Dangerous Games: A Standalone Second Chance Romance

by T. K. Leigh

  “Thanks, Chloe. For everything. I…” I trail off, collecting my thoughts. “Thanks for believing in me.”

  “I love you, Iz. Now go. Spend some time with that rockstar boyfriend of yours and enjoy this.”

  “I will. Love you, too.”

  I linger on the line a moment longer, then end the call, staring into space as I process this turn of events. In truth, once I heard the FBI wasn’t putting forward many resources on this, despite Avery’s statement, I gave up hope anything would come of it. I certainly hadn’t expected anything like this.

  “You did it, Iz.” Asher grips my face, the way he holds me all-consuming. This man has never had a problem showing his emotions, but I’ve never seen him so overwhelmed, so moved, so…proud.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I insist.

  “Yes, you did. You refused to give up. Saw something no one else wanted to. If you hadn’t found the courage to search for your birth mother, none of this would have been possible.”

  “I only found that courage because of you. You gave me the strength to confront my past, not run from it and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  His lips brush tenderly against mine, and I sigh, the touch perfect in its simplicity. “No more running.” His words come out as a cross between a plea and a demand.

  “No more running.”

  “Good.”

  My cell chimes and I rip my eyes away, grabbing it off the mattress. When I realize it’s not another phone call but my alarm, I smirk, displaying the screen for Asher.

  “Looks like break time’s over.”

  He gently pushes me back onto the bed, climbing on top of me. “You love cracking that whip, don’t you?”

  “God yes,” I giggle as he buries his head in the crook of my neck.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “I appreciate your time,” an FBI agent says, standing from behind his desk. I meet his gray eyes that match the shade of his hair, his no-nonsense demeanor making me think he’s been in law enforcement most of his professional life. “I’m sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.”

  “It’s okay.” I swallow hard through the lump in my throat as Asher helps me to my feet, his hand placed firmly on my back. “I knew this was a strong probability. A part of me held out hope she hadn’t been killed, but at least I have closure about what happened to her.”

  The agent nods solemnly. I shudder to think how many more of these conversations he’ll have over the next few days.

  After the raid, not only did they find several dozen women being imprisoned, but they also uncovered what can only be described as a burial ground containing the remains of dozens of women in various stages of decomposition. The authorities estimated some had been dead as long as forty years, others only a week at most.

  In the days that followed the news of what David Jordan had been doing, I dashed to my phone anytime it rang, waiting for word about the names of the victims who were found alive. Unfortunately, not one bore the name Emilia Morgan. When I got the call asking me to come down to the Maryland FBI office, I hoped they’d also have information on Emilia, if just to give Asher and Jessie closure. They didn’t. But they did confirm my birth mother’s remains were found.

  Needless to say, this story shocked the country. They’ve interviewed hundreds of people who knew David Jordan, many of whom were members of his church. Every single one of them appeared stunned that he could have been involved in something like this. It still boggles my mind he got away with this as long as he did.

  However, throughout the course of the ongoing investigation, it was revealed that many local and even federal law enforcement officials were involved, that David Jordan offered many of them huge sums of money to keep quiet. Anyone who looked into reports about suspicious activity taking place around his properties soon met dead end after dead end. Had their efforts not been thwarted by someone receiving kickbacks, they would have uncovered exactly what was going on much sooner.

  The FBI is still investigating to determine how long he’s been running this baby mill operation. As far as they can tell, it started out as a legitimate adoption agency. Then he must have seen how lucrative the adoption industry could be. At first, he had his staff use methods of persuasion to convince young, naïve, scared women to give up their baby for adoption. But once Roe v. Wade legalized abortion, his pool of babies dwindled, forcing him to find another way to make the same amount of money. When I think of how a man who’d appeared so devout, so humble, so compassionate could have been the mastermind behind something so depraved, so evil, so malicious, it makes my stomach churn.

  The number of victims is mind-boggling. Not only were the women abused, treated as nothing more than a pair of ovaries and uterus, but thousands upon thousands of adoptions have also been drawn into question. While I can’t imagine going through what these women did, what my mother endured, my heart also goes out to the parents who adopted these children. However, in the absence of wrongdoing by the parents, Child Services advised the adoptions be upheld. All in all, thousands of lives have been uprooted because of this one man who deserves nothing less than to be treated the same way he treated all these women for decades.

  “You’ll keep us posted?” Asher presses. “If you’re able to identify any additional remains?”

  The agent gives him a sympathetic smile. “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.” He reaches across the desk and the two men shake hands. I do the same, then Asher ushers me out of the office, returning his baseball cap and sunglasses to his head in an attempt to mask who he is.

  A melancholy silence stretches between us as we make our way through the corridors and into the reception area, the chairs filled with people from all walks of life. Some of them stare blankly into space, eyes red from tears. Others bounce a leg, a sense of hope filling them. I wonder how many of these people will receive the same news I just did. That they found the remains of their loved one.

  “It’s okay.” I face Asher once we’re outside. “Maybe Emilia’s disappearance wasn’t connected to this. We’ll go through all the records from when she went missing and see what we find.”

  He blows out a sigh. “Or maybe it’s time I let Emilia go. Let her live on in my memory. Maybe there’s a different reason she disappeared. Maybe she disappeared so we’d somehow connect the dots in your mother’s case.”

  “Do you really believe that?” I crane my head back.

  “I have to.” He shrugs. “If she hadn’t gone missing, if I hadn’t offered to help the police comb through tips they received, we never would have come up with the theory that something bigger was at play than your mother running from an abusive partner.” The corners of his lips curve into a small smile. “I wish I knew for certain what happened to her, but for now, I can find comfort in the fact that it gave you the closure you needed. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. That’s the most important thing in the world to me. Everything else is just…gravy.”

  “But you love gravy.”

  “I do. But I love you more.”

  “And I love you… Boomerang.”

  “Boomerang,” he murmurs, his lips skimming mine, neither one of us caring that we’re standing on the steps of the FBI office building.

  When he pulls back, it looks like a weight has lifted off him. “Come on.” He nods toward the parking lot, draping his arm over my shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

  “I like the sound of that.” I melt into him, allowing him to lead me toward his SUV.

  “So, let me get this straight,” a scratchy voice cuts through.

  We both stop in our tracks. I expel a long breath, steeling myself to deal with another crazy zealot who doesn’t believe David Jordan did anything wrong, that he was doing God’s work in making sure babies who were the result of sin grew up in a good, wholesome family. This isn’t the first person who has approached us since our involvement in this case was made public. I doubt it’ll be the last.

  “They actually gave you a record
deal?”

  This catches our attention and we whirl around. I peer at the woman, estimating her to be only a few years older than me, although she’s much shorter, probably only five-one. Her blonde hair has a slight wave to it, dark sunglasses covering her eyes. Her ripped jeans and Queen t-shirt don’t make her look like the typical fanatic who’s been protesting many of the funerals of Jordan’s victims. Based on her statement directed toward Asher, I get the feeling she’s not a zealot at all.

  “Do I—” Asher begins, his brows scrunched.

  “Jennifer Neil.” She thrusts her hand out, and Asher grabs onto it, shaking it warily.

  The name sounds familiar, and I search my memory. I’ve heard more names these past few weeks than I have in my life. From the dozens of women who were rescued from the baby mills and are now going through the process of readjusting to life again. To the even more women whose bodies were found buried on David Jordan’s property. To the people who’ve come forward to share their own stories of escaping his baby mill and living to tell about it. To the network of Good Samaritans who helped rescue as many girls as possible, often putting their own lives at risk.

  “Jennifer Neil…,” I murmur. Then it hits me. “You helped them. You helped some of the girls escape.”

  “Wish I could have done more.”

  She refocuses her attention on Asher. “Of course, you may remember me by another name.” Her chin quivers as her lips lift slightly in the corners, her voice strained. She removes her sunglasses, revealing dazzling blue eyes.

  His body stiffens as he inhales a sharp breath. “Em?”

  She smiles. “It’s me.”

  “Oh, my god. You’re alive.”

  Asher immediately drops his hold on me, not hesitating for an instant, hugging her tightly. I observe their interaction, my heart nearly bursting at this unexpected turn of events.

  He pulls back, holding her at arm’s length. “Where? Wha—” Licking his lips, he shakes his head, then crushes her body back against his, as if scared this is a trick, a figment of his imagination, a manifestation of his deepest desires. When he angles away once more, he stares at her, his mouth agape, a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue. I have a thousand questions on the tip of mine, too.

  She touches her hand to his arm. “I’ll tell you everything, but you need to answer my question first.” She smirks. “They really gave you a record deal?”

  Asher’s laughter echoes against the buildings surrounding us as he hugs her again. “Like you always said, record labels have shit taste in music.”

  “They do.” She lifts her eyes to his. “But I’m glad they finally smartened up.”

  “So, you escaped?” Jessie presses as we all sit in the living area of our Baltimore hotel suite. The second Asher called him about Emilia, Jessie jumped on the first flight from LA and was here the following day.

  “I did.” She brings her eyes to mine. “Much the same way it appears your friend, Avery, escaped.”

  “But if you escaped, why didn’t you—”

  “Come home?” she interrupts Jessie.

  “You know how much I cared about you.” The muscles in his face tense as he struggles to understand why she didn’t return to her family, why she started over. If I hadn’t been living and breathing this case for the past several months, I’d question it, too. But it all makes sense.

  “I couldn’t. I refused to do anything that could put my life in jeopardy…” She meets his sad eyes. “Put my daughter’s life in jeopardy.”

  He expels a breath. “You have a daughter?”

  Her lips pinched, she slowly nods. “Julianne.”

  “How old?”

  “She’ll be eight this October.”

  “Is she…” He trails off, unable to finish his question.

  “She’s the product of what I went through, but I don’t care about that. I love her just the same. I don’t see the man who raped me when I look at her. I see a strong girl I’d do anything to protect. She’s why I decided to finally do something.”

  “How did you get involved in helping these women?” I ask.

  “About two years ago, I found myself outside of Portland, Maine, for work.”

  “What is it you do?” Jessie asks.

  She smiles, meeting my eyes. “I’m a nurse.”

  He laughs slightly as he glances at Asher. “We just can’t get away from it, can we?”

  “Nurses really are the best people,” I remind him.

  “I know.” He returns his attention to Emilia. “So, what’s significant about being in Portland?”

  “It was the end of the line for me.”

  He scrunches his brows together. “End of the line?”

  “There’s an entire network made up of people who help women who are in the same position I was. A girl shows up at a hospital, pregnant and distant. The nurse tries to ascertain their mental state. If they make any mention of needing help or not being okay, we put the wheels in motion. One person takes the girl only so far before she’s handed off to someone else. I was being held somewhere in upstate New York. This network got me all the way to Portland, at which point they handed me an envelope with my new life. New ID. New social security number. And enough cash to get me started.”

  “But if it’s a nurse, why don’t they just report it to the authorities?”

  “They did at one point.” She shakes her head. “Nothing ever got done. A nurse would report it. An officer would show up to take her to a shelter, but guess where they took her?”

  “Back to Jordan’s property,” I exhale.

  She nods. “Precisely. Where they’d remind you of your place.”

  “Remind you?” Jessie swallows hard. “How?”

  She raises her left hand, revealing where her pinky was removed at the metacarpal. “The staff at the hospital noticed the same women returning and decided to stop involving the police. They took matters into their own hands and successfully saved dozens of women, myself included. So, when I was in Portland, I stopped by the address where I remember spending the night before going on my way. At first, it was just to see it, to remind myself of how far I’d come. When I saw the woman who helped me, I went up to her. I don’t know what came over me, but I begged her to let me help. I’d been living in New Hampshire, close to the route I was sure they’d been using. They initially refused because of who I was, but they eventually relented.”

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “Every few days, I’d get a message on a burner phone with an address and a time. I’d go, pick up the girl, then transport her to the next waypoint.”

  Jessie leans back, processing this story. “And they were all from one of Jordan’s properties?”

  “Some of them were, but we also helped other human trafficking victims. Anyone who came to a hospital in our network and exhibited any of the signs — poor mental health, abnormal behavior, quiet, bruises, sexual abuse — we’d attempt to intervene and get them away from their captor.”

  “And you never went to the police?” His voice is strained. I can hear the hurt, the pain, the years of not knowing whether she was still alive. “You never tried to get in touch with me? With Asher? Tell us you were okay?”

  She covers his hand with hers. “I would have loved to reach out to let you know I was okay. But one of the things they’d ingrained into me, into all of us when we were given that new life, was not to look back, to only look forward. That looking back might help them find me again. It wasn’t just me I had to think about. I had to think about my daughter, too.”

  She swipes at her tears. “I’d been living as Jennifer Neil so long, I almost didn’t say anything when I saw Asher walk out of the lobby of the FBI building.” She shifts her attention across the coffee table to Asher. “But you looked so lost. I decided it was time to give you the answers you deserved.” She floats her gaze back to Jessie. Her expression softens, a flicker of something in her eyes. “That you deserved, too.”

  It’s silent
for a moment as Jessie pinches the bridge of his nose, pulling his lip between his teeth. Then he exhales, wrapping an arm across her shoulders, drawing her closer. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay.”

  She pushes out a laugh. “Asher said the same thing. Good to know some things never change. That despite your differences, you still have the same reaction to a situation.”

  “That’s right!” I exclaim excitedly, flinging my mischievous gaze toward Emilia. “You knew them when they were younger. Tell me…” I lower my voice. “What were they like in middle school?”

  “Oh boy, do I have stories. There was this one time at a dance—”

  “Stop!” both men shout simultaneously, their eyes bulging out of their sockets.

  Emilia’s laughter fills the room, light and carefree. “I’ll tell you later.” She winks.

  “Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret the fact you finally came back into our lives?” Jessie jokes.

  “You don’t.” She playfully jabs him. “Admit how much you missed me and my twisted sense of humor.”

  He kisses the top of her head. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “I’m so happy you both finally got your shit together,” Chloe announces as we lounge in the rooftop garden of Asher’s Gramercy Park townhouse, several dozen of our closest friends and family congregating for our house-warming party. This time, there were no earplugs, hidden vibrators, or t-shirts announcing I still lived with my parents. No. My friends went above and beyond. Handcuffs. Blindfolds. Even a pair of sexy dice.

  “Is that right?” Asher muses, bringing his scotch to his lips as the sun sets behind him.

  “I mean, I’m happy you’re finally together. But mostly, I’m thrilled Izzy’s back in the city. It was pure torture when she lived in Greenwich.”

  “Again…,” I begin with a roll of my eyes, “you act like I moved to the other side of the world. I was right over the state line. I could practically spit on New York from there. Not exactly an arduous journey.”