This woman is obviously meticulous. I could tell that from the landscaped curb appeal. Her OCD only follows into the home. I wonder if she’s this particular about small things, wouldn’t she be a difficult parent to live with? Did Windy run away because she couldn’t stand living under a microscope? I have to assume all possibilities. “Can we go over the day you reported your daughter missing?”
She folds her hands together. “It was a Thursday evening. We’d just gotten home from dinner at the country club. I’d left her several messages during the week and they’d been unanswered. That’s not like Windy. She’s always been good about checking in.”
“How long did you wait to contact authorities?”
“First I called the college. When someone got back to me that following morning I had them look into her attendance. She hadn’t been in class for days. Then I got in touch with her roommate. She claims Windy left for class on Monday and never returned. I contacted the local police where she attended school immediately, then my husband and I followed up by driving over.” Her body language doesn’t change as she begins explaining. I’m looking for her to become emotional, at the least readjust because it makes her uncomfortable, but she remains in her posh position.
“I’m sure all these questions have already been addressed, but please answer to the best of your knowledge.” I haven’t made a list. I know all of these questions by heart. It never gets easier to sit in front of a family member and ask some of these. “Did Windy ever receive threats, possibly from a classmate or acquaintance?”
She shakes her head. “No. Windy was kind to everyone.”
Right away I’m suspicious. She’s talking about her daughter in the past tense. I keep asking. “Was she in a relationship with anyone at the time of her disappearance?”
She shifts her legs. This isn’t the first sign of her being irritated. “Why are you asking me the same questions the police and FBI have? What is going on here? Has my husband’s friend at the bureau contacted you?”
“I’m with a different organization of the government ma’am. I know it’s tedious and seems like a waste of time, but we’re investigating your daughter’s disappearance now, so it’s important I gather my own information.”
“It seems as if you’re trying to implicate me in a lie. I’m not going to sit here and answer anymore of these silly questions, which won’t help anyone find my daughter. There is clearly a reason you’ve shown up here today. Stop wasting both of our time and come out with it.”
The fact that she’s implying it only makes me think she’s trying her best to hide something. She wants me gone and I’m wondering why.
I sit my pen and paper down and fold my hands together. “Fine, I’ll cut to the chase, since it’s obvious you don’t want to continue, I’ll tell you what we know.” I pause for a second to wait for her to chill the fuck out. “I’ve been working on a case for the past two years involving a drug smuggling operation.”
“My daughter wasn’t involved in drugs, so you’re wasting your time.”
I put up my finger. “Please allow me to finish.” I’m not sure how much I should divulge. “Recently my brother was murdered. He was found with enough heroin in his body to kill more than one person.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but I don’t see how any of that has something to do with Windy.”
“Are you aware your daughter’s identity has been stolen?”
Her eyes light up. She’s shocked, which boggles my mind. If I were this girl’s parent I’d be hiring an investigator up until the day there was evidence she was found, dead or alive. “What do you mean? You’ve found some of her belongings on someone? I’ve donated a lot of her things to charity.”
“No, ma’am. There is someone out there using your daughter’s social security number and name. When we ran her through the system we were lead to her open case. That’s why I’m here.”
“Someone is living as my daughter? Are you certain it’s not her? This makes no sense. We hired a PI. He would have contacted us.”
“She’s been living as your daughter for over a year. I’m sorry you haven’t been informed, but unfortunately cases can get backlogged, especially with as many they have to work with.”
“Are you calling the FBI incompetent?”
“No. I’m not implying that at all. I was a police officer before I became DEA. I have nothing against any man or woman who risks their lives for the welfare of others, ma’am. I’m stating the facts. If you want me to leave, I can grab my guys and be out of here immediately, but if you want another set of eyes working on this case I urge you to allow me to continue.”
I ignored the pissed off grimace she throws in my direction. “Go on then. Ask your questions.”
“How was your relationship with Windy?”
“I was her best friend.”
I shake my head and jot down something in my notes. Mother in denial. Control freak. Look into her finances during the time victim was reported missing.
“Can you think of anything that would imply she ran away?”
She motions to the surrounding area. “Look at the life she has here. Do you think she’d want to give this up?”
“Young people make rash decisions. Perhaps she ran away with someone you wouldn’t approve of.” The fact that I’ve thrown the idea out there angers her. Her eyes widen. “My daughter wasn’t seeing anyone.”
“How was her relationship with her father?”
“They were close when she was little. He’s very proud of her accomplishments.”
“Did they ever argue?”
“Our daughter was taught to respect us, unlike most children these days.”
“What about extended family? Is there anyone who could have helped her leave without being detected?”
“Like I said before. My daughter had no reason to want to leave. Let’s get back to the person pretending to be her? Have you arrested her? Will she be prosecuted for her crimes?”
“We’re working on that.” I look right at her. “Can I have the names of her closest friends?”
This makes her very uncomfortable. She’s put both feet on the ground and rubs the legs of her pants with her hands. “Her studies were more important than socializing. Windy was too smart to fraternize with people her own age. She preferred being alone and reading. I suppose her friends were the characters in those fiction books she always seemed to prefer.”
This woman knows nothing about her daughter, and the fact that she’s adamant to push my buttons only tells me she’s hiding secrets. I wonder if her strict upbringing led her daughter to lash out and drastically change. That kind of shift could have led to her demise. Without a body, there’s not much else I have to assume.
When I hear the guys coming downstairs I know I can’t stick around much longer. I need to leave her with the assurance that I’ll be able to provide her with answers she desperately longs for. I reach for my wallet and pull out my card. “If you think of anything you might have forgotten to tell the police please give me a call. Even the smallest of details can help me locate your daughter.”
“She’s dead isn’t she?”
“Do you think she might be?”
She shrugs. “It’s been years. If she were alive she would have called someone.”
“I hope that’s not the case. If I discover anything else about your daughter’s case I’ll let you know.”
It’s not until we get back outside when House begins to unravel what he’s discovered in the bedroom of Windy Lewis. He hands me the camera. It’s turned on so I can go over the photographs. “Check this out.”
I start flipping through as Renner takes the driver’s seat. The room is in pristine condition. Her walls are lined with books. Her bed is still made. It looks like a magazine it’s that kept. “What am I looking for?” I ask House.
“Keep scrolling.”
Then I see a shot where one of them is holding back the corner of the carpet. The hardwood floors have carvings in
each plank. First it shows that someone is counting down something. They are divided into fives, so I quickly add up what I can see from the photo. Three hundred and forty. “What the hell?”
“We found these in each corner of the room. I wouldn’t have thought to look, but one was sticking out, probably from being vacuumed.”
“So how many would you guess?”
“Thousands. What the hell could she be counting?”
“No clue.” I keep scrolling and see prison and she’s the devil. At the same time House places something over the backseat toward me.
“We found these when we pulled the carpet almost halfway up.”
Before I look I add, “It sounded like the roof was coming off. I should have known you were going to be thorough.”
“There wasn’t anything to find. Nothing was moved. No notes. No journals. No nothing,” Renner says.
I peer down at polaroid photographs House has handed me. It’s a female figure. She’s naked and taking a picture of her back while looking in the mirror. I can see the silhouette of her face and recognize it to be Windy. Her back has long bleeding lashes across her shoulder. I flip to the next picture and notice this one the lashes are in another area. Her hair is pulled up, and it’s obvious this is a different time. Another picture reveals the same evidence. The lashes are across her lower back this time. Then there are some on her ass. In some I can almost see a hint of scarring from the beating before it. I cringe as I keep going through at least twelve photos of this girl being abused, probably by her parents. When I look on the back I notice she’s written dates. She’s documented every single one of them as if she were collecting evidence. There’s no telling what kind of damage they’ve done. It’s definitely enough to make a person go crazy. All I can gather is this is plenty of enough reason for the girl to want to get the hell away from her family, by whatever means necessary.
It only takes me a second glance to reveal something I hadn’t noticed at first. The handwriting. I recognize it. “Holy shit.” I pull out my phone and flip through until I reach the shots I’ve taken of the journal entries I found in the fake Windy’s apartment.
“What?” Renner asks beside me.
“The handwriting matches the journal entries. Guys, I don’t think the fake Windy wrote them.”
“So the fake Windy has the journal belonging to the real one? This is fucking insane, Moth. We need to tell the director. This case is getting too involved. We’re not paid to do this kind of investigation.”
“Shut your pie hole. If you want out then you call and cry to the director to reassign you. I refuse to quit. We’re finding answers.”
“Answers that lead us further away from Jamie,” House adds from the backseat. I know they’re annoyed, but I refuse to back down, even if it pisses off my closest team members.
“We aren’t calling the director, and neither of you are getting out of this. I need you. Stop bitching and help me figure this out.”
“This chick was obviously in an abusive upbringing. She probably ran away and gave her identity to someone else to throw off the police. The heroin was probably a coincidence,” Renner states.
“No. There’s something else. It doesn’t add up.”
“I’m with you, man. Whatever it takes,” House offers.
I nod. I’m still looking at the photos, comparing them to the journal handwriting. It’s a dead ringer. Not even an expert could match the swirls this chick uses in certain letters. I’m determined to get the fake Windy to write something down for me. I need to be sure about this piece of the puzzle. They may think this is leading us in another direction, but I see it is a lead we need to follow.
Chapter 8
Before heading back to Virginia, we stop by the college Windy Lewis attended before she disappeared. For the entire ride there I make calls to the private investigators in the area asking for assistance on the case to see if any of them bite.
Since we’re out of danger we use our positions within the government to get an immediate meeting with the admission clerk. She’s a quirky little woman with wide-rimmed glasses. Her manicured fingernails make clicking sounds as she types on her keyboard to pull up Windy’s information. In a matter of minutes we have the room number and name of her bunkmate. When the woman spins the screen around for us to see, we note that the chick she shared a room with is Asian. There’s no way this could be the person who stole her identity. We inquire about her transfer to the graduate school, but the admission clerk has little information about how it happened, as if someone else hacked into the system without anyone knowing. They’d made it appear as if Windy had graduated, but she’d actually disappeared right before the end of her last semester. With nothing but dead ends we head back to Virginia with more questions than answers.
It’s late. The guys have called it a night a while ago, while I remain wide awake. I’m confused and stumped. Nothing makes sense, and I feel as if the deeper I dig the harder it’s getting to keep on track.
I head back to the shared house I’m renting to keep up with appearances. While sitting up in bed I open my laptop and plug into the live feed we have streaming of the fake Windy’s apartment. I flip through each room until I locate where she is. She’s walking around the bedroom wrapped in a towel, her hair long and wet from a recent shower or bath. This is where I should respect her privacy and close out the application, but I don’t. My attraction to this criminal is becoming an obsession, and not in the way my job expects it to be. Something inside of me snaps when I see the towel drop. I’m overcome by a need to enlarge the small rectangular screen in order to get a closer view. My eyes are fixed. I’m not blinking. I can’t. I refuse to miss a single second of this naked beauty. My brain is on lockdown. I’ve succumbed to pure curiosity, and a constant sexual hunger I’ve never been able to completely satiate. She sits down in front of a small vanity and begins brushing her hair. Her head is leaning to the side as she works through the wet tangles. From this angle I can only see her back. Her breast are too low for the camera to catch a glimpse in the petite mirror.
I remain focused. When she finishes I lick my lips with anticipation. This is where I first catch sight of the twin melons she keeps hidden underneath her clothes. She lifts her arms to tie her hair up. Her two perky mounds stand at attention, as if they’re posing for the camera. My dick jumps, awakening what I know I won’t be able to settle.
While I watch her climb onto the bed I zoom in, catching her fine ass spread, her gratifying thighs, and a slight glimpse of her pussy.
I’m a goner. There’s no way I can close out of this application now. She’s completely naked, crawling onto her mattress and flipping around to rest on her back. I suck in a deep breath of air as I take in the full frontal view. It’s picturesque, better than any resting sunset on an ocean horizon. Her curves are pronounced, her creamy skin unimaginably hard to forget. As she picks up a tablet I become fully aware this is a crime in the making. I’m going against my own beliefs to spy on this gorgeous woman. I want to hate her. I need to. She could be the reason my brother is dead, but as the hunger to loathe her continues to surface, I’m taken back by desires I’m not sure I can control, not in this situation at least.
I’m not sure what she’s looking at on the screen. With only the back view of the tablet I get more comfortable on the bed. I sit my laptop to the side and kick off my boots. Next I stand and remove my pants. I lift the shirt over my head and toss it on the floor in a pile of dirty laundry I don’t know when I’ll have a chance to wash. The second I climb into bed I’m in shock. I couldn’t have been gone a minute, but in that time she’s put the tablet down and is doing something I can’t believe even as I’m seeing it.
Her right hand glides down between her breast, coursing over her abdomen, and finally dragging down between her legs. “Holy shit!” I say to myself before getting back into the same position I was in before undressing. My impulses are in overdrive. While my eyes are taunted with craving, my dick becomes engorged
. Windy’s eyes close and her head goes back against her pillow. I zoom in again and see her plunging two fingers into her pussy. Her left hand comes up and pinches her nipple as she works into a pace.
It’s only a minute before I have to stroke my dick. I imagine her tight wet pussy as I plunge into her. I want to suck on those dark circles at the tip of those perky mounds. I continue studying her movements while I imagine cupping her ass cheeks and spreading them while her body rocks over mine. I can visualize her perfect breasts bouncing as she rides me like I’m a wild stallion.
I’m caught off guard when her body begins flailing around. I turn up the volume and hear the sounds of her cries as she brings herself to climax. She goes silent. Her body freezes in place. Slowly, she rolls over and pulls a sheet over her naked body. What I wouldn’t do to climb underneath those covers and taste her sweet release. My mouth waters just imagining it. I know I have the skill to bring her the utmost of pleasure. She’s forbidden fruit and I can’t help from wanting her. She’s the one thing I can’t have. She’s the evil I spend my whole life denying can break me.
I’m coming before I know it. Hot lava erupts from the tip of my cock. It jerks several times before I succumb. As my body goes limp I close the laptop. I’m ashamed at what I’ve done. Yet I want more.
I imagine the guys going over the videos in the morning and jealousy sweeps over me. I don’t want them doing the same thing I’ve done when given the opportunity. I have to make sure it never happens. Using my knowledge of the computer system we use for surveillance, I erase the data from the time she surfaces from the bathroom. They’ll probably question it. If the guys are anything it’s thorough. I’ll make up something if they ask. As long as they never see what I got rid of, I’m in the clear. They know me too well. They’re both fully aware this chick is everything I’m attracted to. I’d be a fool to assume they wouldn’t expect her to be my downfall. All I know for sure is that this could escalate to a situation that may cost me my badge. I have to tread lightly. After what I’ve just witnessed I know I’ll struggle to resist if given the opportunity, but at the same time I almost want to challenge myself. I need to know I can withstand even the most difficult scenarios. I have to be able to separate my personal needs from my responsibilities.
Moth Page 7
