The Surviving Girls

by Katee Robert

  “Maybe they had a doctor deliver him at the house.”

  She shot him a look. “You’ve never met the Berkleys, have you?”

  “Why would I?” When she just stared, he sighed. “No, but I read the file.”

  Of course he had. The file. It was always the file. Every single one of the cops, Isaac included, thought they knew what she and Lei had gone through because they’d read the file. There were horrors that words couldn’t describe, and they included plastering herself between the wall and the couch, praying to any god who’d listen that Travis wouldn’t notice she was missing. That none of the other girls would shake off their shock and reveal her hiding place. Of holding her breath every time the door opened and pressing her hand so hard to her mouth that she had half-moon cuts from her nails as she listened to him take yet another one of her friends out of the room, never to return.

  Hell was those three hours when there was no one left in the room but Emma, and she still couldn’t make herself move because she was convinced Travis stood in the doorway, just waiting for her to reveal her hiding spot.

  Her body shook even thinking about it, and she pulled the cuffs of her sweatshirt down over her hands. She couldn’t change the past, and she couldn’t escape it, but she could educate the man standing over her. “Bethanny Berkley is old East Coast money. Gerald Berkley—Travis’s dad—is also old-school money. I’m not saying that they don’t have a private doctor on call, but Bethanny’s mom died in childbirth with Bethanny’s sister. It created a kind of unhealthy need to go to the hospital for every little thing, because she was sure a real doctor could have saved her mom.”

  He stared. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Lei dated Travis for, like, four months. She went to dinner at their house, which was where Bethanny grilled her about any future babies they might have and how she had better get herself and Bethanny’s grandchild to the hospital when the time came and not be stupid enough to try for a home birth.” It had seemed crazy at the time, and that was before they knew Travis was a freaking monster. “Girls talk, Tucker. There is no way Bethanny Berkley had a baby outside a hospital. Even if she did, she would have gotten her ass into an ambulance that would have taken her to the hospital immediately after, which would result in a birth certificate. A birth certificate we don’t currently have.” She grabbed the phone and thrust it at him. “Here, you need to call.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Keep up, please. I don’t do the phone—social anxiety—but there’s a slim chance that the birth certificate never got filed electronically for some reason. You need to call and check on it.” She jiggled the phone as she waited for him to take it. “We can’t call the courthouse. They have one on file there, but that’s different.” Emma frowned. “I guess it’s not technically a birth certificate that we need as much as a certificate of live birth. Proof that Travis Berkley came from Bethanny Berkley.”

  “If he didn’t, then he was adopted, and that opens up a whole realm of possibilities.” Tucker took the phone and pressed the “Call” button. He moved to the other side of the room, and it was like a different person had slipped into Tucker’s skin. His posture became . . . looser. His smile brighter and less serious. Even his tone lightened and gained an “Aw shucks, ma’am” kind of thing.

  It was freaking terrifying.

  Emma turned back to her computers, her mind awhirl with Lei’s news. She couldn’t process it. She didn’t want to process it. The only thing that got her through day after day was knowing that, no matter what scars marked her soul, Travis was serving the sentence he deserved behind bars.

  If that wasn’t true . . .

  She shuddered hard enough that her fingers skittered across the keyboard. Emma didn’t have a frame of reference for a world with Travis still moving through it. If he was free . . .

  He’s been in our house. Again. He’s stood on the other side of the door to my office and tapped, probably smiling that sick smile and getting off on the fact that he scared the shit out of me.

  Her vision blurred, and she curled her body into as small a spot as she could manage. She couldn’t even comfort herself with the knowledge of the panic room, because he’d tainted that as well. The safe room wasn’t safe, and neither was the house, but leaving was out of the question. Not now. Not without a plan and a place where she could start the process over from scratch.

  Except . . .

  Would she ever really feel anything resembling safe again? She had here, at least most of the time. She and Lei had spent years making this place into a small fortress, resting assured that no one could breach their defenses unless they let them. If, after all that, they hadn’t really managed to do anything but create a secure place for him to get to them . . .

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the coaxing tone of Tucker’s voice as he spoke to someone at the hospital on the phone. The words didn’t matter as much as his presence in the room with her. He wasn’t evil. He was here to keep her safe, even if only for a little while.

  The rest she and Lei had to do themselves.

  Emma inhaled and exhaled through the tightening in her chest and throat. She could breathe. It was just a panic attack. She couldn’t take another Xanax because she needed to focus on finding the information Lei needed to figure out what the hell was going on.

  She was safe.

  Mostly.

  With one last inhale, she straightened and opened her eyes. Tucker stood watching her, a contemplative expression on his face. She glared. “What are you looking at?”

  “There’s no record of Bethanny Berkley ever giving birth to a baby, aside from her miscarriage, but the nurse I spoke to was an old gossip, and something Bethanny did all those years ago pissed her the hell off. She let it slip that Bethanny can’t have children because of complications that arose when she had the miscarriage.”

  Dante left Lei at a Starbucks with her laptop and phone, then headed into the extensive neighborhood that the Berkleys lived in. He wasn’t big into the various subcommunities of Los Angeles, but this one reeked of understated wealth. All the houses were situated well away from the street, their fences and gates as classy as they were forbidding. Definitely not the kind of neighbors that would pop over to ask for a cup of sugar.

  He knew, because he’d grown up in a neighborhood strikingly similar to this one, albeit on the opposite coast. It was all so damn . . . wasteful. The money, the politics, the jockeying for position by spending money that could actually make a difference in someone’s life. Throw in the fact that his parents had the wrong color skin to ever truly fit in with their suburban McMansion neighborhood, and it was a lesson in futility.

  It wasn’t for him.

  He found the correct address and turned into the driveway. It took all of thirty seconds after he gave his name to be admitted inside, and Dante couldn’t help thinking that the generic white Toyota he was driving had something to do with that. Mustn’t let the neighbors see. What would they think? He worked his way to the house, taking in the heavily manicured lawn, the mansion built in the same brick as the fence surrounding the property, and the garage that was nearly as big as the house. Family likes their toys.

  He parked and headed for the front door, but it opened before he could so much as knock. Bethanny Berkley herself stood there. She wore a pair of slacks and a classy blue shirt that perfectly matched her eyes. Whatever lines might have been present on her face had been Botoxed away, giving her a vaguely surprised look. She took him in with a single visual sweep, her pale-pink lips twisting. “Please come in.”

  She led him through the first doorway on the left. Even though he knew better, he couldn’t help comparing this sitting room to Lei’s. Whereas Lei and Emma’s was slightly cramped with mismatched furniture that spoke of eccentricity and character, this room could have come out of a catalog. Dante sank gingerly onto the tiny couch, half expecting it to shatter beneath his weight. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”r />
  “I don’t know what you expect me to be able to tell you. My only child is locked away on the say-so of those two sorority girls. Women like to bring down powerful men. It’s what they do.”

  He could spend a whole lot of time picking apart that sentence, but Dante didn’t have time. He had a burning question, and the only person who might be able to shed some light on the impossible situation sat perched on the chair across from him. With the information Tucker and Emma had found, he knew there was more than a possibility that Lei really was right. There was no record of Travis’s adoption, but for people with money, like the Berkleys, that didn’t actually mean anything. Private adoptions weren’t something people talked about often, but they still happened—and they’d happened a whole lot more often thirty-some years ago.

  He leaned forward. “Mrs. Berkley, I want to know about Travis’s adoption.”

  Her jaw dropped, and her mouth gaped open like she was a fish out of water. “Excuse me?”

  He’d meant to handle this more smoothly, but it was too late now. All the pressure of the case and the danger to both Clarke and Lei and the lies compressed inside him. This woman might not have set her son on the path to kill women, but her lies had facilitated him all the same. “Travis. You adopted him as a baby. I need to know what agency that went through, and I need the agent’s name.”

  “This is outrageous. Travis is mine.”

  He met her gaze steadily until she looked away. “I never said he wasn’t, though if I were you, I don’t know that I’d be so quick to claim him. Not my place to judge you for that, but I will be needing that information.”

  She tried to stare him down for the second time, and for the second time, she looked away. “You don’t know what it’s like, Agent. Even now, when we’re supposed to be so enlightened and equal, nothing is really equal. I was a Berkley and couldn’t give my husband an heir. He was going to leave me for one of his young things that he thought I didn’t know about. I didn’t have a choice.”

  He squelched the pity threatening to rise. This woman had stood by her son against the mounting evidence against him. She didn’t deserve pity. “Ma’am, I’m not here to judge you for that. I’m here for the contact information.”

  For a long moment, it looked like she’d argue, but she finally sighed. “I don’t suppose it can hurt the family’s image after all this time. Once Travis was convicted, we were ostracized from our social circles, and even a decade later, people actually turn up their noses when they see me.” She gave a half-hearted smirk. “At least it’s slowed my husband’s indiscretions. Women don’t trust him anymore, thinking the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. If only they knew.”

  He had nothing at all to say to that. Twenty-one girls had died that night, and she was more concerned with her social standing than she was with the loss of the victims’ futures and their grieving families. Maybe some of Travis’s disconnect was actually learned behavior. Something to ponder later. All he said was, “I appreciate the information.”

  It took her twenty minutes to track down the code to the safe and pull out the relevant name and number. “I couldn’t begin to guess if they’re still up and running after all this time.”

  He glanced at the scrawled name and number on the card—the Lynburn Agency. “It’s a place to start. Thank you for your time.”

  It was only when she had seen him out the door that she frowned. “Why do you need this?”

  “No specific reason, ma’am. Just following up some leads for a case in Washington.”

  Her interest flickered out. “Oh. Well, then. Have a nice day, Agent.”

  She was most definitely heavily medicated, and he might have felt bad about it—about the awfulness of being married to what appeared to be a serial philanderer or mother to a serial killer—but Dante had larger things to worry about than yet another victim of Travis Berkley’s actions. He walked directly to his car and drove off the Berkleys’ property. A quick text to Lei had him ensuring she was waiting when he pulled up.

  Lei took one look at his face and nodded. “She has that effect on people.”

  “You’re taking this whole thing rather well.”

  It came out sounding a little accusatory, but before he could apologize, she shrugged. “I think I’m a little in shock. Too much has happened in too short of a time. I’ll be freaking out as soon as it all sets in.”

  He held out a hand, and she took it. The contact steadied him, and he nodded to where he’d set the card in the center console. “That’s the information. Make sure Emma shares it with Tucker, too.” He could be sure Tucker would keep Britton updated. There hadn’t been any word on Clarke, and he had the completely irrational fear that if he called Britton yet again, he’d learn she’d been found dead. It didn’t make any sense, but an invisible clock counted down to a confrontation that promised to defy expectations. This wouldn’t be an unsub who got pulled over during a routine traffic stop. This wouldn’t be a sting organized after months of investigation.

  No, there was only one way this ended, and it was with someone’s death.

  He was determined to do whatever it took to ensure that death wasn’t Lei’s, Emma’s, or Clarke’s.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The trip back to Washington was almost anticlimactic. They landed with little fanfare and headed for the parking lot where Dante had left the car . . . Was it only yesterday? Lei swayed on her feet, exhaustion threatening to take hold. A person’s system could only take so many shocks in such a short time, and she was well over her limit. She wanted her bed, she wanted Saul, and she wanted to just shut out the world for a few hours.

  But they had one more stop to make before they went back to her place.

  Dante drove them to a little hotel situated on the outskirts of Seattle. It was maybe an hour from Stillwater, but close enough to get to the local precinct without too much trouble. Smart.

  She’d thought she was prepared to see Britton again after all this time. They’d talked on the phone semiregularly over the years, but he’d never had cause to visit, and she hadn’t given him the excuse. Larger-than-life Agent Washburne had listened to her when no one else would. Had believed her. She’d always been afraid to meet him after the insanity of the trial and the aftermath had died down, to recognize that he was only a man, and an infallible one at that.

  And yet when they walked out of the elevator and into the lobby, her heart swelled at the sight of his familiar broad shoulders and kind eyes. His skin was a shade darker than Dante’s brown, and he was a few inches taller. Still larger-than-life. Britton saw her coming and gave a tired smile. “You look well, Lei.”

  She had to force herself to stop and not throw herself at him. He’d hugged her exactly once, but it had been a defining moment in her life. Lei’s father didn’t hug. He patted. Physical intimacy of any flavor was something to be avoided, and it was something she’d always craved despite herself. That single hug from Britton had been what she’d imagined a father’s hug should be—all-encompassing and comforting.

  Get ahold of yourself. Britton isn’t here to feed your daddy issues.

  Lei settled for a smile. “Hi, Britton.”

  He nodded at Dante. “The others are out, but you can update me in the conference room. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering for us.”

  As suspected, when the food arrived, it matched perfectly—a burger for Dante, a salad for Britton, and a french dip sandwich for Lei. She shook her head. “It’s been ten years. How the hell do you still know what I eat?”

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Dante snorted. “Call it magic. No one can figure it out, but he’s never wrong. Best I can tell, he keeps files on everyone he might ever come across, and updates them regularly.”

  She smiled, but let the expression fall away almost immediately. Britton watched her. He hadn’t so much as picked up his fork, which was as good as inviting her to start in. “You’ve heard.”

  “Tucker is with Emma right n
ow while they dig into the history of the Lynburn Agency. They were a private adoption agency that functioned for about fifteen years in the eighties and nineties, though they haven’t been active in nearly twenty years. If they have the records somewhere, it will take a court order to get to them.”

  Too much time. She wanted to rail and scream that Travis was coming, and all these hoops just meant they wouldn’t be prepared when he did. It wouldn’t change anything. Lei and Emma might skirt the edges of the rules sometimes, but Britton wouldn’t. It was one of the things that made him who he was—and brought him to head his own division of the FBI.

  He needs a court order, but Emma doesn’t. If she could find a reason to send Tucker and Dante away for a little bit, Emma could track down their files, if they’d been digitized. She wouldn’t be able to risk it with an FBI agent looking over her shoulder, but she was capable of it. Britton and his people would get it the legitimate way that would hold up in court, and, meanwhile, they wouldn’t be stuck sitting on their hands longer than necessary.

  Satisfied, she reached for her fork. “How did we miss this?”

  “No one expected an identical twin.” When Dante raised his brows, Britton nodded. “We’ll have to wait for confirmation, of course, but that’s the logical assumption. Travis—or his twin—was tested for DNA samples when he was taken in, and he wasn’t released on bail, so there was no opportunity to switch him out with another person. While DNA technology has come a long way in a decade, there’s no reason to think it was a mistake back then.”

  “His mother doesn’t know.”

  Lei nodded. “If she knew, it would have been public knowledge. She pulled every ploy she could when Travis was on trial. An identical twin would have been enough to get him released.” She went still. “Wait, does this mean that trial is null and void?”