by M. S. Parker
“We belong together,” he repeated.
A hand touched my shoulder, slid down my arm, and I realized that I was naked. I wanted to slap the hand away, but I still couldn't move. He cupped my breast, squeezing it, fingers playing with my nipple.
“Don't,” I protested, but my voice sounded weak.
“No one's going to save you this time, my little Snow White.” His breath was hot against my ear.
“Rylan,” I whimpered.
“He's not here. He left you, remember? He didn't want you anymore.”
“No!” I sat up, the echo of the word still ringing in my ears. I hoped I hadn't woken anyone else up by shouting, but that wasn't the thought at the forefront of my mind.
I reached over into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a butcher knife, clutching it against me. I'd been sleeping with it nearby ever since I'd come back. If Christophe tried to finish what he'd started before, he was in for a rude awakening. I didn't need anyone to save me. I could save myself.
Even this statement couldn't stop the painful longing in my chest, the way my body ached. I didn't want to feel like this, but nothing I could do would stop it. I missed Rylan and I wanted him back. I knew I couldn't have him, and that just made the hole in my heart worse.
How could anyone want this? If being in love meant this sort of agony, why would anyone want it? Things had been so much easier before I'd met him. I'd been happier than I'd believed I could be.
The thing was, no matter how awful I felt, I knew, if I was given the choice to go back and change things, I wouldn't do it. Not even to spare both Rylan and me the pain. I wouldn't choose to live without having been in love with him. If that made me a fool, so be it.
I put the knife back in the drawer and climbed out of bed. There was no point in trying to go back to sleep again. I'd just have another nightmare. At least awake I could do some work and try to save a few more kids from their nightmares.
Chapter 14
I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't spend one more day not knowing. Monday morning, I called the Fort Collins Police Department and asked if Agent Matthews had come back from Denver. I was going to talk to him either way, but I was glad when the cop I spoke with said the agent was back. I hadn't wanted a long bus ride into Denver to think of what I was going to say.
He didn't look surprised to see me when I arrived, so I figured the cop I'd talked to had told him I'd called. That was fine. He was going to get enough of a surprise when I told him why I was here. My coming didn't have to be a surprise at all.
“Is something wrong, Miss Lang?” he asked as he gestured towards the chair across the table from where he'd been sitting.
There were papers spread across the desk and I assumed they were for Christophe's case. I wasn't interested in them, however. I had something else on my mind.
“One of the URLs for a site I found last week, I recognized it.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”
I continued, “My mom used to use that URL for videos of me.”
“Unfortunately, URLs resell all the time. Certain names tend to be picked back up for the same purpose.”
I shook my head. “I'm not stupid, Agent Matthews. I know that. I checked the site though. It's still being run the same way.”
“Did you make a note of this in your case file?” he asked. “I can make it a top priority.”
“That's not why I'm here,” I interrupted before he could go any further. “I tried to pull up my case file to make sure I was remembering things correctly.” That wasn't entirely true, but that wasn't the part that mattered anyway.
“How did you find it?” he asked, more curious than annoyed. “I thought you erased any record of yourself. Wasn't that the reason for the immunity agreement?”
“It was,” I said. “But I didn't want anyone getting out on a technicality about how they couldn't find the case file. I just took my name out. Everything else stayed the same. And I tagged the file so I could find it again if I needed to.”
“Clever,” he said.
“I try.” I leaned forward slightly. “But, again, not why I'm here. Though I did find it interesting that access to my own file was denied.”
“Considering what you'd done the last time you'd gotten to it, could you blame us for being a bit wary?”
He had a point. “True,” I conceded. “But I'd like to know why my mom's file's the same way.”
He blinked, his mask breaking for a mere fraction of a moment before solidifying again. “I didn't think it was.”
“I don't mean the fake one that says she died in prison,” I said. “Hypothetically, let's say a person has seen a fair bit of less than legal work, it might be safe to presume that such a person would be able to tell the difference between a real and a fake document.”
“I would say.” Agent Matthews chose his words carefully. “Such a person might not want to know the truth.”
“Let's drop the bullshit, Agent Matthews,” I said. “I found my mother's real file and it was above my security clearance. What's going on?”
“I'm surprised you didn't just hack into it. I know you're more than capable.”
“Of course I am,” I said dismissively. I wasn't bragging. Both Agent Matthews and I knew it was true. “But I'm trying very hard not to break the law.” I paused, and then added, “But I can't make any promises if I don't get answers.”
He was quiet for a moment and I got the distinct impression that he was sizing me up, trying to figure out exactly how determined I was. I let him. I didn't have any doubt that he'd see I wasn't playing around.
“All right,” he said with a sigh. He opened his laptop. “I don't have the physical file here, but I can pull up the electronic one and tell you what you want to know.”
“You mean you don't know?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I purposefully didn't look her up so I'd be able to honestly tell you that I didn't know if you ever asked.” He gave me a wry smile. “I'd gotten the impression that you were good at reading people.”
“I am,” I said, smiling back. “So that was probably a smart move.”
There were a few minutes of silence, save for the tapping of keys, and then he cleared his throat. “Case file for Anna Newbury.”
My chest constricted. I'd been right. I hadn't known her real name.
“Also known as Helena King or Helen Kingston.”
The first had been what she'd called herself, the second had been the name on my birth certificate. Even that had been a lie.
“Do you want me to read off any of the details about her life?” Agent Matthews asked. “Arrests? Children?”
I shook my head. “I know she had six kids under the name Helen Kingston. I don't want to know who they are though.”
“She's had ten others total,” he said quietly. “Six before you, under that alias; four after, under two other names. One of those was born under her real name shortly after she was arrested.”
Ten. I had ten half-brothers and sisters out there. Four born after me.
I frowned as I finished processing what he'd said. “One under her real name right after she was arrested. Want to explain to me how she managed to have three more under another name after that?”
“Your mother cut a deal with the prosecutors for the names of the men who'd been involved in the making and distributing of the films, as well as quite a few of the names of the men who'd...” His voice trailed off.
“I figured she'd sell them out,” I said, not making him finish his sentence. “But she couldn't have gotten off scot free. Not after what she'd done. What she let them do...” I saw the reluctance on his face and knew there was more. “What?”
“She told the prosecutors that none of it had been her fault. That the men involved had forced her to let them use you. They'd raped, beaten and threatened her. Gotten her hooked on drugs. She said she'd never wanted to hurt you.”
My hand automatically went to my side even though I couldn't feel the
scar tissue under my sweater. “She said that? What about my grand jury testimony? I don't remember it word for word, but I'm pretty sure I was clear about my mother's role in all of this.” My voice was harsh, but I didn't apologize for it. I was having a hard enough time thinking clearly at the moment.
“She told the prosecutors that you'd been confused, that you didn't know what you were saying. She said that, of course, it would seem like she was a part of it but you were a child and didn't understand that it was the men who'd forced her to do those things.”
“I was thirteen by the time I got out of there. Hardly a child.” My teeth were clenched together so tightly that my jaw ached.
“I know,” he said. “And I think the prosecutors knew it too. They just wanted the information she had and they knew she wouldn't give it without getting what she wanted.”
“And what was that?” I almost didn't want to know.
“A walk,” he said. “They managed to get her to agree to a couple months, but probation after that. And she had to agree not to try to get custody of you or any of her children back.”
“At least there was that,” I muttered. Then I remembered what he'd said before. “You said she had three other kids under a new alias.”
“She said that some of the men she'd testified against had threatened her, so the DA agreed to put her into witness protection.”
“You mean to tell me that after torturing, abusing and pimping me out for thirteen years, my mother only had to serve a couple months in jail and then got a whole new life?” My hands clenched into fists. “She had three kids and some house with a white picket fence?”
“I don't know about the house or the fence,” Agent Matthews said. “But yes, your mother got an entirely new identity. It does look like she was persuaded by her handler to give her children up for adoption.”
“Should've sterilized her.” I was surprised at the bitterness in my voice. I'd truly thought I was beyond caring about my mother. But it wasn't that, I realized. I wasn't angry for me. I was angry that she'd almost had three new victims and the only thing that had stopped her was a US Marshal who actually had some common sense.
“I'm sorry, Jenna.” Agent Matthews looked at me. There was no pity on his face, only sympathy, and it helped keep my temper in check.
“So she's still alive,” I said.
“She is.”
“Which means she could be the one working that site,” I finally said what I'd been thinking from the first moment I'd seen the URL. “She could be back in the business.”
“She doesn't have her kids,” Agent Matthews reminded me.
“Doesn't matter,” I said. “She's resourceful. She'd find a way.” I could feel my stomach rebelling, threatening to bring back the half a grapefruit I'd had for breakfast.
“I can have her handler check in on her,” Agent Matthews said. “I'm sure they'd be able to find out if she was doing something illegal. She's not on probation anymore, but any illegal activity would require the marshals getting involved and could void her agreement with them.”
“Have them check,” I said. “But I doubt they'll find anything. She's smarter than people give her credit for. Probably why no one caught her for thirteen years.” I stood.
“Jenna,” Agent Matthews said. “I really am sorry.”
“It's okay,” I said. “I'm used to it.”
I left before he could tell me anything else. My head was already swimming with truths and lies, one chasing the other in random loops until nothing made sense anymore. One particular thought was screaming the loudest.
If this was what really happened when we brought in the bad guys, then what was the point to any of it? We never made a difference, no matter what we did.
Chapter 15
Despite my depressing thought that nothing I was doing was making a difference, I still kept doing it. I let myself fall into a routine, waking up each morning, forcing down coffee for a caffeine fix and then getting straight to work. I worked through lunch, maybe grabbing something to eat at some point, and then stopped in the evening so I could get some real food. Another hour or so at work and then down to the gym to work out. Exhausting myself physically seemed to work fairly well in keeping me from dreaming. Well, for the most part. Instead of several dreams a night, I was down to just one or two...but even wearing myself out didn't do anything for the flashbacks.
The ones for the past couple days had been the worst. I was working on a case where the child being exploited hadn't been kidnapped or anything like that. This was a little girl being sold to the highest online bidder who would direct whatever it was they wanted to be done to her. At least, she'd been a little girl about ten years ago. I had ten years of photos to go through, each one worse than the last, but all necessary.
I didn't know if it was because she was dark-haired like me or if it was the content of the pictures, but I'd spent too much time experiencing flashbacks of some of the worst memories of my life.
“Come here, baby.”
He held out his hand and I went to him. I had to go to him. I knew what would happen if I didn't, and it would be worse than what was coming. It was always worse to resist.
“You've been a naughty little girl and Daddy needs to punish you.”
The baby-doll dress I was wearing was so thin that everything underneath was visible and I shivered as the man pulled me onto his lap. He bent me over his knees and pulled up the bottom of the dress.
I shivered as the memory washed over me. It wasn't as bad as the flashback, but it was bad enough. The flashback had kept going through him spanking me and then his hand had moved lower...
I shook my head to clear it. That hadn't been the first flashback, or the worst, but it still wasn't pleasant. Other ones had come through too, harsher, worse pieces of my past. Ones that had left me shaking and gasping for air. Some that I hadn't even thought of in years.
I stood up and ran my hands through my hair. I needed a break. I'd been working nearly non-stop for ten days. And when I hadn't been working, I'd been at the gym. Maybe what I needed right now was some fresh air. It was the first week of March and an absolutely beautiful day. The sun was out, no clouds in the blue sky. The wind was gentle, but cool. It wasn't a warm day, but as soon as I stepped outside, I could smell spring coming.
I didn't want to go for a run. I wanted to walk, to feel the sun on my face and breathe the fresh air. I headed for the campus, walking along the familiar path, over the bridge and across. Years ago, there'd been a flood here, or so I'd heard. The entire campus had been trashed, the glass front of the Lory Student Center shattered. One of my professors had lived in the city when it happened and told my class about it.
I tried to imagine it as I walked, seeing the campus under several feet of water, too deep to walk. It was strange to think about, to imagine the city after such a disaster. It had been the first place I'd really considered home, more or less. That was what was holding me back, I had to admit. Denver and DC were both great cities and a solid job with the FBI should've been exactly what I wanted. But no matter what had happened here, Fort Collins was home.
Then again, I thought, Denver and Washington could both offer me a new start. Maybe that's what I needed, a new beginning, somewhere fresh. Denver would be too close, too much like Fort Collins. DC would be a better bet. Further away. There, no one would know me except Agent Matthews, and even he would stay in Denver.
That had appeal. Being unknown, being a nameless, faceless member of a crowd. An agent who worked in the tech department wasn't someone who got a lot of attention. Maybe it'd be nice not to get attention for once. I'd tried to protect myself by building up a shield, tough exterior. Tattoos, piercings and hair. Maybe instead of that, I should try to disappear. Keep the dark hair, lose all of the piercings. Put on a black suit and become just another agent.
I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn't see the newspaper sitting on the bench, edges fluttering in the wind. Almost.
�
�Billionaire CEO Rylan Archer With Runner-Up for Miss Colorado.”
I stopped and stared at the headline, reading it again. Then I saw the picture underneath it. Rylan in a tux, smiling, and a tall, beautiful blonde standing next to him, her arm looped through his.
I picked up the paper and continued my walk back to my apartment. I was barely aware of where I was going, my eyes fixed on the picture. There was an article underneath, but I wasn't going to read it yet. I didn't want to read it at all, but my curiosity couldn’t let it go.
I didn't remember getting back home, but I was suddenly there and sitting on the couch, the paper in front of me.
I read the caption under the picture first. “CEO of Archer Enterprises, Rylan Archer, attends the American Cancer Society charity ball with Miss Colorado runner-up Juliet Markus.”
Juliet Markus. A nice name for a pretty face.
An unscarred face. Unmarked body. Whole and healthy.
Everything that I wasn't. And everything Rylan deserved.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes and I fought them back. I wasn't going to cry. Not over this.
I turned my attention to the article, but it didn't really contain any additional information. The headline and picture seemed to be only to coerce people into reading the accompanying article. It mentioned Rylan and his date, but only because they were among the most well-known and wealthiest of the guests. He hadn't been interviewed and nothing was said about his relationship with Juliet.
That hadn't taken him long at all, I thought as I carefully folded the paper and set it on the coffee table. He'd gone from Emmaline to Juliet in just two weeks. I supposed I should've been grateful for it. At least he wasn't dating Emmaline.
It was small comfort, but at least it was something. Rylan was moving on and it wasn't all stupid choices. Juliet seemed like she would be a good choice. I looked at my laptop. This was a bad idea, but I needed to know.
I pulled up my internet browser and typed in her name. Since she'd just been made runner-up this past year, there was plenty online about her. She was about my age, born and raised in Colorado. Went to CSU, majoring in sociology and minoring in political science. Wholesome family with parents who'd been high school sweethearts and an older brother who was a doctor. She volunteered for Habitat for Humanity as well as at the local hospital. She'd helped do fund-raising for natural disasters and worked with underprivileged youth in Denver.
