time.”
He took another drink of his coffee. “Then you should know that you need to contact the Department of Corrections to find her.”
“You misunderstand,” I said. “I’m not looking for her, but rather for the children she had while she was in WITSEC.”
The coffee cup clattered as he set it back on the saucer, a little liquid slopping over the top.
“That woman ruined my career when she took off,” he said. “Why should I get involved in anything to do with her?”
A few pieces fell into place, enough for me to feel comfortable making a logical leap. “Because you’re the Marshal who made a formal request for the higher-ups to do something about the fact that a known child abuser kept having kids.”
“Where did you hear that?” he asked, just sharply enough for me to know that my hunch was right on target.
“You had to have read her file.” I kept going without answering his question. “You knew what she’d done to the one daughter she hadn’t given away. When did you first find out that she was pregnant?”
He didn’t say anything at first, but I allowed the silence to keep growing. It was his move now. If I had to push more, I would, but it would be best if this was his choice.
Finally, he relented. “Three weeks after she arrived here, I found a pregnancy test in her bathroom. It wasn’t until later that I realized she’d left it there on purpose. I was hard on her when we first met, and I think she’d thought that knowing she was pregnant would soften me up.”
“But it didn’t.”
He shook his head. “But she used it to manipulate me for more lax monitoring. All she’d had to do was make a casual comment about knowing people who’d love a baby, and I was picturing all of the crime scene photos from her file.”
I muttered a curse. It shouldn’t have surprised me, not when I knew what she’d done to Jenna, but I could apparently still be shocked by how much of a monster Helen was.
He lifted his mug but didn’t take a sip. “I talked her into putting the baby up for adoption.”
“I spoke with a social worker who confirmed as much,” I said. “But I’d never be able to get details without a warrant.”
“Why do you want details?” His guard came up again. “Are the children’s fathers coming forward?”
I debated for a moment, then answered, “No, their sister. Half-sister. The one Helen kept.”
“She wants to find the kids?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
“My client would like to have the opportunity to get to know as many of her siblings as she can. She’d like a relationship with them if at all possible but will settle for the knowledge that they’re safe.”
The waitress returned with our food, and we both fell silent as we ate. The fact that Harry blamed Marcy for his ‘retirement’ could’ve made him bitter and unwilling to help. Instead, I was getting the impression that he wanted to do whatever possible to make sure that Marcy’s kids didn’t suffer any more ill effects from their mother’s choices. His reluctance to talk was because he wanted to protect them, not himself.
“I checked up on the kids she had while in the program,” he finally admitted. “The first couple years anyway. I wanted to make sure they were being treated well.”
My heart picked up speed. “Does that mean you know where they are?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, kid. I know a few things here and there, but I don’t have an address for any of them. I paid a social worker to give me what she could without getting herself into too much trouble. Not much, but enough to know that the kids were ok
ay.”
I pulled out my notebook and pen, my meal forgotten. “All right. What can you tell me?”
As I drove back to Fort Collins, I vacillated between frustration and satisfaction. My trip hadn’t been useless. I’d gotten information that I couldn’t have found anywhere else, and I was confident that I’d be able to use it to find Jenna’s brothers and sister. It wasn’t the lack of even more details that had me frowning.
Harry had taken the brunt of the responsibility for Helen’s escape, but in my opinion, it had been the justice system as a whole that had failed Jenna. Helen might have given the names of some men who’d raped Jenna and those who’d been involved in the recordings she’d helped make, but I couldn’t understand how anyone had been okay with making a deal with her, let alone letting her be the one to decide whether or not to keep the children who’d been born while she was in WITSEC.
Three children for certain, but one of the new things I’d learned today made me think that there might be a fourth out there.
Helen’s appearance in Fort Collins wasn’t the first time she’d slipped Marshal custody. Eight years ago, Harry had caught Helen hiding a third pregnancy. She’d been furious enough that he’d suspected she was up to no good. His suspicions had been confirmed when she’d taken off a few weeks later. He’d been embarrassed enough by her getting past him that he’d looked for her himself rather than telling his superiors that he’d lost her. Two weeks later, she’d returned, no longer pregnant. She told him that she’d taken a trip with a couple friends and had forgotten to tell him. While on the trip, she’d gone into labor. The baby had been stillborn.
Worried about his job, he’d let the matter go, but he hadn’t ever really been able to forget. Even now, he suspected that the baby hadn’t died, but hadn’t done anything about it. He’d been too much of a fucking coward then, and he was still one now. My original thought that he’d been protecting the kids had only been partially right. Covering his own ass had been more important than doing the right thing. If Clay hadn’t given me Harry’s name, I doubted he would’ve told anyone the whole story.
